Why the world loves American muscle cars
We step inside the romance of the Vintage V8 and explore what all the fuss is about.
They're unrefined, loud and simply too big to fit through a doorway. They're everything you don't want in a blind date, but the world adores the American muscle car.
If you want a fast car you buy a Veyron or a McLaren F1. If you want something expensive you'll take home an Aventador and if you're insecure you're going to own a 911. So when it comes to a Ford Mustang, again the question arises:
The answer, it seems, lies not so much with the mechanical as the philosophical. Type 'supercar' into google and you're bombarded with images of shiny cars, showrooms and test tracks. Enter 'muscle car' and you are greeted with a cheery assortment of deserts, mountain ranges and the open road.
The selling point becomes blindingly obvious:
The LaFerrari interior boasts aggression and power, evoking the primal need to compete. The Mustang interior on the other hand resembles what is essentially the cockpit of an A380 en route to Barbados. Uninspiring perhaps, but when the sunset is your destination you want to keep all distractions to a minimum.
In short, it's not so much what you've got, but how you use it. The LaFerrari is for those wanting to dominate modern society, while the Mustang appeals to our more idealistic nature; to our desire to leave the daily grind in our literal dust.
The American muscle car hails from a time when it didn't matter whose oil it was, when polar bears still had ice and when it was of little importance that the nearest shop was thirty miles away. While the Zenvos and Paganis of the world worry about bringing us the future, the Fords and Dodges allow us to cling to a safer time in the past, much like how families in China have taken to clinging to canisters of New Zealand alpine air. Not because it will save their life, but because like the muscle car, it offers a moment's reprieve from what the human race has done to itself.
And if that doesn't work, rest assured in the knowledge that muscle cars still come with cupholders generous enough to store your moonshine, an engine big enough to outrun the law, and a body strong enough to withstand the inevitable accident resulting from that combination (or perhaps the shoddy handling).
Perhaps then, the dusky images of these desert-bound American beasts conjures up in us the idea of one final resistance against the era of regulation, restriction and rigidity.
Or maybe they've simply broken down.