Ever since motorized vehicles got invented, men have been eager to drive them, at elevated speeds if any possible. The latest models, the horsepower, the speed, the cylinder amount, even their formation seem to matter immensely. Very soon after invention, the shape of the cars, what the vehicle looked like, increasingly contributed to sales figures and men just wanted more, better, faster and prettier. Cars were considered “chick magnets”, status symbols, extension of their manly prowess, endowment compensation and even housing, in some cases. All of a sudden, no man could be considered manly enough, unless a car key dangled on his key chain – Sigmund Freud was happy.
If a contraption can transport you from one point to another, should that not be functional enough? In addition, if you can also transport a companion or two, perhaps wife and kids, with a bit of luggage, should that not be sufficient? If the inner accommodation is comfortable enough that you can sleep in the seats and perform acrobatic wonders with another person and still feel any passion; if you can transport a whole band to the next gig and bring them back in one piece, should such a vehicle not be considered divine?
Men do not dwell on such practical things, if it makes sense, then it is a girl thing. Men would rather have a growling V12 engine that guzzles a gallon of gas for every mile it makes, then a sensible family hatchback that makes 100 km per 6 litres in the city traffic environment. How would you explain a Zonda to a housewife who does not drive or a Bugatti Veyron to a hippie? How do you explain paying for a car more than most people have paid for their houses?
Something went wrong from day one, when Ford motors released the Model T, or maybe even already when Karl Benz successfully started up the engine on his Patent-Motorwagen in the late nineteenth century. The evolution, if there is such a thing, turned in a most peculiar way, unexpected by Mother Nature herself, the long lost Neanderthal gene blossomed in new and particularly worrisome way, adding a frontal lobe misalignment to the thinking pattern of the male species, creating a new kind of monster, the car enthusiast. This gene is found in every single male unit of the human species, with occasional occurrences in female specimen as well, generally where the brain matter containing reasonable thinking is somehow damaged.
There is no explanation why someone would spend over a year worth on income, including taxes, to purchase a vehicle that can perhaps last a few years, would need excessive repairs and care, would need retuning and refuelling all the time and still be just a transportation device. Yet, even after several recessions, after it is clear that the days of the combustion engine are not numbered, but as good as over, that there will be no more fuel to propel these vehicles as soon as the oil runs out, there is still active interest for these cars, sales are skyrocketing and supercars are being sold left and right. If there is a God, she is facepalming since Adam left Eden, but in this case, she is most likely using both hands. If God is a she, that is. If God is a he, he just got the latest Lamborghini Aventador SV and cannot hear you, because his tires are screeching.