Elon Musk, the enigmatic CEO of Tesla, has long been a lightning rod for controversy, often making bold claims that ignite debate across the globe. While his provocative statements might amuse or frustrate onlookers, they take on a far more serious tone when they impact the safety of Tesla’s customers. A recent spotlight has fallen on the Cybertruck, with Musk asserting its bulletproof capabilities—a claim that echoes the same pattern of exaggeration seen with Tesla’s autonomous driving technology. These assertions, paired with a troubling tendency to blur the line between ambition and reality, have raised alarms about the real-world consequences for those who trust Tesla’s promises.

The saga of Tesla’s self-driving technology offers a stark parallel. In January 2025, Bloomberg uncovered internal messages revealing that Musk personally dictated the disclaimer for a 2016 Autopilot promotional video. The text boldly stated: “The person in the driver’s seat is only there for legal reasons. He is not doing anything. The car is driving itself.” Yet, this was far from accurate. During a trial following the 2018 death of engineer Wei “Walter” Huang, Tesla’s Autopilot director, Ashok Elluswamy, admitted the video was staged, using a pre-mapped 3D route that didn’t reflect the system’s true capabilities—then or now. Huang’s widow sued Tesla, arguing that her husband died because he believed the company’s claims about Autopilot’s autonomy. His Model X, operating on Navigate on Autopilot, crashed fatally on March 23, 2018. Tesla has so far dodged liability in such cases, leaning on fine-print disclaimers that hold drivers accountable for the vehicle’s actions. Still, the company persists in branding its beta-stage driver-assistance systems as “Autopilot” and “Full Self-Driving,” terms that regulators like Jennifer Homendy, chair of the National Transportation Safety Board, have called “misleading and irresponsible.” With at least 19 deaths linked to Autopilot, the stakes couldn’t be higher.

Now, the Cybertruck has emerged as the latest chapter in this troubling narrative. On October 20, 2024, the Tesla Owners of Silicon Valley posted a video showing the vehicle’s driver-side door riddled with bullet holes, prompting Musk to boast on social media: “We emptied the entire drum magazine of a Tommy gun into the driver door Al Capone style. No bullets penetrated into the passenger compartment.” The claim, delivered with Musk’s signature flair, suggested the Cybertruck could withstand gunfire—a tantalizing prospect for buyers envisioning an armored fortress on wheels. However, photos later surfaced of the same battered truck, raising doubts about the test’s legitimacy and the vehicle’s actual resilience. A parody account even doctored an image to depict Musk firing a Barrett rifle at the Cybertruck, a fabrication so plausible it nearly passed as real. This blurring of fact and fiction underscores a recurring issue: Musk’s willingness to let bold assertions stand uncorrected, even when they could mislead customers into dangerous assumptions.

The risks of such claims are not hypothetical. Consider the tragic case of João Monteiro de Castro dos Santos, a Brazilian councilman killed in 2004 when his supposedly armored Honda Civic failed to stop rifle bullets during a robbery attempt. Believing in his vehicle’s protection, he instructed his driver to defy armed criminals—a decision that cost him his life when the car’s armor proved inadequate. The Cybertruck’s bulletproof hype could inspire similar misplaced confidence, potentially with graver consequences given Tesla’s high-profile marketing. Unlike certified armored vehicles, which undergo rigorous testing to meet specific ballistic standards, the Cybertruck’s “bulletproof” label appears more theatrical than substantiated. Musk’s casual endorsement of the Tommy gun test—using .45 ACP rounds—offers no clarity on whether the truck could resist more powerful weaponry, leaving buyers to fill in the blanks at their own peril.

Tesla’s history of overpromising isn’t new, but the Cybertruck episode amplifies the pattern. After the gunfire stunt, the damaged prototype wasn’t quietly retired; it was paraded on public roads, fueling speculation and admiration among fans. Musk neither clarified the truck’s limitations nor curbed the narrative that it’s a bulletproof marvel, much like he’s allowed misconceptions about Autopilot and Full Self-Driving to persist. Critics argue this reflects a reckless disregard for customer safety, a stance Tesla counters with legal disclaimers absolving itself of responsibility. Yet, the hypocrisy is glaring: promotional materials flaunt hands-free driving or bullet-riddled doors, while the fine print tells a different story—one buyers only face after tragedy strikes.

As Tesla navigates these controversies, Musk’s bombastic claims continue to captivate and divide. The Cybertruck, once hailed as a groundbreaking design, now risks becoming a symbol of unfulfilled promises—a “grave” Musk himself admitted digging with the project. For customers, the danger lies in believing the hype, whether it’s autonomy that doesn’t exist or armor that won’t hold. Until Tesla aligns its messaging with reality, the line between innovation and deception remains perilously thin, and the cost may be measured in lives lost to misplaced trust.