Men are from Mars...

For a woman, the more successful you become, the more practical your car can be. More leg room for the children so they don’t kick the back of your seat, a bigger boot for all the shopping bags which may even close automatically (if you’re feeling particularly lazy), automatic headlights so you don’t have to remember to turn them on or off, reversing sensors because, well let’s face it, women can’t park, inbuilt GPS for when your husband won’t ask for directions and all the safety contraptions in the world.

For a man, the story is quite different. For most men, everything is about size; the size of their ego, their ‘meat and veg’, salary, house, wife’s breasts, ‘chicktionary’ (as the Prince of Bel Air calls it) and of course and most importantly their engine. How big, how fast, how many bhp…

The month my partner had to spend driving around town in my family’s old 1.2ltr, purple, P reg. Fiesta ‘Ghia’, I truly believe, was the most emasculating month of his life. It was physically possible to see his pride and confidence drain away from him each time he got into that car. He was convinced that everyone was mocking him and discussing just how much of a failure he must be to have to use such a degrading mode of transport.

As the previous proprietor of the vehicle, I found it to be fairly efficient (at the time), nippy, easy to park and quite practical with ample boot space.

However, from his point of view, the car was the devil who had stripped him of his manhood and every achievement he’d even gained in his life. I could never put my finger on what repulsed him so much, the colour, the size or a weird little squeeling noise it made when you tried to drive over 50mph.

Needless to say, he would loudly proclaim his reasons for using it instead of a ‘proper’ car to any of his friends and indeed most strangers too. He rarely speaks of the car now, as he cruises about in a far more acceptable Audi A3. I fear he has repressed the memory and may need some serious counselling later in life.  

But don’t get too cocky lads; there is a point at which your engine size becomes a negative not a positive. See a grown man in a purple 1996 Fiesta and you may think he is an unachiever. But see a man in a flashy red Ferrari F430 and the immediate assumption is overcompensation.

As most men would agree that their car is an extension of their being and a study showed that 98% of men questioned, would favour the loss of an arm or leg rather than their male appendage I ask,

Which is worse?

Article by Annie Buckle