It was high noon when we turned off the bitumen and onto the gravel drive that led to Sun Ranch. The property unfolded gradually: golden paddocks, sprawling timber buildings, and a sense of curated calm that felt more editorial spread than outback station.

We arrived just after lunch, and the first thing you notice isn’t the architecture or the location, though both are striking. It’s the people. Every member of the staff looked like they might have been planted by Polestar’s design team. All bone structure and boots. All just-right denim. They were so attractive it was hard not to wonder if someone had handpicked them for brand alignment.

I parked the car near one of the timber cabins and joined the rest of the guests for a ranch-style lunch. Fresh produce, fire-cooked vegetables, long tables, low chatter. It was the kind of place where everything felt slightly curated, but never in an overbearing way. Everything felt… Polestar.

That afternoon, we settled into the rhythm of the ranch. There was time to explore the property, wander between structures (there are six timber bunkhouses in total), or walk down to the small lake where the wood-fired sauna and cold plunge were tucked beside the reeds. I did both. I roasted myself in the dry heat before stepping into the still, shockingly cold water. It wasn’t spiritual or transformative. Just a good, quiet jolt that snapped the day into focus.

I took the opportunity to step back and observe the car from a distance. The Polestar 4 sat quietly near the entrance, its LED strip catching the late light. It looked less like a car and more like a rendered concept that had quietly settled into the gravel.

The absence of a rear window becomes even more intriguing from the outside. It allows the panoramic roof to extend further back, giving rear passengers more headroom and an uninterrupted view of the sky. Rear seatbacks recline. Climate can be adjusted via a separate screen. If most SUVs treat back-seat passengers like an afterthought, the Polestar 4 offers something closer to a lounge.

Later that afternoon, we gathered near the firepit for a pre-dinner drink. Vermouth was poured over ice. Conversations drifted. Someone asked about the drive. Someone else asked what we were actually doing here, which felt like a fair question given no one had mentioned KPIs. I asked what the etiquette was around how far you can swim outside your zone in a shared pool. My room backed onto one, and I’d been quietly trying to gauge the social contract. The staff moved between guests like they’d been doing this forever. Polished, relaxed, somehow always in the right spot. It was informal, quiet, and perfectly measured. The sort of setting that doesn’t need to impress because it already knows it has.

As the sun dipped and the temperature followed suit, we gathered in the property’s whiskey lounge for a design presentation. Polestar’s Colour and Materials Designer Komal Singh and Product Manager Ola Aldensjö dialled in from Sweden to share their thinking behind the 4.

Komal spoke about materials: tailored knit made from recycled PET bottles, vegan alternatives, and responsibly sourced Bridge of Weir leather. Everything was selected for both environmental and sensory performance. Ola explained how design, technology, and sustainability aren’t siloed at Polestar but layered together as part of a single, considered vision.

It wasn’t a product pitch. More like a window into a company that thinks carefully and acts slowly. No hype. No disruption. Just long-term ideas, calmly delivered.

This is, after all, a brand shaped by a designer. Thomas Ingenlath, formerly Volvo’s design chief and now Polestar CEO, brings a clear design sensibility to the brand. That origin story still shows. Polestar isn’t trying to out-Tesla Tesla or revive some nostalgic idea of driving. It’s building something else: design first, tech literate, and future facing.

Dinner followed outside. A long table glowed with firelight, conversation drifting over plates of local produce and natural wine. The kind of setting where nobody needs to perform. A low hum of music. Slow laughter. No one checked their phones.

Later, we climbed a hill at the edge of the property for an astronomy session. The temperature had dropped and the sky had turned fully black. A couple of telescopes were set up on the grass, aimed at the sort of celestial bodies you usually only see in documentaries. The astronomer cracked a few jokes about the pole star. Not especially useful in the southern hemisphere, but delivered with charm. Then the jokes stopped.

One by one, we leaned in and stared upward.

Stars scattered like static. Galaxies blinked into view. Someone gasped. Someone just kept sipping. For a moment, the sky felt larger than it had in years. You’d almost be on the verge of an existential crisis if it wasn’t for the exhaust braking of a B-double on the M1 keeping you firmly grounded.