Tail Fins and Chrome: The Wildest Cars of 1959

Nineteen fifty-nine marked the absolute zenith of American automotive excess, a glorious moment when car designers threw restraint out the window and created rolling sculptures that looked ready for liftoff. Chrome sparkled from every surface. Tail fins soared to absurd heights. Two-tone paint schemes divided bodies into geometric works of art. These weren't just cars—they were statements, dreams made of steel, symbols of an America that believed bigger was always better.

The undisputed king of 1959 excess was the Cadillac Eldorado, sporting tail fins that stretched 42 inches high, the tallest ever fitted to a production car. Those fins weren't subtle suggestions of aerodynamic styling—they were towering monuments to optimism, each one capped with bullet-shaped taillights that looked like they belonged on a rocket ship. The Eldorado measured over 18 feet long and weighed two and a half tons, yet it floated down the highway like a yacht on wheels.

But Cadillac wasn't alone in the fin wars. The 1959 Chevrolet Impala featured horizontal bat-wing fins that gave the car a low, aggressive stance. The rear end looked like it was perpetually ready to pounce, with cat's-eye taillights that glowed red in the darkness. The Impala became the best-selling car in America that year, proving that consumers loved the wild styling as much as designers enjoyed creating it.

Chrome was everywhere in 1959, applied with the enthusiasm of a child decorating a birthday cake. Bumpers wrapped around corners. Grilles featured dozens of vertical or horizontal bars. Side trim created lightning bolts, spears, or sweeping curves along the body. The 1959 Oldsmobile 98 featured so much chrome that it practically needed sunglasses to look at on a sunny day. Some critics complained about excess, but buyers couldn't get enough of the sparkle.

The inspiration for these designs came from the Space Age and the jet aircraft that dominated the skies. Designers visited aircraft manufacturers, studied fighter jets, and incorporated elements like air intakes, turbine-inspired wheel covers, and cockpit-style dashboards. The 1959 Buick featured "Delta-Wing" styling borrowed from the Convair B-58 Hustler bomber. Cars weren't just transportation—they were earthbound spacecraft.

Interiors matched the exterior extravagance. Dashboard designs resembled aircraft instrument panels, with pods of gauges and controls. Push-button automatic transmissions replaced traditional shifters in many models. The 1959 Chrysler Imperial featured a dashboard that looked like mission control, with a sweeping speedometer and enough buttons and switches to launch a satellite. Seats were upholstered in pleated vinyl or cloth in wild colors—turquoise, coral, or two-tone combinations.

The engines under those long hoods were equally impressive. Big-block V8s were standard equipment in luxury models, with displacements reaching 430 cubic inches in the Cadillac. These engines produced power measured in the hundreds of horsepower, though fuel economy was measured in single digits. Gas was cheap, the highways were new, and nobody worried about efficiency when you could have power.

Colors in 1959 defied conventional automotive palettes. You could order your car in Tropical Turquoise, Cameo Coral, or Seafoam Green. Two-tone combinations were popular, with contrasting colors separated by chrome trim. Some models offered three-tone paint schemes. The 1959 Ford Fairlane 500 Skyliner, with its retractable hardtop, came in combinations like Colonial White over Geranium. These weren't cars—they were fashion statements.

The 1959 model year also introduced innovations that would become standard. Cruise control appeared on some Chrysler products. Air conditioning became more common, though it was still a luxury option. Swiveling front seats on some Chrysler and Imperial models made entry and exit easier for ladies in pencil skirts. Power everything—windows, seats, locks—became selling points.

But the wild styling of 1959 represented both a peak and a turning point. By 1960, designers were already pulling back from the excess. Fins began shrinking. Chrome became more restrained. The public's taste was changing, influenced by European sports cars and a growing sense that maybe bigger wasn't always better. The 1959 models would be remembered as the last hurrah of uninhibited American automotive design.

Critics at the time called the designs vulgar, excessive, and impractical. Those massive fins reduced trunk space and created blind spots. All that chrome required constant polishing. The cars were too big for many garages and too thirsty for changing economic conditions. But defenders argued that these cars captured the optimism and confidence of post-war America, when anything seemed possible and restraint was for Europeans.

Today, 1959 cars are among the most collectible and valuable classics. A pristine Cadillac Eldorado can fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars at auction. Car shows feature entire classes dedicated to 1959 models. Enthusiasts spend fortunes restoring these chrome-laden beauties to their original glory, polishing every piece of trim until it gleams like new.

The cars of 1959 represent a unique moment in American design history, when optimism overcame practicality, when style mattered more than efficiency, and when designers were free to create rolling art without worrying about wind tunnels or fuel economy. Those soaring tail fins and acres of chrome remind us of a time when America dreamed big, built big, and drove big—and made no apologies for any of it.