A Styled Ride
So my car is leaning heavily to the left for a few months and I figure, “I’ll just ask them to align it while I’m getting an oil change. NBD.” I take it into Pep Boys and while I’m waiting for my lube job of course I’m tearing through the December issue of Vogue. Then I happen upon this headline: “Vroom with a View: 40 Women in 20 Vintage Cars Take Tuscany for the Ultimate Road Rally.” Go figure, I’m having an automobile afternoon. I don’t really know what a road rally is (I also had to google Tuscany)— but from what I can gather it is an event wherein rich women whose husbands always drive go joyriding through Italy in $30 million dollars worth of vintage cars. Bugatti. Ferrari. And more than likely: vintage Versace Sunglasses.
I love driving. I love blaring filthy rap music with the windows all the way down and smoking Black & Milds. I love the freedom of movement; the ability to decide where and “now.” I have a fantasy of cruising all the way down Route 1 in Cali in a black 1968 Ford Mustang convertible with the wind in my silk scarf, sun on my shoulders, smelling salt water, and sleeping at seedy motels. It’s no Tuscany, but it’s my fucking fantasy: wild, pretty, a little rough. (Not that rough though; in my fantasy all the bathrooms in the seedy motels have just been re-modeled.)
Part of the fun of reading Vogue is becoming privy to pleasures you never imagined were possible. Like Road Rallies. Like Givenchy couture and Julien d’Ys hair. Fashion is fantasy; it is at least in some way the act of re-imagining ordinary acts as ones which require elaborate costumes and dramatic performances. Marilyn Monroe in a convertible with Arthur Miller, comes to mind.
Of course it’s also about wealth. Most of us can’t afford leisure and style at the same time. Most of us buy knockoffs and rock odometers on a hundred thousand trillion. Driving is a perfect example of something I am rarely able to enjoy for its own sake; I am always late and rushing and my tank’s never full. It’s hard to drive in heels. I am lucky if I remember to put on my sunglasses. But isn’t it somehow more fun when I do? Yet I enjoyed the Vogue article, even while hating on those Tuscany bitches, because it reminded of how good it feels to go (and look) fast and far and loud. And it also made me think of all the amazing and essential driving accessories one must have for such a trip.
Since my hoopty was actually doing the shoulder lean because it needed all new struts and not just a simple alignment, I am writing this Blogue in honor of all the driving accoutrement I will not be buying because of my Pep Boys bill. As a tribute to the Tuscany Road Rally, here is what I would wear on the ride.