Europe’s Three‐Year Cheat Day

Imagine you’re on a strict diet. The plan says “no cake today.” You groan, and your trainer suddenly winks: “Tell you what—eat whatever you like for three days, then average the calories later.” That is roughly what happened in Brussels this week. EU lawmakers agreed to let carmakers average their CO₂ output over 2025‑2027 instead of hitting the 2025 number head‑on, a change designed to spare the industry as much as €15 billion in fines.

The number on the scale stays the same: fleets must still shrink to 93.6 grams of CO₂ per kilometre. Only the stopwatch changed, slipping the deadline rather than slimming the goal. Think of it as rescheduling leg day—you will still squat, only later.

With the pressure dialled down, the buzz around new electric cars could cool. Fully electric models made up about one‑sixth of European sales last year. Without the threat of instant penalties, some carmakers may slow their launch schedules. Shoppers might take longer to trade in the family hatchback for a plug‑in. Roads could feel quiet; share prices for battery makers and charger companies might look sleepy. Quiet often feels safe. Quiet can deceive.

History offers a warning. In the mid‑1990s California paused its own zero‑emission rule. Car companies mothballed their early electric plans. Credit prices fell to pennies. Then, in 2003, the rule snapped back. Everyone rushed at once. Costs jumped. Assembly lines jammed. What looked like a gentle pause turned into a mad dash because the miles you skip today do not vanish—you simply have to run them later.

Europe risks the same snap‑back. Slow electric demand now means smaller battery orders, mines put on hold, and fewer charging stations breaking ground. But the marathon start gun is still set for 2028. When the date approaches, carmakers will scramble for the lithium, nickel, chips, and electricians they need. Prices will leap, not drift. A carbon bill delayed is usually a carbon bill with interest.

Imagine Brussels as a dessert cart rolling between the tables. The waiter beams: “Try the chocolate cake, the cheesecake, the tiramisu. Just promise to run a marathon in three years.” Forks rise, plates empty, and somewhere a dusty pair of running shoes begins to worry.

Yet inside this pause sits a chance. While the crowd naps, builders can hammer. Raw‑material contracts are cheaper when demand looks soft. Small software teams can test grid‑balancing code before the big rush. Charger firms can grab highway sites without a bidding war. The next three years may feel bearish on the surface, but for patient hands they are a clearance sale on the tools the world will need when the whistle blows again.

The lesson is simple enough for a playground: every cookie still counts when the teacher totals the lunch boxes. Europe’s carbon diet was not cancelled, only averaged, and the maths will feel harder when the sum is due. Calm seasons have a habit of fooling the crowd; they can also reward anyone who keeps training before the storm.