You Are What You Drive
In this weekend’s Wall Street Journal, Joseph Epstein has a high-octane review of Paul Ingrassia’s Engines of Change. Ingrassia’s point, among others, is how our car-buying reflects our persona. Herewith some of Mister Epstein’s musings:
I am not sure how it came about, but in 1969 I owned another of the cars featured in “Engines of Change,” a forest-green Pontiac GTO. Mr. Ingrassia refers, accurately, to the GTO’s “throaty roar” and “guttural exhaust pipes”—it was widely known as “a muscle car,” if not so chez Epstein. I remember that roar and those guttural pipes well, but what I recall most is that the Pontiac GTO required roughly two gallons of gas to parallel park. I drove mine mainly from gas station to gas station. Mr. Ingrassia describes owners of the GTO as “rebels without a clue,” a phrase I view as a most painful gotcha
An older and wiser Epstein can now sagely (or is it cagily?) respond to his young granddaughter’s innocent query:
The naming of car models is another outlet for Mr. Ingrassia’s wit. He reminds us of the various hype-infused and outright silly names that have been called into service: the Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz, the Pontiac LeMans, the Dodge Swinger, the Porsche Cayenne (driven by Mrs. Tony Soprano), the Toyota Prius (which, for its environmental correctness, has come to be known as “The Pious”). One day I was driving with my 6-year-old granddaughter, who asked why the car in front of us, a Hyundai, was called a Sonata. “I don’t know, kiddo,” I answered. “Maybe because it’s sonata Jaguar.” Perhaps this is the place to mention that I currently drive a black Jaguar S-Type. I’m relieved to say that Mr. Ingrassia neglects to mention what this says about me.
If the book is as entertaining as the review, it’s worth a read while waiting in line at the pump.
First car: Pontiac Ventura. Not sure what it said about me other than that for some reason I was content to spend every bit of spare change I had at the time on gasoline.
The former head of our Italian Department, now unfortunately shed of his mortal coil, used to see red when Chrysler (I think) put out a new car called the “Firenza.” A Tuscan, he bombarded them with letters telling them either to call it a Firenze, or if they wanted to sound Dantesque, a Fiorenza (as in Godi, Fiorenza, the poet’s biting attack on his native city in Inferno XXVI). Needless to say, he got nowhere.
Me, I drive a Prius.
Nicholas,
“Nowhere?” I hope he fared better than Fiorenza!
One of my sons worked at a Mercedes store in Los Angeles which is the capitol city of ‘you are what you drive’ . He grew to dislike the Mercedes and even more, the people who came in to buy them. Another ‘tell’ was their credit scores were way too low for what class car they wanted. Mercedes has a series of classes..
I want an El Camino. My life must have gotten mixed up with somebody else’s- they have my El Camino and I have their Subaru.
“Nowhere” — sorry, I meant the professor dealing with Chrysler, not Dante dealing with his natal city. Though maybe from a Florentine point of view, Ravenna, where D’s bones were laid, is nowhere.
First car: 1963 Ford Falcon convertible. I paid about $2,000 new. Now they sell (if you can find one) for between $15-19,000 (http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.sunsetclassics.com/1963-ford-falcon/images/1963-ford-falcon.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.sunsetclassics.com/1963-ford-falcon/&h=400&w=600&sz=59&tbnid=knJPuNhXY35n4M:&tbnh=90&tbnw=135&zoom=1&docid=veLgwQyw6867XM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=G-2mT8iVC6efiQKo-8GjAg&ved=0CJkBEPUBMAI&dur=2071)
Current car: 2012 Toyota Avalon Old F**ts Car. Don’t ask what I paid and I won’t lie. (http://www.citytoyota.com/detail-2012-toyota-avalon-sedan_limited-new-8652412.html)
Both cars fit my idea of myself at the time.
Deception is wonderful.
My father used to give me his old cars, but one afternoon my latest hand-me-down was destroyed while parked in front of my house. I hadn’t saved a penny for a new one, so I had to buy the cheapest. I got an American Rambler, a small car developed by George Romney, Mitt’s father. Cost: $1,200. new. I drove it for 14 years (yes 14), then gave it to a young cousin who drove it another couple of years. It was pure car, nothing added, though it did have directional signals and side-view mirrors :)
It taught me that you can buy a lot of nice stuff for the inside of your house if you don’t throw away your money on a hunk of metal that sits outside of your house. Yep, I now drive a 7 year old Prius. It still has pick-up to match a Ford pick-up truck, and that, I admit, can be fun.
I am very proud of my car, a Ford Escort bought used in 2003 for $1300. It’s still going fine and just reached 215000 miles. Every day, I drive it and feel a mixture of gratitude for my good luck and smugness for my amazingly good judgment when picking that car. I have never been so attached to a car!
Nicholas,
I understood your reference. My wish was that your friend wound up in a better place than “Inferno,” XXVI. Uno scherzo fallito!
Erstwhile yuppie with kids. Volvo, of course. Eighteen years. Affectionally known as The Tank. DL240–still see them on the road.
Two of the worst names for car models have to be: Toyota “Cressida,” (medieval slang for “woman of ill repute’, based on the unfortunate classical lady) and the AMC” Gremlin, ” named for an imaginary creature blamed for causing airplane crashes during WWII.
Epstein writes: “My son Mark claims that I bought the Pacer to keep him from any chance of having sex on dates while in high school—for no respectable girl would be found even necking in a Pacer.”
I would just note that, upon getting my drivers license (I can’t say, “upon turning 16″, because I may actually have been 17 before completing driver’s ed), my father bequeathed me his cherry-red Chevy Camaro – and I had no more luck than Mark Epstein. I ruefully conclude that maybe it’s not the car.
Is it urban legend that the Chevy Nova failed in Spanish-speaking markets because “no va” means “doesn’t go”?
Btw, are there still yuppies? Do today’s youth still aspire to crass materialism? I was watching a Michelob Ultra commercial yesterday, which still seems to target the “you can be young, athletic and rich” youth segment, and I realized that it seems an unusual message these days.
I won’t name my favorite car from my youth. It’s appearance alone generated more than sufficient condescending remarks. However, once again, that book and cover thing didn’t fail to be true. The interior was designed by very clever grown-ups with youthful passengers in mind. The driver and passenger seats both folded down to touch the rear seat. As we all know, youthful passengers have no problem whatever catching a glimpse of the moon and stars through a steel roof.
Are there still Yuppies? I think so. Best I can tell Apple has made a fortune meeting their needs. Perhaps I’m mistaken or perhaps today’s Yuppies are just a bit more clever at camouflage.
My first car was a 1960 Triumph TR-3, the one with the beautiful lines and all else a young bachelor needed to fly with the wind, top down. The next 12 I’ve owned have been downhill from there.