Cars are to LA what hand bags are to New York. In LA, the car you drive represents the strata of society you belong to. It’s your net worth in block prints on your license plate. It’s superficiality at its wax coated finest.
Do you really need a BMW to know you belong in one? Does having an Audi R-series translate into you being a super star? Perhaps its a result of your hard work and I applaud you. Or its the result of your trust fund and I applaud your family. But if it’s a result of you trying to make yourself more socially viable, I question you. Did it help? Did it create acceptance? Awe?
I drive a modest Chevrolet Cobalt sports coupe thanks to my dad. I love it. It’s small, convenient and red. I wouldn’t trade it for anything because its a part of me. Kind of like my Mac and iPhone. If our brands do represent our taste, shouldn’t they be dependent on us? How did the reversal happen? When did luxury brands start defining us? When did they become the billboard of our lifestyle? The advertisement of our aesthetics and monetary condition?
A lot of questions, I know. But important ones. I’m an artist. Beauty and aesthetics runs through my veins. I live in it. I revel in it. However, I refused to be run over by it, even if it is in the shape of a 1962 ferrari 250 GTO.