The parallel between chicks and wheels has been drawn for nearly 100 years. But why?
It's not merely to sound clever or condescending when we'retoo drunk to drive home and must tell jokes to sit out the booze or wait for the missus to fetch us. No, pondering the intractable link between women and cars is one of those big questions in life that concern two of our favourite things. Opinions will be polarised, egos will be bruised; nevertheless, friendship and goodwill is preserved, as the topic lacks the divisiveness of football and politics, yet without being any less profound.
Besides, it'll help us understand and appreciate cars and women better and if it makes our relationship with them less troubled, it's a bonus. At least till the beer goggles wear off and earth stops spinning so fast that we cannot walk straight..
Cars are just cars?
People who see cars as nothing more than appliances for commuting between two points shouldn't be driving and shouldn't own cars. Would anyone entrust his daughter to a guy who thinks women are just for bearing kids?
And thus, the parallels between chicks and cars can be drawn till dawn. Both are shaped for sex (the one with the body, the other to be had within), growl a lot, inspire lust, move us in their own little ways, demand tender loving care, are expensive to upkeep and even worse to get rid of, and both have headlights and a pert rear.
Women are better..
Because there's a chance they'll love us back? Men love their cars more than they love women..
Not true. Even if some guys wash their cars more often than they clean themselves, polish sheetmetal as if it were made of tofu, and accessorise their rides more fervently than they deck their wives with precious rocks. Because cars ar cast in the image of the ideal woman, they can at best approach, but never surpass, a woman for perfection. Men who devote more hours to their cars than their women just haven't found the woman they truly love, that's all.
Cars don't lie, they don't talk back and they're not so complicated. For simple Joes, picking between Octane 92, 95 or 98 is far less intimidating than guessing what a woman wants for supper, much less interpret her moods. And a car will never throw a tantrum. Indeed, it is blameless for any fault that it commits, being a result of flawed design, manufacture, bad driving, or ass luck.
Like having sex. Punch her buttons, pull her lever, swing her round the bend and hear her rattle. It's not better than sex, nor worse, it's like sex. And just as the pleasure of sex depends on one's mood and who one's doing it with and where, the pleasure of the drive is dependent on many factors. It's heaven when one is on cloud nine.
extracted from "Torque" mag June 2005...