Hot take incoming: I’m tired of the “coupe good, convertible bad” trope with sports cars. As enthusiasts, the deeply rooted, prevailing logic is that if you have the choice, go for the one with the fixed roof because it’s stiffer, more precise, and less compromised as a result. The 2025 BMW M4 Competition Cabriolet calls gobbledygook on that.

A long time ago, these arguments might have held some water. A roof plays a pretty big role in the structural integrity of a car, so when you chop it off, you need to make up for that loss of rigidity. The solution is extra bracing here and there, but that—in addition to the various motors, hydraulics, framing, and other necessary hardware—comes at a weight penalty. Fair enough. Weight is indeed the enemy.

Then there’s the argument of aesthetics. Granted this is a subjective point to argue, but nevertheless, it’s rare that a convertible looks good with the top up. Fair enough—convertibles look sleek with the top down, but when it’s up, the roof disrupts how well the rest of the body lines flow. That and the visual contrast between a fabric roof and a painted body is just too jarring to look good. Ever seen a BMW Z8 with the top up? Exactly. Even with folding hardtops, once you pick out the seams, you can’t unsee them.

So, the deck is already stacked against this ragtop M4. This Competition-spec tester is some 330 pounds heavier than its fixed-roof counterpart, and we still wouldn’t call it pretty. We’ve said our piece about the schnoz, but that’s not the issue here—with the top up, its silhouette is visually chunky. But like, who the hell really cares?

Buying a sports car like an M4 is an inherently emotional decision. You don’t buy one because it’s roomy and great on gas; you buy one because sports cars make you giggle. They ingrain themselves into your brain so well, the next thing you know, you’re daydreaming about them long after you’ve handed back the keys. You buy a sports car because you want one. Because it sparks joy.

So if it’s about sparking joy, why not get rid of the isolating cocoon holding you hostage? You’ll feel more things, like the sun toasting your arms and the back of your neck. You’ll hear more things, like the crickets singing their songs on a sunset drive through the country. You’ll be more in-tune with the world around you, and you’ll get a good, consistent dose of Vitamin D. Who cares about the weight penalty? Who cares about the somewhat awkward silhouette with the top up? Who cares if you lose some of that hard-edgedness for an unbeatable sensory experience?

I don’t—at least, not in a car like the M4. Capable as these cars are, the standard M4 comes across as slightly soft and isolated at times. Hell, on a couple of top-up commutes, I caught myself thinking, “ya know, this doesn’t feel that much more special than the M440i we had.” Stepping up to the CS cars fixes a lot of those qualms; through a strict diet and further powertrain and chassis tweaks, the M3 and M4 CS are some of the most communicative and feelsome M cars we’ve felt in a long time. But all that comes at a price—you’re dropping at least a buck-sixty.

As expected, the al-fresco M4 Comp still does the speed thing very well. It’s powered by a familiar twin-turbocharged inline six-cylinder engine, which sees a power bump this year. It’s now good for 523 horsepower and 479 pound-feet of torque, and still paired to the same damn-near-telepathic eight-speed automatic as before. Its fixed-roof counterparts come standard with rear-wheel-drive and a stick, but the Competition pack is the only way to get the droptop, so all-wheel-drive is standard. No biggie—you can still flip it into rear-drive mode with a few taps.

This thing is a bloody rocket. Floor it—or launch it, like the race car driver you think you are—and the G-forces pinning you to the seat are unrelenting right up until the redline. The eight-speed auto is telepathic, seemingly in the correct gear all the time no matter the situation. Huck it into a corner and you’ll need to be a real ham-fisted buffon to bin this thing; the responsive but numb steering, adaptive suspension, all-wheel-drive, and heaps of mechanical grip work seamlessly to keep the M4 absolutely unfazed. It’s easy—almost too easy—to explore its limits.

That too-good-for-its-own-good nature gets boring after a while. But having the ability to stow the roof and becoming in-tune with the world around you adds an element of evergreen enjoyment to the M4. Suddenly, you don’t care anymore that it’s steering is a little too numb and light for a sports car, that it’s a few hundred pounds heavier than the coupe, or that you can’t tap into its true abilities without seriously jeopardizing your licence. It’s not always about lap times.

It’s about smiles-per-gallon. ou’ll giggle because you can better hear the burly inline-six singing its silky song at full throttle, punctuated by the whistle of the turbochargers as you rip through a tunnel. You’ll melt away the stress of your daily, air-conditioned prison cell as the sun warms your scalp, because you made the roof disappear at the touch of a button. And you’ll have something a bit more special than most everyone else with an M4, because most everyone else who wants a sports car is still under the impression that coupe good, convertible bad.

So go ahead, get the damn convertible. At some point, you’ll realize that life’s too short to ignore smiles-per gallon. The 2025 BMW M4 Competition Cabriolet gets that.