The Argument for Classic Cars Or, How Frustration Taught Me To Run From Exotics

I have a confession to make: I am a car guy. I am not your average “I had a cool car before I got married and had kids” car guy. I am not a mid-life crisis car guy. I am not even the ‘I have a project I have been working on for the last decade-and-a-half’ car guy. I am a lifelong car guy. My first memories are of my father’s Corvette, and they are among the most lucid. I have been a car guy from the jump, learning as much as I could about automobiles of all types. I shunned sports and other activities in preference of building go-karts and dirt bikes, all in order to get that sensation of speed and excitement. I started reading car magazines and books at 11, years before I could legally drive. True to form as a confessed car guy, I have always wanted an exotic car…Until now.


Exotic cars hold a promise for every kid with a little gasoline in his blood. That low-to-the-ground, fat-tired, often wedge-shaped madness, that rumbling exhaust that speaks of extra-legal speed, the rarity that assures nobody else on your block will have one. So strong is this allure, it stays with many of us well into adulthood. In fact, what was cool when you were in high school, often sees a spike in price when you are in your early to mid-forties. This is because all those kids who had the cool posters on their bedroom walls growing up, have found a way to make a living that will let them finally own that Countach, Testarossa, 911, 308, Diablo, or Pantera. All those poster cars have their prices driven into the stratosphere. If you doubt me, go see what has happened to the prices of all of the aforementioned car in the last five years. Every one of them has at least doubled in price, except the Countach; those have tripled and quadrupled.

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