My Love/Hate Relationship With Our 2026 Honda Prelude

• What's new: We added a Honda Prelude to our One-Year Road Test fleet, and I have mixed feelings. 
• Why it matters: Honda revived the Prelude after 25 years of dormancy with Civic Type R parts, sports car styling and a near $44K price tag. That creates expectations.
• Edmunds says: This is a good car that I loved driving for a week, but there are some issues I want to see addressed in an update or subsequent generation.

The Prelude logo embroidered on the contrast-stitched dash is one of my favorite details, but the blue-and-white seats steal the show. There's a subtle houndstooth pattern in the perforation of the leather, and "Prelude" is debossed in script on each headrest. Contrast blue stitching defines the big, supportive side bolsters. 

The seats are functional as well. During spirited driving, they kept me in place so I didn't have to grip the wheel too tightly, and when just loping along in traffic, the aggressive bolstering signaled to my backside that I was in something sporty. The seats are also not too narrow or stiff like a hardcore carbon-fiber bucket seat.

There's a lot to like about the way the Prelude drives. I've praised the weight, accuracy and feel of the related Civic's steering in the past, and this is a step up. Honda fits the Prelude with the same front suspension as the Civic Type R, arguably the best front-wheel-drive hot hatch on sale, and the result is steering that felt special the first time I turned the wheel. The Prelude darts into corners like a machine with much more serious sporting aspirations, and you can feel the hardware at work even at around-town speeds.

The powertrain excels at lower speeds, too. Honda's dual-motor hybrid system effectively drives like an electric powertrain with the soundtrack of a gas engine; the engine is mostly a generator powering the electric motors. The result is that despite the system's relatively meager 232 lb-ft of torque, the Prelude feels surprisingly gutsy and robust when you're pulling away from a stop or squirting through traffic. I had to remind myself that despite how eager the Prelude can feel, I was still averaging north of 40 mpg. Combined with the steering, the powertrain delivers real confidence behind the wheel.

Honda debuted a new feature for this car: S+ Shift. With Honda's standard hybrid system, the engine grumbles in the background, varying its revs to match the power needed by the electric motors. When you hit the half-dollar-sized S+ button in the center console of the Prelude, the digital instrument cluster changes from a nondescript power gauge to a familiar tachometer, and the revs rise and fall in simulated gears from the continuously variable automatic transmission, the way they would in a gas car with a regular automatic. 

Tugging the Prelude's paddles delivers quick and convincing faux upshifts and rev-matched downshifts, each accompanied by a split-second gap in torque delivery that sells the experience. I didn't use S+ Shift all the time, but it was fun the times I wanted it.

I hate the Honda Prelude

To preface this, as a package, I dig the Prelude. I would happily take it home again, and if a friend came to me interested in this car, I wouldn't dissuade them from buying one. But there are things about the Prelude that make me crazy.

Ya know the warm fuzzy I mentioned feeling as I walked up to this car? Well, it was consistently dampened by the oh-so-dumb door handles. They pop out, like on a lot of EVs, except they only pop out when you approach the car about half the time. And when they do, they don't actually unlock the door unless you double-pull or grab at a specific area where your thumb lands on a sensor the size of a postage stamp. I'm sure having flush door handles delivers some fractional fuel economy benefit, but I'd rather burn the extra gas.

OK, so I had figured out the door handle. Now it was time to lower myself into that lovely blue bucket seat. I dearly wished these seats had ventilation and adjustable lumbar support. It was an especially warm week in Los Angeles, and my back got so warm that on more than one occasion, I checked to see if I had accidentally turned on the seat heaters. I know this isn't a luxury car, but Honda markets the Prelude as a grand tourer, a vehicle segment that combines long-haul comfort with sporting intent, and it's almost $45,000. My sweaty, sore back did not feel grand.

Once I started driving, there were a few other things that bothered me. First, rearward visibility is horrific, like recent Chevy Camaro and Toyota Supra levels of bad. The first time I checked over my right shoulder to change lanes, I audibly exclaimed disgust. The rear roof pillars are wide enough to hide a school bus, and I felt way too reliant on the (thankfully standard) blind-spot warning system to keep me collision-free.

Speaking of visibility, the parking camera on offer here is laughably bad. It's grainy and distorted; I'd consider it among the worst on any vehicle priced north of $40,000. And notice I said "camera" singular. There's only a backup camera; Honda declined to fit the Prelude with a 360-degree camera system.

I ran into another issue while parking. Honda moved to a push-button shifter in most of its cars years ago, and one aspect I love is that to put the car in reverse, instead of pressing a button, you pull a two-finger-wide tab toward you, in the same direction you want the car to go. It's intuitive and meaningfully different from the drive, neutral, park, and S+ Shift buttons around it, so it's never accidentally activated.

My problem is, it's roughly half an inch away from another two-finger-wide switch you pull to activate the electronic parking brake. I can't tell you how many times during my week with the Prelude I was backing into a parking spot or making a three-point turn when I stepped on the brake to shift into reverse, and instead of pulling the reverse toggle, I activated the parking brake. 

But for some drivers, the Prelude's biggest sin will be how it feels when you drive it on your favorite canyon road or twisty on-ramp. I took spirited drives in the Prelude both on our test track and on the roads around Los Angeles, and when you're really pushing it, this car disappoints. There's too much body roll and not enough power or feedback. The Civic Hybrid drives similarly, if a bit worse, given it lacks the Type R suspension and brake hardware. But while the Civic is a surprisingly fun economy car, the Prelude's performance and driving experience near the limit don't live up to the two-door grand-tourer billing.

And yet …

But I'm still smitten. If we're being honest, all of us spend a lot more time commuting or toodling around town than we do in the canyons. As long as I was only driving with a little enthusiasm rather than really pushing it, the Prelude felt meaningfully sporty and fun. For me, this car's distinctive design, stylish interior, low-speed engagement and excellent efficiency — that's the stuff I'll remember.