It’s no secret that 2025 has dealt Tesla a difficult hand. Once hailed as the unshakable king of the electric vehicle (EV) revolution, the company has entered the year facing increasing headwinds—ranging from fierce international competition to underwhelming sales numbers, especially for its highly-anticipated Cybertruck.
The angular, futuristic beast was meant to be a disruptive force in the world of utility vehicles, a metallic exoskeleton on wheels that would redefine what trucks could be. Instead, the Cybertruck has become something of a puzzle, a paradox between hype and hesitation, ambition and practicality.
Despite the pomp and circumstance that surrounded its long-awaited release, the Cybertruck has stumbled. Tesla had confidently projected over 250,000 unit sales in its first full year on the market. But as the dust settled on 2024, the numbers told a very different story—just 40,000 Cybertrucks sold.
That’s less than one-fifth of the original goal, a sobering reminder that even the most hyped product in the automotive world must eventually meet reality on the showroom floor.
Worse still, Cybertruck has faced regulatory red tape and legal restrictions that have significantly hampered its global viability. In many countries, the truck’s unconventional size, design, and safety framework have led it to be deemed non-road-legal.
Without international clearance, Tesla’s dream of global Cybertruck domination is stuck in neutral. So what does a company do when it’s left with a warehouse full of unsold, potentially undrivable cybernetic trucks?
If you’re Elon Musk, you do what you do best—turn the problem into a spectacle.
Rather than hide the failure, Musk’s team has opted to lean into it with boldness and wit. In a campaign that feels half-marketing genius, half-stand-up comedy routine, Tesla has taken to the streets—literally—with a parade of unused Cybertrucks being repurposed as mobile advertising platforms.
It started in Temple, Texas. There, a convoy of Cybertrucks was seen rolling through the city, glinting in the sun, commanding attention like a sci-fi military unit casually strolling through a suburban neighborhood.
But one Cybertruck, in particular, stood out. It was towing a Tesla Model Y—securely displayed in a transparent glass case, like a museum artifact or a luxury product unveiling. The message was clear: “You may not want the Cybertruck, but the Model Y? That’s still hot.”
It’s not just clever. It’s meta-marketing. Tesla isn’t just advertising its vehicles—it’s using one model’s commercial failure to elevate another’s brand appeal. The Cybertruck, with its unmistakable silhouette and intimidating presence, has become a rolling spectacle that naturally attracts stares. And instead of being a reminder of miscalculated demand, it’s now the frame that highlights Tesla’s more successful offerings.
This new advertising tactic is already being replicated across other regions. Social media users in California, Nevada, and Florida have posted photos of similar Cybertruck convoys hauling either the Model Y or Tesla’s upcoming compact EV prototype.
The campaign is generating buzz not just for its creativity, but for its self-aware humor—something rarely seen in the cold, serious world of tech-driven automotives.
The idea of using a failed product as the vehicle (pun fully intended) for advertising might seem counterintuitive at first. After all, wouldn’t showcasing a flop harm your brand? But that’s where Musk’s magic lies: turning vulnerability into virality.
This campaign, intentional or not, rebrands the Cybertruck from “sales flop” to “marketing machine.” Suddenly, instead of being the subject of criticism, the Cybertruck is at the center of a cheeky, almost rebellious strategy. It says, in effect: “Okay, so it didn’t sell like we wanted. But look at how cool it still is.”
The move also aligns with Musk’s long-standing approach to failure. He’s never been afraid to embrace it publicly. Remember when he launched a Tesla Roadster into space aboard a SpaceX rocket?
That too was a promotional gimmick wrapped in absurdity and ambition. Or the time he smashed the supposedly indestructible Cybertruck window on stage during its unveiling—only to shrug it off and meme it into internet immortality.
Tesla’s entire brand DNA is rooted in challenging norms and being unapologetically unconventional. So when faced with a surplus of metallic giants and dwindling demand, why not double down and turn them into roving billboards?
Part of the Cybertruck’s underperformance has been tied not to its engineering, but to its image. With its jagged edges, brutalist design, and post-apocalyptic vibes, the truck has always been polarizing.
Some love it. Some loathe it. But few are indifferent. That polarization, however, may not translate into actual sales.
Additionally, the lack of practicality has been a concern. For all its visual appeal and press coverage, the Cybertruck is still an oversized, heavy, and relatively untested platform compared to traditional trucks.
Pickup truck buyers—especially in North America—value reliability, serviceability, and utility above aesthetic novelty. And while the Cybertruck may turn heads, it hasn’t proven that it can outwork an F-150 or a Toyota Hilux.
There’s also the legal and logistical barriers. In many European and Asian countries, the Cybertruck’s size and sharp design edges make it illegal to operate on public roads. Until those regulatory hurdles are cleared (if they ever are), international expansion remains limited.
So rather than fight this wave of practical obstacles, Tesla seems to have embraced the Cybertruck’s more performative role—as a prop, a symbol, an icon. And now, as a mobile billboard.
What makes this tactic especially smart is the contrast it draws between the Cybertruck and the Model Y.
Where the Cybertruck is divisive, the Model Y is a crowd-pleaser. It’s practical, affordable, and versatile. While Cybertruck sales are struggling, the Model Y continues to be Tesla’s top seller globally. By placing it in a glass case, elevated and towed like a trophy, Tesla is subtly reinforcing that the Model Y is not only desirable—it’s desirable enough to be showcased.
The psychology here is brilliant. It’s a reversal of traditional advertising hierarchy. Instead of showing a car driving freely and luxuriously through scenic landscapes, Tesla shows it as a product so valuable that it must be protected and displayed—in contrast to the raw brute pulling it along.
People don’t just see the Model Y in the ad; they see how Tesla itself sees the Model Y. That elevates the perceived value in ways traditional billboards or Instagram videos cannot.
Beyond marketing, there’s a financial incentive to this move. Storing thousands of unsold Cybertrucks in lots would cost Tesla millions in inventory fees, security, and logistical upkeep. Converting these same vehicles into mobile marketing units essentially repurposes dead weight into productive assets.
And since these trucks can be recharged through Tesla’s own Supercharger network or solar units, the cost of fuel is near zero. Maintenance for low-mileage vehicles doing controlled route driving is also minimal. In essence, Tesla has created a fleet of self-sustaining, solar-compatible billboards at a fraction of what traditional ad campaigns cost.
Even better, this campaign generates organic content. People see the trucks, photograph them, post them online, and discuss them. Every sighting becomes a viral ad. Every meme adds to Tesla’s cultural footprint. It’s free marketing, amplified by the internet’s obsession with novelty and absurdity.
Tesla’s Cybertruck billboard campaign is a challenge to the automotive establishment. Most car companies would have quietly scrapped or warehoused their overstocked inventory. Tesla made it go viral.
It’s a reminder that Musk doesn’t play by the same rules. He isn’t constrained by old-school thinking. If anything, he weaponizes disruption. By turning what could’ve been a costly embarrassment into an advertising stunt, he proves once again that the real product Tesla sells isn’t just cars—it’s attention.
In a world where attention is currency, using a $70,000 metal beast to promote your mainstream family EV might just be the smartest move Tesla has made this year.
