Auto Show of Despair

Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong decade – and I don’t say this just because I like listening to Marvin Gaye. The world is changing at an extremely rapid pace.

This was in plain sight with my trip to the Chicago Auto Show this weekend. But it wasn’t just the predicted gas mileage of cars that I saw changing; I was more worried about the general attitude of the Auto Show’s crowd.

When people say they use a car to get from point A to point B, I cringe. Cars are works of art before they are people-carriers. But at the show, I felt that the excitement I get from cars was a feeling that was rarely shared.

Kids sat on the hoods of quarter-million-dollar cars so their friends could take a good picture for Facebook. People drank sodas and ate hotdogs while lounging on leather seats with suede inserts.

The Chicago Auto Show felt like it was more of a circus than anything else.

I would sit and listen in on boyfriends trying to impress their girlfriends with their extensive knowledge of carbon fiber hoods and catbacks and turn to my friend, Gene, whose head was already shaking in disparagement.

The funny thing is, I found sanctuary in a very unlikely place. For a show that is meant to display the newest and most innovative automotive technology in the business, I spent most of my time at the displays housing true car classics.

One car caught my attention more than the others. A white Ford deuce coupe with a V8 flathead was the only car I fell in love with at the show. That car alone captured everything I adore in automobiles.

And as I leaned on the metal railing going around the hot rod, I came to a sad realization. I was at a world-renowned car show full of technological marvels, and I was spending all of my time with a 1932 Ford.

It’s not that this car wasn’t phenomenal; it was. It was just that I’ve always loved seeing new things. And yet, for some reason, I found myself staring at a car that was 57 years older than me.

Then came my second sad realization: People just don’t care as much about cars anymore. I feel like I’m part of a dying breed. Cars are still original, and they’re still pushing the boundaries of what can be done. It’s the crowd that’s changing.

And that’s what scares me most. In a world that is becoming more and more tasteless about cars, the automotive industry is going to have to adapt – which means there will be a lot of tasteless cars driving around. If it’s what the consumer wants, the supplier is more than willing to oblige.

So my annual trip home to the Chicago Auto Show was more of a rude awakening this year. Life is definitely moving at a hasty pace. My only hope is that my dying breed can keep up long enough to change things before they get irreparable.