Jaguar has been lovingly taken apart like a vintage timepiece by a toddler with a hammer. The brand that once roared is now a wheezing relic, its rusting corpse draped in charging cables, praying for a miracle jolt of electricity.

Jaguar will rise again—stitched together as a high-voltage Frankenstein, lumbering into the EV era with all the grace of a rebooted MySpace. It’s aimed at “the elites,” but the trouble is, the elites aren’t idiots. They won’t line up to buy a brand they know is on its farewell tour.

When Jaguar makes its big EV debut, expect a dazzling burst of marketing sparkle, followed quickly by the sound of silence. Unlike a supernova, there won’t even be space dust left behind. Tata expertly embalmed Jaguar into corporate decline.

Jaguar’s prime was the 1960s, when it was fast, stylish, and actually meant something. Since then, it’s been a slow slide from E-Type to eulogy. Even that bizarre ad campaign—yes, the one comedian recently Jimmy Dore skewered—got people talking, just long enough to remind them Jaguar still exists. And then promptly convinced them to buy something else.