Cartorque vol 5 - ‘Why aren’t cars as cool as they once were?’
There was a time when cars were brilliant. They were loud, badly behaved, occasionally dangerous, and absolutely oozing with character. You could buy a knackered MG off Auto Trader, fix it with duct tape and hope, and still feel like Steve McQueen every time you fired it up. Your car said something about you. Usually something loud and slightly irresponsible.
Now? Now we live in a world where cars are... fine. And frankly, that’s the problem.
Today’s average car is a greyish blob on wheels, designed by committee and powered by a small turbocharged engine that sounds like a broken kettle. Every other vehicle is some kind of SUV—sorry, crossover—that looks like a melted shoebox and drives like an anaesthetised shopping trolley. They're all full of screens, buttons, and driver assistance systems that beep at you if you so much as breathe near a white line. Exciting? Not exactly. Cool? Definitely not.
And it’s not just the cars. It’s the whole culture around them. Once, car parks on a Friday night were full of teenagers comparing body kits and bad decisions. Now, the kids are too busy filming TikToks about their electric scooters. Most of them don’t even want a licence. Because why would they? They’ve got Deliveroo, Uber, and parents who’ll still give them a lift to the station. Owning a car used to be the golden ticket to adulthood. Now it’s just another expense to avoid.
Oh yes, the expense. Let’s talk about that. Buying a car in Britain today requires the financial backing of a small oil nation. New or used, doesn’t matter—everything’s overpriced, underpowered, and still somehow manages to need new tyres every 14 minutes. And don’t forget insurance. If you’re under 30 and not driving a 1.0-litre eco-hatchback with a black box strapped to it, the premiums alone will bankrupt you faster than a night out in Soho.
Of course, there’s the environmental bit too. We’ve all learned that petrol cars are evil, and diesel ones are apparently the spawn of Satan. So now, we’re being gently nudged (read: financially coerced) into silent electric pods that hum their way through town like a Dyson with wheels. And don’t get me wrong—some of them are very good. But do they stir the soul? Do they make your heart race? Can they do a burnout in a Waitrose car park? No. Not unless you’re in a Tesla, and even then, it's only cool until it updates itself mid-corner.
You might say, “Well, what about car enthusiasts?” And yes, there are still a few petrolheads banging the drum. They're at track days in battered E36s, or polishing their Mk1 MX-5s like they’re made of unicorn horn. But they’re a dying breed. They're outnumbered, out-priced, and being slowly legislated out of existence by people who think a ‘sporty’ car is one with red stitching on the seats.
So here we are. A nation once obsessed with motoring—builders of the Mini, the Aston Martin DB5, the McLaren F1—reduced to driving hybrid Nissan Qashqai’s to IKEA and pretending it’s fun.
Cars aren’t cool anymore. They’re practical. Sensible. Efficient. And as anyone who’s ever worn a hi-vis vest to a nightclub will tell you—those things are never cool.
Unless, of course, you’ve got an old V8 tucked away in a shed somewhere. In which case, crack open a beer, fire it up, and remind the world what it means to feel something behind the wheel.
Adam Woodruff
Writer
