Likes
- Arguably class leading longevity and reliability.
- The widest support network in Australia.
- Proper old-school 4WD SUV.
- Parts, maintenance and repairs very affordable.
Used Toyota LandCruiser Prado (J90 Series)
Dislikes
- So many have been ruined during to abuse or terrible mods.
- Petrol models are very thirsty.
- Really showing and feeling its age.
- Toyota tax can sting.
Stuff you should know
The 90 Series Toyota LandCruiser Prado first arrived in Australia in 1996, replacing the older Japanese market 70 Series-based Prado and marking the start of a softer, more family-friendly take on the LandCruiser recipe, one Toyota went on to dominate. It slotted neatly below the full-size 100 Series LandCruiser in Toyota’s line-up, giving buyers a slightly smaller, more affordable, and more comfortable alternative while still maintaining Toyota’s reputation for durability and off-road ability. Designed as a true mid-sized SUV, it quickly found favour with Australian families, regional buyers, and adventurers alike, becoming one of Toyota’s strongest sellers in this space.
Under the bonnet, the 90 Series was offered with a handful of petrol and diesel engines across its life. Petrol options included a 2.7-litre four-cylinder (3RZ-FE) producing 108 kW (145 hp) and 235 Nm (173 lb.ft), aimed at entry-level buyers, and a 3.4-litre V6 (5VZ-FE) with 132 kW (177 hp) and 303 Nm (223 lb.ft), which provided stronger performance and better towing ability. On the diesel front, internationally early models offered a 2.8-litre naturally aspirated four-cylinder (3L) producing 70 kW (94 hp) and 180 Nm (133 lb.ft), which was tough but painfully slow, and a 3.0-litre turbo-diesel (1KZ-TE) producing 96 kW (129 hp) and 343 Nm (253 lb.ft), which quickly became the most popular choice thanks to its balance of power, torque, and economy. Transmission choices included a 5-speed manual or a 4-speed automatic, with full-time four-wheel drive standard across the range.
The Prado received a mid-cycle update in 1999, which brought a mild facelift including new headlights, a revised grille, updated bumpers, and some subtle changes to the interior trims. More importantly, the update improved equipment levels across the range, with higher-grade models gaining better safety kit and luxury touches. Mechanically, Toyota refined the turbo-diesel for improved reliability and made minor tweaks to reduce NVH. While the changes weren’t revolutionary, they helped keep the 90 Series competitive in a segment that was becoming more crowded with rivals like the Mitsubishi Pajero and Nissan Pathfinder.
In terms of trims, Australian buyers could choose from GX, GXL, and VX grades. The entry-level GX was a fairly basic, workhorse-oriented model, though it still featured dual airbags and air-conditioning in later years. The mid-range GXL was the sweet spot for most buyers, adding power windows, central locking, better interior trims, and alloy wheels. At the top of the range, the VX went all-out with leather upholstery, climate control, woodgrain accents, and more advanced features for the time, cementing the Prado’s dual identity as both a rugged off-roader and a family SUV. Across the line-up, seating for seven was available, and with its versatile folding arrangements, the Prado’s practicality was excellent, making it just as useful for school runs as for long-distance touring.
Practicality was, and remains, one of the Prado’s greatest strengths. Its boxy proportions, relatively compact (by LandCruiser standards) footprint, and flexible interior layout meant it could carry people, cargo, or a combination of both with ease. Combined with Toyota’s engineering, the Prado developed a reputation for being able to handle both city streets and the roughest outback tracks. Longevity and reliability are second to none in this class, many 90 Series Prados are still on the road today with hundreds of thousands of kilometres under their belt, a testament to Toyota’s build quality.
Support in Australia for the 90 Series is about as good as it gets. Toyota’s dealer network is vast, spare parts are plentiful, and there’s no shortage of independent specialists who know these cars inside and out. However, the model’s age now means wear, tear, and abuse can take their toll. While Toyota’s reputation for reliability is deserved, a 20–30 year-old Prado can suffer from a range of common issues, which we’ll detail in our “what goes wrong” section below. It’s also worth noting that an increasing number of Japanese-import 90 Series Prados are making their way into the country. These can sometimes offer lower kilometres, unique features, and better preserved examples, but they can also come with challenges like sourcing specific parts, compliance differences, and sometimes questionable import histories.
In the broader market, the 90 Series Prado cemented Toyota’s dominance in the large SUV segment and, even today, sits as one of the strongest used options for anyone wanting a tough, reliable, and practical 4WD. Compared to rivals from the same era, it still stands out for its blend of everyday usability and off-road capability. On the used market now, a good example represents excellent value, but condition and history are everything. Buy a neglected one and you’ll inherit someone else’s headaches, but buy a well-kept example and you’ll have a near-unbreakable SUV that’s still fit for family life, touring, or tackling the bush.
Exterior:
Over time, anything plastic on a 90 Series can go brittle, and if it meets the scenery with a bit too much enthusiasm, it’ll snap. Much of the cladding is held on with adhesive and plastic clips; years of Aussie heat (or, for many, years in some pretty unforgiving African climates) can weaken both. Scuff a tree or a rock and the trim can part company with the body.
It’s worth noting some of the lower-spec local variants, like the RV and RV6, missed out on the body cladding. If those bare-bones examples appeal because they’re often cheaper, just remember that without the cladding they’re technically a narrower body, which can limit your choices for wheel offsets, tyre widths and even certain suspension mods.
The good news for the plastic-clad crowd is the trims are usually very easy to reattach properly, and Japanese grey-import examples seem a little less affected by this issue – likely because they’ve avoided our particular brand of UV and heat. The same generally goes for European and UK cars. Fun fact: in the UK these were sold as the Land Cruiser Colorado, and in North America, even though the 90 Series wasn’t sold there, the contemporary 4Runner shares a lot of chassis architecture and running gear with the Prado.
Next up, open and close the tailgate. Does it move cleanly or does it catch? When it’s shut, is it truly shut? Give it a firm push to see. Thanks to the weight of the door, over time it can creep out of alignment and play havoc with the latch. A big mud-terrain spare and accessories hanging off the back only make it worse. Again, the fix isn’t complicated and there’s loads of solid guidance in owner groups and forums, but don’t ignore it. If you do, the latch can wear to the point it no longer holds and you’ll discover that fact at the worst possible moment, like cruising the freeway as all your gear scatters across the road behind you.
Now, rust. For many 90s it won’t be a major drama, but if the Prado you’re eyeing has enjoyed a few deep water crossings or beach sessions and wasn’t properly cleaned afterwards, it can bite. Japanese-domestic imports that spent life in colder regions can also show corrosion. Check the lot: around the windscreens, sunroof drains and channels, behind the spare wheel at the mount, and definitely get underneath to inspect the chassis rails, crossmembers and suspension mounting points, basically everywhere you can see. They’re not as rust-prone as, say, an old 60 Series LandCruiser, but it happens. Depending on severity it may not be a deal breaker;
Exterior:
Over time, anything plastic on a 90 Series can go brittle, and if it meets the scenery with a bit too much enthusiasm, it’ll snap. Much of the cladding is held on with adhesive and plastic clips; years of Aussie heat (or, for many, years in some pretty unforgiving African climates) can weaken both. Scuff a tree or a rock and the trim can part company with the body.
It’s worth noting some of the lower-spec local variants, like the RV and RV6, missed out on the body cladding. If those bare-bones examples appeal because they’re often cheaper, just remember that without the cladding they’re technically a narrower body, which can limit your choices for wheel offsets, tyre widths and even certain suspension mods.
The good news for the plastic-clad crowd is the trims are usually very easy to reattach properly, and Japanese grey-import examples seem a little less affected by this issue – likely because they’ve avoided our particular brand of UV and heat. The same generally goes for European and UK cars. Fun fact: in the UK these were sold as the Land Cruiser Colorado, and in North America, even though the 90 Series wasn’t sold there, the contemporary 4Runner shares a lot of chassis architecture and running gear with the Prado.
Next up, open and close the tailgate. Does it move cleanly or does it catch? When it’s shut, is it truly shut? Give it a firm push to see. Thanks to the weight of the door, over time it can creep out of alignment and play havoc with the latch. A big mud-terrain spare and accessories hanging off the back only make it worse. Again, the fix isn’t complicated and there’s loads of solid guidance in owner groups and forums, but don’t ignore it. If you do, the latch can wear to the point it no longer holds and you’ll discover that fact at the worst possible moment, like cruising the freeway as all your gear scatters across the road behind you.
Now, rust. For many 90s it won’t be a major drama, but if the Prado you’re eyeing has enjoyed a few deep water crossings or beach sessions and wasn’t properly cleaned afterwards, it can bite. Japanese-domestic imports that spent life in colder regions can also show corrosion. Check the lot: around the windscreens, sunroof drains and channels, behind the spare wheel at the mount, and definitely get underneath to inspect the chassis rails, crossmembers and suspension mounting points, basically everywhere you can see. They’re not as rust-prone as, say, an old 60 Series LandCruiser, but it happens. Depending on severity it may not be a deal breaker; if you’re prepared to invest time and money, some corrosion can be repaired. While you’re under there, look for signs of outright abuse. A few scrapes and dents are to be expected on a nearly 30-year-old off-roader, but heavy hammering suggests a lack of mechanical sympathy, and that’s not something you want to inherit.
One more exterior watch-out: electrical gremlins are generally uncommon, but dodgy aftermarket work can create a world of pain. Poorly fitted bars, cheap lift kits and rubbish accessories can ruin how a Prado drives and may have legal implications. Local authorities have been cracking down on illegal 4WD mods, and we’ve seen buyers sail through a few months of ownership only to get knocked back at rego time. Undoing someone else’s shortcuts costs time and money, so check that any modifications are engineered and compliant.
Interior:
There’s plenty of plastic in here and, like the exterior, it can turn brittle with age. Expect a few rattles and squeaks from the dash. Worst-case, clips and panels crack, the lower trim beneath the steering column and the fuse-box cover are notorious for it. Prados that haven’t spent their whole lives baking in Australia, such as many Japanese imports, tend to suffer less from this brittleness, although leather-equipped models can show the usual age-related wear and creasing. The upside is owners often praise how tough these cabins are. The hard plastics take a beating, fabrics and carpet resist stains better than you’d think, and everything generally cleans up well.
Less common but worth mentioning, earlier base-spec models without climate control can lose heater control function. With no HVAC computer to hide behind, the mechanical linkages can seize over time. Sorting it can mean pulling a decent chunk of the dash apart; it’s a pain and, if you’re paying someone, it won’t be cheap. As for tech, it’s very much of its era. Sound deadening is 1990s-spec, the speakers are average at best, and unless the system’s been modernised, you won’t get meaningful phone connectivity, parking sensors or a reversing camera. If it’s a Japanese-import car with a JDM head unit, prepare to brush up on your Japanese or get friendly with Google Translate, many of those systems are language-locked.
Mechanically:
Big picture, the 90 Series is exceptionally reliable, peak old-school Toyota, but age is age.
The 2.7-litre petrol uses a timing chain that can become an issue at very high mileage. More important are valve clearances; if they’ve never been checked, you can end up with burnt valves and a cylinder head job. Ideally you want clearances inspected around every 50,000 km, and while 100,000 km intervals often get by, shorter is safer.
The 3.4-litre petrol V6 runs a timing belt with a 150,000 km or seven-year schedule. Expect the usual time-and-kilometres items: rocker cover gasket leaks and a water pump replacement at sensible intervals, not prematurely. Head gaskets can go on engines that have aged with poor coolant quality, but that’s corrosion and maintenance related rather than a design flaw.
The 3.0-litre diesel’s timing belt interval is 100,000 km or seven years. By modern standards it’s a wonderfully low-tech unit. At this age, injectors may be tired, but they’re roughly a quarter the price of modern common-rail gear and fairly straightforward to replace. You might encounter fuel-pump solenoid or valve issues; a new pump can be a couple of grand, though it’s not common, especially if the fuel filter has been changed now and then. Hard cold starts can point to glow plugs. If you’re really deep-diving, some engines develop cylinder-head cracks around the pre-combustion chambers, often after an overheating event, not typically the engine’s “fault”, but if they’re cooked badly the head will likely need replacing. Look after them and it’s not unusual to see well north of 300,000 km without drama.
Finally, remember these are all getting on. Even with Toyota toughness, ancillary components wear out: alternators, A/C compressors, water pumps, radiators, ignition bits, every hose and bush made of rubber, none of that is a design failure, it’s simply time marching on. Keep on top of preventative maintenance and you’ll preserve what the 90 Series does best: rugged reliability, long-distance stamina and an interior that’s far tougher and more practical than most rivals of the era.
Exterior:
Over time, anything plastic on a 90 Series can go brittle, and if it meets the scenery with a bit too much enthusiasm, it’ll snap. Much of the cladding is held on with adhesive and plastic clips; years of Aussie heat (or, for many, years in some pretty unforgiving African climates) can weaken both. Scuff a tree or a rock and the trim can part company with the body.
It’s worth noting some of the lower-spec local variants, like the RV and RV6, missed out on the body cladding. If those bare-bones examples appeal because they’re often cheaper, just remember that without the cladding they’re technically a narrower body, which can limit your choices for wheel offsets, tyre widths and even certain suspension mods.
The good news for the plastic-clad crowd is the trims are usually very easy to reattach properly, and Japanese grey-import examples seem a little less affected by this issue – likely because they’ve avoided our particular brand of UV and heat. The same generally goes for European and UK cars. Fun fact: in the UK these were sold as the Land Cruiser Colorado, and in North America, even though the 90 Series wasn’t sold there, the contemporary 4Runner shares a lot of chassis architecture and running gear with the Prado.
Next up, open and close the tailgate. Does it move cleanly or does it catch? When it’s shut, is it truly shut? Give it a firm push to see. Thanks to the weight of the door, over time it can creep out of alignment and play havoc with the latch. A big mud-terrain spare and accessories hanging off the back only make it worse. Again, the fix isn’t complicated and there’s loads of solid guidance in owner groups and forums, but don’t ignore it. If you do, the latch can wear to the point it no longer holds and you’ll discover that fact at the worst possible moment, like cruising the freeway as all your gear scatters across the road behind you.
Now, rust. For many 90s it won’t be a major drama, but if the Prado you’re eyeing has enjoyed a few deep water crossings or beach sessions and wasn’t properly cleaned afterwards, it can bite. Japanese-domestic imports that spent life in colder regions can also show corrosion. Check the lot: around the windscreens, sunroof drains and channels, behind the spare wheel at the mount, and definitely get underneath to inspect the chassis rails, crossmembers and suspension mounting points, basically everywhere you can see. They’re not as rust-prone as, say, an old 60 Series LandCruiser, but it happens. Depending on severity it may not be a deal breaker; if you’re prepared to invest time and money, some corrosion can be repaired. While you’re under there, look for signs of outright abuse. A few scrapes and dents are to be expected on a nearly 30-year-old off-roader, but heavy hammering suggests a lack of mechanical sympathy, and that’s not something you want to inherit.
One more exterior watch-out: electrical gremlins are generally uncommon, but dodgy aftermarket work can create a world of pain. Poorly fitted bars, cheap lift kits and rubbish accessories can ruin how a Prado drives and may have legal implications. Local authorities have been cracking down on illegal 4WD mods, and we’ve seen buyers sail through a few months of ownership only to get knocked back at rego time. Undoing someone else’s shortcuts costs time and money, so check that any modifications are engineered and compliant.
Interior:
There’s plenty of plastic in here and, like the exterior, it can turn brittle with age. Expect a few rattles and squeaks from the dash. Worst-case, clips and panels crack, the lower trim beneath the steering column and the fuse-box cover are notorious for it. Prados that haven’t spent their whole lives baking in Australia, such as many Japanese imports, tend to suffer less from this brittleness, although leather-equipped models can show the usual age-related wear and creasing. The upside is owners often praise how tough these cabins are. The hard plastics take a beating, fabrics and carpet resist stains better than you’d think, and everything generally cleans up well.
Less common but worth mentioning, earlier base-spec models without climate control can lose heater control function. With no HVAC computer to hide behind, the mechanical linkages can seize over time. Sorting it can mean pulling a decent chunk of the dash apart; it’s a pain and, if you’re paying someone, it won’t be cheap. As for tech, it’s very much of its era. Sound deadening is 1990s-spec, the speakers are average at best, and unless the system’s been modernised, you won’t get meaningful phone connectivity, parking sensors or a reversing camera. If it’s a Japanese-import car with a JDM head unit, prepare to brush up on your Japanese or get friendly with Google Translate, many of those systems are language-locked.
Mechanically:
Big picture, the 90 Series is exceptionally reliable, peak old-school Toyota, but age is age.
The 2.7-litre petrol uses a timing chain that can become an issue at very high mileage. More important are valve clearances; if they’ve never been checked, you can end up with burnt valves and a cylinder head job. Ideally you want clearances inspected around every 50,000 km, and while 100,000 km intervals often get by, shorter is safer.
The 3.4-litre petrol V6 runs a timing belt with a 150,000 km or seven-year schedule. Expect the usual time-and-kilometres items: rocker cover gasket leaks and a water pump replacement at sensible intervals, not prematurely. Head gaskets can go on engines that have aged with poor coolant quality, but that’s corrosion and maintenance related rather than a design flaw.
The 3.0-litre diesel’s timing belt interval is 100,000 km or seven years. By modern standards it’s a wonderfully low-tech unit. At this age, injectors may be tired, but they’re roughly a quarter the price of modern common-rail gear and fairly straightforward to replace. You might encounter fuel-pump solenoid or valve issues; a new pump can be a couple of grand, though it’s not common, especially if the fuel filter has been changed now and then. Hard cold starts can point to glow plugs. If you’re really deep-diving, some engines develop cylinder-head cracks around the pre-combustion chambers, often after an overheating event, not typically the engine’s “fault”, but if they’re cooked badly the head will likely need replacing. Look after them and it’s not unusual to see well north of 300,000 km without drama.
Finally, remember these are all getting on. Even with Toyota toughness, ancillary components wear out: alternators, A/C compressors, water pumps, radiators, ignition bits, every hose and bush made of rubber, none of that is a design failure, it’s simply time marching on. Keep on top of preventative maintenance and you’ll preserve what the 90 Series does best: rugged reliability, long-distance stamina and an interior that’s far tougher and more practical than most rivals of the era.
Here’s the thing, so many 90 Series Prados on the used market have been completely ruined. Either they’ve been flogged to death by dickheads who think “Toyota reliability” means you can drive it with zero mechanical sympathy, or they’ve had all sorts of dodgy backyard mods bolted on, or in many cases, both.
And that’s the downside of a reputation for being bulletproof, too many people take it as a free pass to treat their Prado like absolute rubbish, thinking it’ll just go forever no matter what. If you’ve even got the slightest suspicion the Prado you’re looking at has had a life like that, honestly, walk away.
But, and this is where things get really impressive, there are also 90 Series Prados out there with 300, 400, even 500,000 kilometres on the clock that are still running beautifully. With the right care, regular servicing and a bit of mechanical sympathy, there’s every chance they’ll just keep going.
The trick is finding the right one. If you come across a Prado that’s been looked after by a responsible, ideally older owner, with a complete and verifiable service history, and it ticks all the right boxes in a proper pre-purchase inspection, then yep, buy it. These things can be absolute gems when you land on the right example.
And if you’re in the market for something to actually take off-road or use for proper overlanding, the right 90 Series really makes you wonder why you’d spend
Here’s the thing, so many 90 Series Prados on the used market have been completely ruined. Either they’ve been flogged to death by dickheads who think “Toyota reliability” means you can drive it with zero mechanical sympathy, or they’ve had all sorts of dodgy backyard mods bolted on, or in many cases, both.
And that’s the downside of a reputation for being bulletproof, too many people take it as a free pass to treat their Prado like absolute rubbish, thinking it’ll just go forever no matter what. If you’ve even got the slightest suspicion the Prado you’re looking at has had a life like that, honestly, walk away.
But, and this is where things get really impressive, there are also 90 Series Prados out there with 300, 400, even 500,000 kilometres on the clock that are still running beautifully. With the right care, regular servicing and a bit of mechanical sympathy, there’s every chance they’ll just keep going.
The trick is finding the right one. If you come across a Prado that’s been looked after by a responsible, ideally older owner, with a complete and verifiable service history, and it ticks all the right boxes in a proper pre-purchase inspection, then yep, buy it. These things can be absolute gems when you land on the right example.
And if you’re in the market for something to actually take off-road or use for proper overlanding, the right 90 Series really makes you wonder why you’d spend more on something newer. They’re tough, simple, capable, and still one of the best-value proper 4WDs out there.
Of course, you’re going to be giving up some modern comforts, the lack of safety tech, the awful 1990s infotainment, plastics that rattle like mad, and the usual mechanical concerns that come with a vehicle that could be pushing three decades old and hundreds of thousands of kays travelled. For some buyers, those compromises might be a deal-breaker, and if that’s you, then maybe something like a 120 Series Prado or even a Mitsubishi Pajero could be a better way to go.
But if you’re willing to live with its quirks, and you land on a well-cared-for example, the 90 Series Prado really is peak old-school Toyota, simple, rugged, and ridiculously reliable.
Here’s the thing, so many 90 Series Prados on the used market have been completely ruined. Either they’ve been flogged to death by dickheads who think “Toyota reliability” means you can drive it with zero mechanical sympathy, or they’ve had all sorts of dodgy backyard mods bolted on, or in many cases, both.
And that’s the downside of a reputation for being bulletproof, too many people take it as a free pass to treat their Prado like absolute rubbish, thinking it’ll just go forever no matter what. If you’ve even got the slightest suspicion the Prado you’re looking at has had a life like that, honestly, walk away.
But, and this is where things get really impressive, there are also 90 Series Prados out there with 300, 400, even 500,000 kilometres on the clock that are still running beautifully. With the right care, regular servicing and a bit of mechanical sympathy, there’s every chance they’ll just keep going.
The trick is finding the right one. If you come across a Prado that’s been looked after by a responsible, ideally older owner, with a complete and verifiable service history, and it ticks all the right boxes in a proper pre-purchase inspection, then yep, buy it. These things can be absolute gems when you land on the right example.
And if you’re in the market for something to actually take off-road or use for proper overlanding, the right 90 Series really makes you wonder why you’d spend more on something newer. They’re tough, simple, capable, and still one of the best-value proper 4WDs out there.
Of course, you’re going to be giving up some modern comforts, the lack of safety tech, the awful 1990s infotainment, plastics that rattle like mad, and the usual mechanical concerns that come with a vehicle that could be pushing three decades old and hundreds of thousands of kays travelled. For some buyers, those compromises might be a deal-breaker, and if that’s you, then maybe something like a 120 Series Prado or even a Mitsubishi Pajero could be a better way to go.
But if you’re willing to live with its quirks, and you land on a well-cared-for example, the 90 Series Prado really is peak old-school Toyota, simple, rugged, and ridiculously reliable.
Need help with finance?
Powered by
Buying a used car? Buy a PPSR report first.
Have ultimate peace of mind when buying a used car by purchasing an official PPSR report.
