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This week, for the first time in my driving life, I returned to my parked car to find it being admired by a passer by.
This week, for the first time in my driving life, I returned to my parked car to find it being admired by a passer by.
Car image and the perception of the driver is something that fascinates me. When I spy an out of the ordinary car, I always check to see what sort of person is lucky or foolish enough to be behind the wheel.
I'm sure I'm not alone in this form of voyeurism, but for some reason, I tend not to attract too much attention in the cars that I drive. I'm of the age that when I'm testing something big and flashy, people must think it is my dad's car. Anything small and flashy just makes me look like an estate agent, albeit one who has the day off and hasn't bothered to shave for a while.
The one exception was driving a drop-top Corvette C6 through the south of France at rush hour. A cyclist stopped, laughed and asked if we were Parisian. On being told we were English, he laughed again and rode off. Still not sure what to make of that one.
Next set of lights, a middle aged woman pulled up beside us in a Golf, glanced down at us, turned her eyes back to the front and then slowly shook her head. It was clear what she thought of these scruffy sunglasses wearing (it was a bright day, honest) twenty-somethings.
Over the last day or so, I have been driving something a little less glamorous - Fiat's new 500. This was a car that I had been really looking forward to driving. I love the Mini, the car's feted rival, and wanted to see if it matched up in terms of driving ability. I also live in London, am not responsible for the care of any pets, children or other halves and do not have much in the way of material possessions. I am precisely the sort of person that Fiat is aiming at.
Never having been much of a badge snob, I have never been too concerned about how other people perceive me on the road. However, when asked whether the baby Fiat was mine, I couldn't bring myself to claim that was the case.
From the outside it is a good-looking car, quirky and almost cute. But that was the problem, as soon as I got in I felt like I was no longer in my dad's car but my 12 year old sister's. I felt self conscious and slightly embarrassed. The car was just as cool on the inside, the swathes of solid white plastic reminded me a little of a retro fridge. The problem was with me, however. I don't do cool, but I was acutely aware of the fact that the people in the other cars would think I did.
However, to my horror, as I plugged in my iPod for the drive home for an evening of playing on my Wii, I realised that in fact I was just the sort of trendy young professional who should be driving the 500. So I switched to Radio 4 and slunk lower in my seat.
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