All modern vehicles have silly thick A-pillars designed to hold up entire buildings. They can, to varying degrees, block out everything from entire semi trucks to mere pedestrian sized obstacles. The current exterior design language for pick-ups speaks to users desires at best and their inadequacies at worst. But that isn't the problem.
Situational awareness is the issue. A serious driver has got it, and works to maintain it. Design decisions can make it more difficult by obstructing sight lines. Our built in biases will often lead us to attribute a situational awareness problem to a particular party, often the designer, when it belongs squarely in the driver's seat. I may be seated down low, or behind a maze of structural obstacles, but the responsibility of adapting to those things so I'm safer is mine alone. Really great design can do all the things (style, efficiency, safety, etc), but really great design rarely comes from committees.
Lots of guys on the site have pickups because they use them in their work or recreation. An F 150 (or 250 or a RAM or a Silverado) tows great, hauls a lot of crap, and does it with an astonishing amount of creature comforts. The mechanical design of the underpinnings does what it was meant to do. Guys and gals will buy them because they use it and so they need it.
The exterior is designed for reasons that extend beyond utility. It is often speaking more to guys like my brother-in-law. His crew-cab Ford F-250 gets driven 5 miles each way to work in Suburban Portsmouth, NH where he works the back 40 from a desk. They don't have kids. They live in a house on 1/2 acre in a development. They outsource the landscaping and snow removal. They don't own anything that needs hauling; no jet skis, no camping trailers, no boats, no motorcycles, no dead deer from the hunt, and no farm equipment. The biggest thing in the garage that might need moving is a bicycle, which has never been ridden. All he seems to get out of it are requests to help move other people's stuff, which he declines because he has a bad back from being 50 pounds overweight. What he gets out of the truck has nothing to do with actual hauling and everything to do with how it makes him feel. He sees himself in fly-over country, looking into the sunset with a piece of alfalfa in his teeth, pondering the weather and the crops. He'll actually tell you this if you get him drunk enough.
He doesn't need a truck, but I leave him alone about it because I don't need a plastic clown car. We look at each other's choices and chuckle to ourselves while we take another sip and secretly wish we were more obviously useful and connected. The alone one feels looking over a real back 40 is very different from the alone one feels looking over countless other souls stuck in motionless steel boxes on route 95. The one is solitude and can be sustaining. The other is closer to desperation and is exploitable.
Wait, what were we talking about again?