They say simple, affordable and fun cars are not made these days, but maybe we’ve been looked for them in the wrong places. Maybe affordable fun still exists, buried under a skin not cool enough to capture petrolheads’ interests…
James Dean behind the wheel of his Porsche 356 Speedster, tearing up Mullholland Drive, a cigarette hanging coolly from the side of his mouth, his hands wrestling the unassisted steering. The air-cooled flat four barking. Tires screeching. That’s the petrolhead dream. That’s the legend.
And as an important part of this mythology, something driven by the epitomes of cool like Dean or McQueen, the 356 Speedster (or any 356, for that matter) is revered and prized. Buying a nice example requires the kind of money that would get you a brand new 911. Or three. Or a 911 and a perfectly fine aeroplane.
But you don’t want a 911 and you don’t want a Boxster because, as they say, each 911 is worse than the previous one. It’s faster. It’s more comfortable. It’s got better soundproofing. It is better at isolating you from what’s going on. And you don’t want to be isolated. You want experience.