Vehicle-mounted tents have existed since frontier days, but surged in popularity during COVID as #vanlife glamorized 4×4 excursions and Instagram made overlanding trendy. Overlanding has since been reduced by many to “car camping requires Nigel Thornberry cosplay.” To some extent, I get it; looking good matters for most of my hobbies too. But this week I received an email about the Thule Outset, and the cost of this thing forces the question: What are we doing here, folks?
Rooftop tents (RTTs for short) are almost always pricey. To be fair, the quality ones are crafted well, use premium materials, and include clever features like gas struts to simplify setup. Still, they all share the same drawbacks: a large, high-mounted mass and a significant aerodynamic penalty for the vehicle they’re mounted on. Also, parking in garages becomes tricky, and accessing them from the ground is fairly inconvenient.
The Thule Outset tackles those RTT issues by employing a trailer-hitch mount. Rather than a massive box perched on your SUV’s roof, it’s a large box dangling off the hitch. It unfolds in seconds and can be quickly unhitched if you want to drive away from camp without disassembling your shelter. Just, you know, don’t idle your vehicle while someone’s sleeping inside, or they might not wake up.
That Land Cruiser on the left is fitted with an ARB Altitude roof tent, one of the best available, which retails for about $6,000. On the right is the cheapest option I could locate online from a somewhat reputable seller (Walmart)—the “XBull,” which runs around $600. But given the poorly Photoshopped product image, I wouldn’t expect much.
It looks pretty cool standing proud at camp in those promo shots. I’ve had excellent experiences with Thule gear (which I’ve always purchased used after years of wear), and I don’t doubt that the Outset’s construction is top-tier.
But I cannot, for the life of me, understand how there’s a market for this at $4,699.95.
Actually, seeing that price (about twice what a decent RTT goes for) made me wonder why the vehicle-mounted-tent craze persists at all. None of the touted advantages add up. Elevated to avoid bugs? Surprise: they can crawl up your vehicle. Some can even fly! Scared of critters? They’re usually more scared of you. And the ones that aren’t can readily climb to your roof if they choose.
The only genuinely practical perk—nearly instant setup—is certainly not worth an extra thousand dollars. As you probably guessed, I’m a ground-tent plebeian myself. Still, it takes me about three songs’ worth of time to go from parked-at-camp to having my own little living room that’s tall enough to stand in and a cot bed at a normal height, with a rug on the floor for cosiness. My family-sized ground tent compresses down to roughly the size of a carry-on duffel and weighs about as much as a couple of coats.
When overland fever was rampant a few years back and people began buying $300 shovels, I figured, OK, this is a flex fad that will fade soon. Now, in 2025, sellers are still pitching tents that cost more than some of my cars. Am I just a broke curmudgeon who’d be happier if my tent were bolted to my truck, or is this the most absurd corner of the off-road aftermarket?
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