I’m of the firm belief that there are no bad cars, just limited imaginations. Take the time to see the beauty in the Yugo, or the Nissan Versa or the Mitsubishi Mirage and your life will be more full of wonder (well, maybe not the Mirage, but you get my drift.)
My love of the beautiful, but not at all powerful, Karman Ghia is well known, but there’s another terrible car that has a piece of my heart; when I was a kid my mom owned a 1978 AMC Gremlin and I have loved that terrible, dorky car ever since.
When my parents realized that their first pregnancy would be twins, my dad ran out and got a 1986 Ford Aerostar because that’s what responsible parents did back then. There wasn’t much left for my mom to get a new ride however. Since she worked close to home she kept her old Gremlin from high school plugging along well past its prime.
It rumbled, it coughed dirty black soot occasionally, and the fake leather seats would scorch your legs if left out in the sun, but it had a maroon interior and brown exterior. It was loud and striped and unlike anything else on the road (for good reason) and I loved it. My mom had to buy seatbelts for the back seat so she could drive us around in it, which was extremely rare. Now every time I see one I think of warm summers barely strapped into the back of my mom’s puttering old AMC and get all sorts of warm feelings.
Because loving a bad car doesn’t have to make sense. Who wants to be led around by their brain when their heart is right there, waiting to take over.