Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in Volume 7 of B.H. Magazine, order your copy now.
When the cover was lifted on the Kia Tasman at the end of 2024, Australian motoring enthusiasts ran to the comments section, grabbed some popcorn, and settled in. I know, because I was one of them.
The usual suspects declared that Korea had no business making a ute, that the engine was underpowered, that the design was too polarising, that it would never hold a candle to the Ranger or the HiLux. The sledging was, in a word, spectacular.
I’ve spent a summer driving one. The consensus is wrong. Not marginally wrong either – categorically wrong.
The irony is that most of the criticism lands on the very qualities that make the Tasman interesting: a ute that doesn’t look like every other ute, an interior that doesn’t feel like it belongs in a commercial fleet, and an engine that prioritises usability over bragging rights. These aren’t failures of ambition; they’re considered decisions, and living with one has made that increasingly clear.
Kia was explicit about rejecting the design language that has dominated the segment for decades – the “Tiger Face” grille, the vertical DRL headlights, and the boxy surfacing all reflect a brand that made a conscious decision to look like nothing else on the market.
The problem is that Australia’s ute market is perhaps the most brand-loyal in the world. Buyers rarely switch; they inherit, and into that environment Kia arrived with something genuinely different – a design that didn’t just have to win people over, it had to overcome a buying culture that treats novelty as a liability.
Like most, I was critical at first. At the launch – the first time I’d seen it in the flesh (and I should say how much better it looks when you’re standing next to it) – I described it as deliciously ugly. By the time we arrived back in Sydney, I was strangely attracted to it.
Now I love it, because it exudes real character –and compared to the new HiLux, which has become so inoffensive it barely registers, that feels less like a provocation and more like the only honest response to a segment converging on the same safe silhouette.
Up in the Northern Rivers of NSW, where I live, I see Tasmans every day, which confirms exactly what Kia took a punt on: that there’s a buyer who has never once purchased based on what’s popular, who finds brand loyalty baffling, and who is probably delighted that everyone else overlooked this one.
The interior pulls off the same trick. The triple-screen layout –a 12.3-inch instrument cluster, 5-inch HVAC display, and 12.3-inch infotainment screen – sounds excessive until you use it and realise how cleanly it separates information that other utes cram into a single, chaotic interface.
The cabin is capacious and practical, thanks to Kia’s decision to make everything easy to slide. Slide the rear bench back to accommodate kids’ seats, or slide it forward for adults who prefer to recline. And thanks to buttons on the inside of the passenger seat, you can easily increase access for people climbing in or lounging on longer stints.
There’s a table that folds out of the centre console armrest and zippered neoprene pockets on the seatbacks, which are odd but charming. Dual wireless charging up front alleviates battery anxiety for two, while USB outlets in the seats keep iPads juiced for the kids.
A handy vehicle-dimensions icon relieves stress as you manoeuvre into tight underground parking, and the ventilated front seats are indispensable on sticky summer days. Critics called the interior overwrought; those critics have not spent eight hours on the Pacific Highway with two toddlers aboard.
I think it’s important to reiterate just how category-leading the cabin and its details actually are.
Kia has not been given enough credit for its effort. There’s significant heft and purpose to the seats and materials – no single part feels like “close enough was good enough”. The level of thought that’s gone into the tray’s features and finish is clear as day once you familiarise yourself with the offerings from other brands.
Where competitors are clutching for value with their price tags, the Tasman’s feels warranted. You sit in it, and you just know.
These factors would mean very little if the engine let it down, and this is where the sledging becomes most detached from reality. Yes, 154kW and 440Nm aren’t going to beat Ford’s bi-turbo Ranger on a spec sheet.
What it will do is pull cleanly from low down, loaded or not. It’s not an unknown quantity either –the same 2.2-litre unit has spent years moving families of seven in the Carnival across the country without drama, and that pedigree counts.
Kia claims around 7.5 litres per 100 km, but my real-world figure across 8,500 km of mixed highway, regional roads, and school runs, with zero towing, sits at 10.3.
Off the bitumen, the conversation gets more nuanced. At the media launch, we drove the range-topping X-Pro up the most demanding terrain I’ve encountered. Exclusive to that grade, X-Trek is an off-road driving assist system that maintains a steady low speed in 4L without requiring the driver to operate the accelerator or brake, putting serious crawling capability within reach of anyone, regardless of experience.
If further proof were needed, Kia handed the keys to off-road specialist Lucas Bree, who conquered Beer O’Clock Hill, first attempt. Nothing more needs to be said about its credentials in that context.
Kia has done the work: 32.2-degree approach, 26.2-degree departure, 800mm wading depth, ground-view monitor, electronic rear diff-lock, and dedicated terrain modes for sand, mud, snow, and rock. But a proven engine doesn’t make a proven platform.
What the Tasman does in sustained, unpredictable four-wheel driving remains an open question, and anyone planning deep bush work on its strength might want to wait for that evidence to accumulate.
It’s not a perfect ute. The upright windscreen catches stones readily, and mine has the chips to prove it. The sunroof has given me a couple of hesitant moments, seemingly resolved by a software update, and side steps would be an investment worth making if you’re around 172cm.
Plus, there’s a strange piece of plastic jutting out from behind the front headrests on these new Kias. I’m not sure if it’s a grab handle or a design element, but I do know my kids have hit their heads on it way too many times. In the rear of the Tasman, it’s obtrusive and redundant (there’s a grab handle next to it).
Then there’s the safety system calibration, which – having recently driven a Genesis – seems to be a Hyundai Motor Group trait in need of ironing out. The reverse camera triggers emergency braking whenever it senses any movement while creeping out of a park. It also flags the lowered tailgate as an obstacle, meaning when you’re transporting longer items, you must disable the systems manually, or the Tasman simply won’t reverse.
Most Tasman owners will spend the vast majority of their time on Australian roads – commuting to site, school runs, the occasional tow, tip runs or a long weekend away.
For that life, it’s a sensational vehicle, even hard to beat: composed, quiet, practical in ways that reveal themselves slowly, and distinctive for all the right reasons. It’s a left-of-centre choice in a segment that rewards conformity, and that tells you exactly who it’s for. Kia Tasman S 4x4 from $46,490 driveaway.
