Part I - An Introduction to My Love for Cars

If you live among those of us bestowed with the wonderful gift of a pulse and aren’t simply made of stone, you probably have developed an attachment for an inanimate object at some point or other in your life. You might have had that security blanket you could never leave the house without when you were a child, or that favorite teddy bear, or perhaps that toy you thought you could never live without. Certainly, most of you have moved on from those childhood objects and found something else to project your various feelings onto or attachment toward. We naturally develop these attachments. Sometimes these inorganic objects can seem more forgiving than our human counterparts.

So, what are you attached to now that you are an adolescent or an adult? These days, that attachment is almost invariably related to some kind of technology. Maybe you can’t live without your smartphone or your tablet. Are you always attached to your computer? Some of you more old-fashioned folks may still have that one special book or a journal you keep. I believe having something inanimate that we may interact with is crucial – something to fall back on when we just can’t take or don’t necessarily want human interaction; someone may not understand what you’re on about or will impose their judgment upon you. The point of my manifesto is to explicate my passion for an object I always catch myself thinking about: my car.

Those of us who have a hobby to enthuse about feel compelled to discuss it, and I am no exception. While I sometimes struggle to stay on topic when it comes to talking about cars, I doubt I will ever run out of potential material or my desire to enthuse about cars all day long. I want to talk about why cars, or indeed any other ‘lifeless’ objects we become attached to, are so important in our lives and development as critically-thinking human beings.

As soon as we begin thinking individually and wrapping our developing minds around the concept of what it means to have desires – circumstances condition us to find something we are “passionate” about. Something we like, and something we can excel at; something we can exploit for financial gain, therapeutic or spiritual satisfaction, or both. Of course, when you’re a child, the entire world is fascinating to you; you contrive reasons to like this thing or that for a week or so, then you move on to something else. Everything is so new and unfamiliar: it makes the world seem like a great big place full of wonder to explore and adventures to be had. When we grow older, I don’t believe most of us lose that sense, but we hone in on what it means to be very passionate about one particular thing. We focus our energy cultivating that budding curiosity until it sprouts into concerted interest – we evolve it further until it blooms into a passion. We all have different beliefs, morals, and values which guide us toward perceived happiness and we must find those passions to reach new heights of potential.

For those of us who have settled on cars as a passion, it’s a good question to ask, why do we have a passion for these great machines? Why do we pour our creativity, our money and, indeed, our hearts into projects to refine our concept of what we want cars to be? All the hours, blood, sweat and tears that some people spend grappling with all their tremendous ideas can mean the difference between people who idly views cars as something unremarkable,

or as just another point on the timeline of technological evolution we humans are zipping along to get to the next great machine and those who see a greater picture; those who see something more.

The best way I can explain becoming passionate about cars to people is by utilizing the ideas of other fellow car enthusiasts and likening car culture to that of artistic culture or our very social nature as human beings. As children, in particular, one of the best ways we learn about socialization is to interact with ourselves through the medium of an inanimate object. By doing so, we project our own perception of the world around us onto that object, and we may reflect on how the world works for us. Finding a passion in cars is much the same process. We find our best connection with a particular car when we ‘relate’ to whatever personality we project onto that car.

But there’s a new level for those who do hold an intense passion for cars, and that’s when the cars themselves transcend simple mechanical necessity. When a car has its faults, and when we describe it as uncooperative on those cold winter mornings or say the car ‘fights back’ when we put the hammer down, we start to think of the car as a person. A true car enthusiast loves developing those relationships with cars, and comes to love the car as he or she would another person, imperfections and all.

Growing up, I was immersed in the car culture. My family would always have an eclectic range of cars. For example, I remember one of my aunts had a collection of Datsun 280Zs knocking around. Another aunt has, for many years, sworn by the all-wheel-drive prowess that embodies Subarus. Every male member of my family has owned a pickup at one point or other in their lives. My cousin owned a classic Toyota Land Cruiser for having fun in the sand dunes. As most car salesmen would say: “There’s an ass for every seat!” – by that, they mean that no matter what practical or recreational matters drive your purchasing decision, there is always a car to suit.

My car adventures started with a 1993 Ford Explorer. A familiar and beloved truck by several people in my family, it was a good first choice of vehicle.

Not glamorous, but this taught me a lot about cars. (Personally taken)

However, it certainly had its faults. It groaned if you went faster than 65 miles per hour. The clutch master cylinder went out within the first few months. The fuel pump died a short time later. It had more bodily decay than Keith Richards. On second thought, maybe that car could have survived a nuclear holocaust with him and the cockroaches?

I went on to discover other “beaters” that gave me problems. But I didn’t begrudge them for it. To some, some of the cars I’ve owned would be worthless junk. To me, they meant everything, and that’s still true of the car I’ve had now.

The wonderful thing about owning a car is that, as you get to know it – as you learn of their “quirks” that no other car has – you stop thinking about it as a machine. You form that bond, and you start to think of the car as a person. That, to my mind, is utterly mesmerizing and brilliant.

We are part of the “car culture”. If anything I said resonated with you, than you know the potential and potency of forming a relationship with cars in general or, hopefully, with a specific car that has come into your life at one point or other. Some people don’t understand what I mean when I give my cars proper names or nicknames. They look at me like I’m crazy. But as a psychological exercise, as a therapeutic measure, you could reasonably look at a car as you would a person.

I feel you can only form a satisfying bond with a car if you have a “complete” experience - seeing the good points and the bad. To experience that roller coaster of joy, sadness, elation and frustration with a car. To “fight” with it as you would a sibling or a significant other. To feel that unavoidable pang of sadness when by choice, or by life’s painful circumstances you must bid farewell to your beloved car just like you would a lifelong friend. It is important to realize that, for some people, a car doesn’t just carry their bodies from one place to another. It carries memories – those that stick with you for the rest of your life. [Scroll down for next section]

Part II – The “Loss of the Human Element”: The Fall of a Legend

I remember my parents’ stories of their first cars. Quite by accident, they both owned

the same car: 1972 Ford Mavericks. As with my Explorer, the Mavericks represented a milestone in my parents’ lives. The first car is often seen as the passport to teenage freedom: no more relying on other people for rides! Most of us car lovers always attribute fond memories to our first ever cars, regardless of their faults. Others among us may behold their first set of wheels with unbridled scorn (anyone who’s owned a Geo Metro or a Pontiac Aztek may know what I’m talking about). Either way, there’s a distinctive passion at work there. Automotive enthusiasts are extremely passionate people; when they become part of the process with the various car firms, the result equals truly great cars. When manufacturers capitalize on this passion, we in the public end up with iconic cars unlike anything ever seen before – something we all remember.

To my mind, one of the greatest cars of all time is the 1959 Austin Mini (Also badged as Morris in its early variants).

The 1959 Morris/Austin (BMC) Mini. (Mark Brown, adapted under Creative Commons license.)

This unassuming little car may not, to the untrained eye, signal a great example of automotive heritage, but bear with me – this is not the onset of madness. Believe it or not, the British Motor Corporation (BMC) introduced the original Mini in 1959, and the driving concept behind it was simple. As most other cars are at the time of their conception, the Mini was a

child of circumstance. Sir Alec Issigonis developed this car in the aftermath of the Suez Crisis of 1956, during which the Egyptian government seized control of the Suez Canal linking Britain with the oil-rich Middle East. Effectively cutting off the British from a large quantity of Middle Eastern oil, the government began fuel rationing. The scarcity of fuel necessitated smaller cars that were better on gas than the likes of huge gas guzzlers being built at the time. Enter the 650 kilogram (1,430 pound) Mini.

The Mini, with its remarkable packaging of its transversely mounted engine and front-wheel drive made it as spacious as possible given its exterior size. It went on to become a British icon, going through three major revisions (Mark I through III) in the first ten years of its lifespan, then remaining fundamentally unchanged for the rest of its production. Over 5 million classic Minis were sold worldwide before its production ended in 2000.

Yes, the original Mini was produced for a staggering forty-one years. Its massive sales figures also make the Mini the best-selling British car in history.

The car also became a rallying icon, winning the prestigious Monte Carlo Rally four successive times from 1964 to 1967, although the winner was disqualified on a technicality in 1966 (Minis actually placed 1st, 2nd, and 3rd in 1966). They were revered for their short wheelbase and lightweight, making them zip through the corners like a go-kart. So the Mini does, in fact, have remarkable racing heritage.

And that – dear reader – is something that makes a car really great. When you can look back upon a car and see it as a national icon and as something that’s universally loved. The Mini has developed a heroic, folkloric reputation as part of a David and Goliath conflict going against the V-8 powered beasts that once dominated racing. Any true car enthusiast holds the Mini in great esteem – obviously not for its power or speed, but for its simple form, it’s “pedigree”, and its puppy-like enthusiasm, making it a pure driving experience. Sir Issigonis had a novel idea for a car, and endeavored to make the sublime little Mini a reality.

A name endemically associated with the Mini – more so than Issigonis’ – is John Cooper. He and his father co-founded the British Cooper Car Company in 1946, and they were highly successful racing in Formula One throughout the 1950s. However, as their fortunes in F1 racing began to decline, in 1961 John began to develop a version of Issigonis’ Mini (built by British Motor Corporation) which became known as the Mini Cooper. The Cooper came with a more powerful engine, new brakes and distinctive visual traits that set it apart from the standard Mini. This is the car that went on to dominate the Monte Carlo Rally, among other races, in the 1960s. Companies today still market Cooper-versions of the original Mini and conversion kits for the standard BMC Mini.

John Cooper is another great example of passion in automotive design and engineering. Thanks to Cooper’s legacy with the Mini, Britain remains the home of a thriving racing industry, and we still see the Cooper name associated with the modern Mini, as a result of John’s son Mike Cooper, who licensed high-performance versions of the modern car (marketed as MINI) to BMW. Today, the MINI encompasses several models, all of which aren’t quite so “Mini.”

And therein lays the inherent problem in modern car design. I could point to plenty of modern models in order to demonstrate a lack of soul and spiritual vision in car design, but what better example to use than the current Mini. When BMW swallowed up the Rover Group – then makers of the classic Mini – in 1994, they acquired the rights to the Mini name and its design. But why?

BMW needed to expand its small car range, and at the time, the German company had little ambition to develop such cars under its own marque. Since their interests at the time included – and by “included”, I mean consisted entirely of – big, rear-wheel drive cars that catered to the “posh” market of businessmen who wanted to show off the fact that he had more zero’s in his paycheck than the guy next door, they needed something like the Mini to reach the “normal people,” much like Mercedes has done with Smart.

That’s not to say they never tried going it on their own first. Their first attempts to take a slice of the compact car market resulted in the not-at-all BMW E1:

BMW’s first compact car concept...basically just a squished 3-series with the profile of a van.

(BMW Museum Munich, adapted under Creative Commons license)

The E1 concept is a perfect example of “tell, don’t show.” The 3-series and the 5-series were and remain to this day BMW’s best selling cars. However, the E1 shows serious lack of vision –

obviously, if those formulas worked, just making it smaller and shopping off the back end will gel with consumers, right? Fortunately, the German marque had other ideas.

I’m not bitter toward BMW for making the decision to move onto the small car scene, nor am I disapproving of BMWs as performance machines – I hold the M-series of cars in excessively high esteem – but its takeover of Mini does illustrate what happens to once-great automotive marques are consumed by large, faceless entities for corporate gain. BMW did not acquire the rights to the Mini because they were passionate about the small, British built car that, by the 1990s, had acquired a massive and fiercely loyal following; they acquired the rights because they wanted the niche market the Mini brought with it.

And, let’s be honest, BMW’s own attempts don’t exactly set the automotive world alight. There is a silver lining with the little E1, though – it could be one of the few remarkable German jokes.

The new “MINI”. Note this car is almost 2 feet longer, 10 inches wider and half a ton heavier than the original Mini.

(“M 93”, adapted under Creative Commons license)

Looking at BMW’s move from a sheer practical perspective, it makes sense. Today, we see quite a few new MINIs on the road (note BMW’s car is distinguished from the classic car by its name now being all capitals), most of which bear the “Cooper” name. In fact, over 300,000 MINIs were sold in 2012 alone, with the U.S. being the car’s largest market. People revere the modern MINI, but for very different reasons. Back in the day, people did certainly by the car for practical reasons: they wanted something that was good on gas, that had some practicality, and that was nimble and maneuverable in town (all the “buying a car with your head” reasons). Anyone who truly appreciated just how good the classic Mini was bought the car for one major

reason – because it reminded the owner of go-karting when they were young. Now, people buy the car as a status symbol or for its “cuteness”.

Have you reached the same conclusion I have by this point? The MINI no longer has that admirable, human passion ensconced in its very character. It’s just another mass-marketed white good with name recognition and a little bit of pomp associated with it. Its BMW taking what used to be a remarkably popular family recipe and franchising its application. The BMW MINI is the Taco Bell of cars: something that purports to deliver the authentic experience, but only delivers a bland range of cuisine easily digestible by a voracious, insatiable mass.

Don’t get me wrong, though – I like the MINI, at least in its unadulterated, two-door, “original” form. BMW didn’t entirely Germanize the car. In fact, they’ve tried to do just the opposite. There have been MINIs that have come along with silver tea sets (not kidding) and there has also been an estate version of the MINI (known as wagons to us on this side of the pond). However, despite their best efforts to maintain the British-ness of this car, it just doesn’t feel as inspired as the original. I’ve driven both old and new, and the new MINI isn’t even on the same planet when it comes to that pure, undiluted driving experience that makes you feel like you’re a kid driving a go-kart again. Sure, the new MINI is a more refined and civilized car, but they’ve bastardized its bloodline to the point where it’s almost unrecognizable against the classic car, and it’s not just the vastly increased size that’s done it. Ultimately, it’s the lack of that intrinsic human connection; it’s that lack of ability to truly bond with it.

While I like the MINI, I see it as just a machine. The people I mentioned before who buy the classic Mini because it makes them feel like a kid again driving a nippy little go-kart were different from the people who buy with their heads, and they resemble the people who buy classic British sports cars. For whatever reason, they buy these cars with their hearts instead of their heads, because they love them – because it’s almost like they have a human soul. Excising that from the modern MINI doesn’t totally kill the car for me. It’s just not the same as the original: the new car lacks the potential to transform from a good car – which it is – into a great one – which it isn’t.

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Part III – “All Is Not Lost”: Revival of an American Beast

Obviously, in my last piece I could have argued for cars falling much farther from grace than the

Mini. The new “MINI” is honestly still modestly sized compared to today’s compacts. All modern cars

have become larger than their antiquated counterparts. It’s still fun to drive. The main point with the

Mini remains, however – the modern car is more a springboard to throw different kinds of cars at

consumers to see what sticks. The Mini, as a concept, has been compromised in my view. The old car

was unassuming, yet also unapologetic. It was ruthlessly and elegantly simple, and it was all the better

for it. Now, the Mini marque has just become associated with another fish in a sea of small hatchbacks,

occasionally sticking out from the others, but more often than not left in obscurity.

The cars today that have evolved over the years are worth studying to see if they fell into the same pattern as the Mini: have they suffered the “fall from grace” and lost the human influence and passion that once made them stand out? Are there automotive icons out there that have fallen from grace and were redeemed?

Happily, there are.

Let’s take a look at the 2015 Ford Mustang as an example. The Mustang marque has been with us for fifty years now, starting all the way back in 1964 (first models were dubbed the 1964 ½ Mustang) and proceeding all the way to the present day, where the car was just refreshed for its sixth iteration (generation). Americans have always loved the Mustang brand, and it is the only muscle car to see continuous projection since its beginning. However, all that glitters is not gold.

The Mustang has had some serious growing pains over the years. Everything started out great – in the first two of its production, Ford produced over a million Mustangs. The first generation of the car was, for a time, its shining moment. Then, with the onset of the 1973 oil crisis, it all started to go horribly wrong.

Most muscle cars back in the day have their “sprint” in production. It’s a sprint because the car charges forth onto the scene, is a huge hit for a short time, then fades back into obscurity just as quickly as it came. By and large, most muscle cars have their eight or nine years of glamor before they are either discontinued or bastardized to the point that they are no longer recognizable alongside the original. The Mustang is obviously the latter.

However, Ford finally came to its senses in 2004 and went back to the Mustang’s roots for 2005. The new Mustang was instantly recognizable from the past few generations. It no longer looked tiny and weak (think Mustang II and the Fox-body of the ‘80s) or big and flabby (like the Mustangs of the ‘90s and early 2000s). It had squared –off good looks; it was sharp and aggressive in an “I’m going to kick you in the face” sort of way. And that was exactly how a muscle car should be.

The 2005-2014 generation of Mustang brought the icon back to its roots: Aggressive looks, massive power, and some old-fashioned charm.

(“Raynardo”, adapted under Creative Commons license.)

As “raw” and fun as the Mustang was compared to the old generations, it carried over technology that wasn’t exactly 21st Century. For example, the car has a live beam rear axle (“Live” refers to the fact that the axle also transmits power to the rear wheels). Beam implies exactly what you’d expect: it’s basically a girder with a wheel at each end. Compare this to most modern cars – with clever multilink rear suspensions with limited-slip differentials to efficiently split the power between the rear wheels – and the Mustang sounds, and indeed handles, like an oxen cart. But muscle cars have never been about cornering and the live axle does make it easier to do burnouts, so purists don’t really care that the suspension is a bit medieval.

Despite this, Ford has tried to bring the Mustang brand into the modern era with the 2015 Mustang. While cribbing the fascia from the Ford “Evos” concept – the same design cues that made their way into the new Fusion – the Mustang still retains much more aggressive, sharp lines around the front, and the rear end is no longer an afterthought. The tail lights more closely resemble the classic, 60’s Mustang. Remember the multilink suspension I mentioned in modern cars? The Mustang gets that too: Ford took the multilink suspension setup from the new Fusion (a well-sorted car when it comes to handling) and adapted it for rear drive. Finally, you will be able to drive the Mustang around a corner quickly without making friends with a tree or a ditch.

The 2015 Mustang, in convertible (top) and coupe (bottom) form.

(Top: Car & Driver; Bottom: Personally taken, available for reproduction)

This new Mustang evolves upon the essence recaptured in the fifth-generation (2005-14) Mustangs. The new car actually has character. The designers scrapped almost all the old hand-me-downs from ancient Mustangs and went with an all-new concept in this Mustang for the modern age. While you can get the new car with a turbocharged four-pot engine that is actually more powerful than the V6 (which, while I somewhat understand the necessity for small, efficient engines, is still a source of bitterness in a MUSCLE car) it comes alive in its muscle car guise with the classic 5.0L V8.

For those of you who choose the roided-up V8 making 440 horsepower, Ford even provides a special button that locks the rear wheels together just for doing burnouts. Because what’s a gut-punching muscle car with badass looks and great power without being able to mash your tires like the good-old days?

Unlike how BMW made the Mini, however, Ford has gone to incredible lengths to reimagine and evolve the modern muscle car. They have tried to make the new car perform like a sports car rather than an old-school muscle car, but I’m not crying betrayed tears at that decision like I decried the fattening of the Mini. The Mustang’s design team was all on the same page about what the new car had to be. Said Moray Callum, Ford’s Global Design Chief, “This was very collaborative, and everybody wanted to do what was right.” I would say they pulled it off: the stallion is ready to charge headlong into the future.

The Mustang embodies what makes a car great – there’s a human element present in the car. When you look at it, you can see the people behind its creation. When you drive it, you feel the endemic bond I discussed in the first section where I described my love for cars.

There are several other worthy cars we could talk about here that really are great and capture that “human element” as well. New and old, there has been and will continue to be brilliant, passionate people behind car design as well as people whom enthuse about great cars like I’ve done.

Having a car you love and enthuse about is like being in what is, to my mind, a lasting relationship. Why? Because there’s a wow factor there that compels you to forsake all others. The mark of a great car is the recurrently mentioned “X-factor.” It’s something you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there, and the relationship is all the better for it. When you can develop that relationship with a car, it makes the experience all the better: it creates memories that last a lifetime.