I could never be a real hipster. Aside from being a few hummus tubs too heavy to fit in my girlfriend's jeans, I regard tragically un-hip things like cars and showers highly. Yeah, I'm so midtown. Still, twelve hours of highway driving can do a number on a man's soul, and by the time I arrive in Manhattan from Chicago on a cold Tuesday night I'm ready to do something oh-so-very hipster: bum a ride from a friend.

That's the funny thing about this rare breed of young American: There's always a chink in the pretentious, eco-conscious armor. They'll preach all day about the joys of bicycling and how disgusting the act of car ownership might be, but when it comes time to move a set of drums to some smoky industrial-type lounge, that 1982 Nishiki fixed-gear isn't so useful anymore and it's time for a momentary lapse of morals. Thank goodness for that yuppie friend with the SUV — the one who obviously doesn't mind receiving gas money in the form of Pabst tallboys, the only recognized currency among these trendy urbanites. But anyway, back to my own ride bumming because, hipsters, do I have just the thing for you.

The Ford Flex, due out in late June, has a lot to offer this crowd that, unfortunately, doesn't buy cars. As with clothing, the strenuously cool people want to borrow a car that isn't recognized by the greater populace as prestigious, and not many brands fit that bill better than Ford right now. Fords are as uncool (read: hipsterly cool) as Members Only jackets, so the Flex should fit right in around Chicago's Ukrainian Village neighborhood or Brooklyn's Williamsburg. To really capture the tofu munchers takes something more than blue-collar goodness, though. Survey any filthy, emaciated hipster close enough and you'll always find some high-ticket item intertwined among the Salvation Army t-shirt and frazzled Asics, be it Prada glasses or a Gucci belt. The Flex's figurative Prada glasses are its oversized Mini Cooper looks. It's so trendy and so not, all at once. Plus, it'll hold at least two drumsets, a few amps, and whatever kitschy furniture you happen to find in an alley on the way home.

My time exploring the Flex's insides begins when a dark gray example pulls up to my Manhattan hotel. It is immediately eyed by a group of tourists that declares the car "pretty neat." I hop in the second row — a set of captain's chairs divided by a center console/armrest. The heated seat (optional for the first two rows of chairs) is already turned on for me and the adjustable seat is reclined slightly and pushed back for the maximum amount of legroom. There's a Ford man named Jay Ward behind me, and he claims to still have plenty of space in the third row, although I'm pretty sure he'd say that even if I'd slid the seat back far enough to shear his legs off at the knees. Above me, the "Vista Roof" is divided into two small panels for the second row and one larger one at the rear, despite the fact that onlookers outside will notice just one giant sheet of glass dominating the car's roof. None of these panels slides open, but they do have black mesh covers that can be rolled out to block the sun or, in our case, the intense wattage of Times Square.

The best feature in the Flex isn't up in the roof but between the seats. The rear-opening center armrest houses a deep fridge than can be set to either cool or freeze its contents. Similar systems are offered through the Land Rover line and also in the Dodge Caliber, but the Flex's is the first that will drop into freezing temperatures. "You could fit two Pabst forties in there," I estimate. My God, I'm turning into one of them.

I quickly change the subject by asking about the next-generation navigation and Sync systems that debuted at Vegas' Consumer Electronics Show back in January. Sync now integrates Sirius satellite radio, navigation, and climate-control functions, all sharing the large eight-inch screen. For a monthly subscription fee of five dollars, the system also integrates Sirius Travel Link, which pipes in sports scores, weather maps, and even nearby fuel prices. Click on the lowest price and the nav system will guide you to the station. But you won't be able to check the weather or get a baseball update on the fly — all these features are limited to when the car's at a standstill. Ford communications man Alan Hall then demonstrates Sync's climate-control function, cycling through a few command menus before requesting a temperature of 69 degrees. "Did you say 69?" the robotic Sync lady asks inquisitively. Why, yes; yes he did.

From the passenger's perspective (we won't be driving this thing until later this Spring) the Flex feels much like a Taurus X with a bit more space, a bit less noise, and a bit more comfort. This impression is supported by the fact that the Flex rides on an updated version of the platform that underpins both Taurus models, along with the Mercury Sable and Volvo's S80, and its on-sale date will mark the initial phase-out of the underappreciated Taurus X. That car has been a quiet favorite among the automotive press, overlooked because of a bad launch and woefully anonymous styling. The Flex fixes at least that last issue and brings along more refinement and a cleaner cabin design and layout. I'm wishing I could spend a little more time next to the cooler and under the glass roof because riding in the Flex is a great way to deal with New York traffic. I want to take it to Brooklyn's Red Hook district to help a set of hipsters shuttle a canoe from the Gowanus canal (yeah, they really do that) just to get their opinion of Ford's trendy new people mover. But there's no time and no cleaner in the world that could get the smell of Lucky Strikes and canal water out of the carpet, so the ride is cut short. I am, however, confident that young opinionated city dwellers will be bumming rides in Flexes at every opportunity in the near future. It has just enough offbeat style to capture that crowd. And who knows? A few of them might even give up their bikes and buy one. But they're totally not selling out, man.