When I was growing up, my favourite TV shows all seemed to revolve around cars. Knight Rider, Dukes Of Hazard, Magnum, Inspector Morse (on a Sunday as the least worst alternative to Songs Of Praise). I always imagined, assumed even that I would own a cool car when I grew up; something like a vintage Aston Martin or an 80's Mercedes 350SL… sexy but classy all the same. I would be able to afford it, after all my Grammar School kept telling us in assembly that we were the top five percent in the country and that we would all be going to work in the City and be successful young Thatcherite foot soldiers.



What happened? At 31, I'm driving my fiancée's 1995 Citroen AX. Admittedly it's a question of priorities, having chosen to live in central London I spend my money on a crippling mortgage and mostly cycle or use the bus anyhow. Unfortunately that doesn't wash when you're sitting at the lights, beside a sexy brand new open top Audi, with a teenage boy behind the wheel and a beautiful girl in the passenger seat (surely a drug dealer, no one could be that successful/ happy/cool legitimately could they?). The status anxiety is crushing. As I pull away from the lights, I try my best to keep up with the shiny new cars that cut in front from all sides, but it's no use pretending; I'm driving a old banger made by a shit brand an that's that.

To drive that Citroen is to experience a roller coaster of emotions. I get in the car. The interior is cramped and flimsy. The Citroen logo greets me on the steering wheel. Ugh, Citroen, what a rubbish brand; the luke warm also-ran to Peugeot (who aren't much cop either). The kind of car driven by people who don't care about cars. But that’s okay, I'm not a 'car' person any more. I'm just getting from A to B in this thing and its not worth the worry. I pull away from the curb, craning my neck to see round the Range Rover parked in front. Bloody SUV drivers; surely the dumbest car owners in the world. They should be taxed double. Ah, I actually feel virtuous driving the AX. Its economical, reliable and if anyone ever asks, I tell them it's not mine but my girlfriends. Next minute, I'm being cut up by an arrogant BMW driver. I speed after him and pull up alongside him at the lights in front. Ever keen to row with ill-mannered strangers, I begin to roll the window down and give Mr BMW some choice road rage lines. He looks over at me from his cocoon of air-conditioned, leather-trimmed luxury, waiting for me to explode. I stop short however, suddenly feeling deflated; it doesn't matter what I say, it doesn't matter who was right or wrong… one of us is driving a beautiful car, and it's certainly not me. So who's the winner here?

For the rest of the journey, I drive like an eighty year old vicar, allowing all and sundry to speed pass as I wallow in my branded shame. I feel angry with myself, angry for not making enough money to afford a decent car, angry at how shallow I still am for caring, angry at everyone else on the road for making feel this way. When I drive the car to my parents, I'm sure they feel embarrassed to have it parked by the house (neighbours' curtains twitching furiously 'what a failure that Neil Boorman turned out to be'). If I ever drive to work in the thing, it's parked far from the view of my colleagues.




Brands transform (or at least promise to transform) the experience of consuming a product.

Driving a car

Driving a sports car

Driving a Mercedes sports car

The utilitarian function of driving a car is made more pleasurable for having the perceived security and status of the brand that is attached to it.

I was leaving a party in the car recently, when the editor of Intersection (an automotive style mag) spotted me and shouted 'Citroen AX... design classic mate!'. I turned to the missus and we both wondered if he was taking the piss. Now i'm extremely broad minded brand-wise, willing to consider all sorts of brand revivals and cultural re-evaluations. But not Citroen. I wonder, would my perception of that car be transformed if it had an Alfa Romeo or Audi badge on the bonnet?

Actually, that Citroen has transformed me over time, in the same way the one careful lady owner (my missus) has. When I first met her, I consumed brands without question. I was adamant that the Gucci flip flops and the Dualit toaster and the Aveda shampoo made me more sophisticated, more loveable, more me. But she would look at the expensive trinkets lovingly displayed in my flat and just laugh. I've been diligently ignoring her for many years, but finally I'm prepared to admit she's right. She doesn't go through this torment every time she drives the AX. It's a car. It gets you from a to B. end of story.

In a few months from now, I'm going to drive, no, cruise that car around Shoreditch and Soho for all to see. Yeah, that’s me, behind the wheel of an AX; wanna make something of it or what?