
At a Los Angeles intersection, a 1964 Impala lowrider floats on hydraulics, chrome flake shimmering like fish scales in the sun. To its left, a white Tesla with a meek sticker: “I bought it before he went crazy.” To its right, a Lamborghini Murciélago in Verde Ithaca, twelve cylinders erupting through the exhaust. The Impala is inheritance on wheels, wire rims, candy paint, and cultural preservation. The Tesla hums with fading virtue. Once a badge of conscious futurism, it is now racked by liability, shackled to its maker’s politics. The Lamborghini is magnificent in itself, a masterpiece of carbon and combustion. Yet in this scene it registers as theater, money’s operetta in Italian. In a culture that pretends to have moved past symbols, the car remains autobiography in motion.
Post-materialism promised sameness: billionaires in hoodies, feeds stripped of ornament, swipe-culture democracy. Yet the road refuses flattening. When every phone is just a glass tile and $2,000 hoodies look like the ones at Walmart, the car stays stubbornly expressive. It is the second-most expensive thing most Americans ever buy, and, unlike homes, we bring it to work with us. Every commute is performance. Every driveway, a declaration. The car tells on us.
Thorstein Veblen saw this more than a century ago. A Veblen good is a paradox: its value rises not despite its high price, but because of it. As a paradox, pure Veblen goods don’t truly exist outside of a five-hundred-dollar bill encased in acrylic, a treasure defined entirely by its own uselessness. Keep it sealed and it mocks you, but try to break it out and you’ll destroy it. Cars, anything beyond the most basic ones, are certainly Veblen goods: luxuries, not necessities. Every person driving today could meet their needs with a 1993 Honda Accord: modern safety equipment, heat and A/C, even power windows and cruise control. Everything beyond this is luxury: expense made visible, status rendered in steel and glass.
David Gartman charted three phases of car culture. First came class distinction: in the early twentieth century, mere ownership was status enough. Then the mass-market era, when make and model divided the bourgeois from the working class. And now, in the U.S. today: lifestyle allegiance.
Continue reading “You Are What You Drive”