Thursday, January 10, 2008

No One Really Knows


One nanosecond ago you did not own a Ferrari. You were anticipating immortality, better looks, a bigger brain, and a deeper tan. You are going to be a titan. At least less gray hair. You were sitting across from a smiling bald guy and had just lifted a pen from the last letter in your last name. The check is handed over. You now own a Ferrari. For an instant everything is like you though it would be. Just for an instant. Then you realize you are still the same dork as before. Same hair. Same smarts. Same roll of fat around your lower back. Same job. There is one difference. You are now significantly poorer and may have just acquired a four wheeled rolling Italian liability. But then you realize no one else knows. Well a few people know but they have accepted you for who you are. No one else knows. It is your secret. For almost everyone you are no longer who you were before. Venezuelan expats who fix elections drive Ferraris. Members of the Russian Duma crash Ferraris on the Promenade des Anglais with underwear models.
Some component of the Ferrari ownership experience involves vicarious living. Creating a big wake and getting your picture taken by soccer moms in minivans. Driving a Ferrari is like putting on an entirely different skin. A pair of red jeans, a plaid vest, and loafer making it all work and walking down a street in Great Bend, Kansas. Driving a Ferrari is like being an alien. A very exotic green monster.
Why? Because no one knows.

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