Early 2000s Sydney, peak sex spec. Wild paint, white leather, disco balls swinging off the mirror. Cars built for one reason and one reason only: to be looked at.
First and only time I went to a meet at La Perouse, a glittery pink VL with a full white interior rolled through. Every head turned, because of course it did.
The driver pulls up. "WHY LOOK FOR?"
Someone answers, fairly enough. "Because your car's pink."
The driver and three big blokes pile out of the back and clock him in the head. I'm standing there thinking, what on earth just happened.
Twenty odd years later I still see it everywhere. Not just Sydney and not just then.
People pour thousands of hours and thousands of dollars into something designed to stop traffic, then get filthy when it stops traffic. Someone looks too long. Someone asks what's under the bonnet. Suddenly it's a problem.
I've stopped trying to work it out. I just call it Pink Car Syndrome and move on.
If you built it to be seen, let people see it. The looking is the point.
