QOTD: Call Me by Your Name?

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that your author grew up consuming books, TV, and movies that were already pretty dated by the time the ’80s and ’90s rolled around. How else do you explain his passion for floaty land yachts, mens’ sport coats, and a fairly libertarian attitude towards personal consumption and the role of government?

Oh yeah, life was simple in those pages and on those shows. There was an order to things, clearer divisions between right and wrong, and societies that seemed to be ruled by rational adults. No one died from smoking. Naturally, social problems rarely made it to the forefront. Only greedy, opportunistic criminals threatened the idyllic lives of those living behind white picket fences, or those stoically trudging to work at the plant from their modest urban walkup.

But I digress. We’re talking cars here, and those shows and films revealed a trend among some car owners I couldn’t agree with.

In short: some people name their cars. And I can’t get behind it.

You’ve all been weirded out by the deep, undying love I feel for my 1994 Toyota Camry Coupe and my confessions of guilt for having let it go. I have to live with that. The dreams ended years ago, though the bittersweet memories remain.

Yet even that vehicle — a car so trustworthy I’d stake my life on it, did not deserve a name. But it’s something that still occurs. A car with a name.

I don’t have to search far and wide to uncover instances of this phenomenon, you see. My sister’s brood travels to the store and the campground and everywhere else in a white Dodge Journey named Judy. Granted, it’s not entirely a term of endearment. The name came about simply because the vehicle is large, white, bland, American, and fairly old — so there’s some playfulness going on here. But even this elicits a twinge, deep down in my soul, whenever I hear Judy mentioned.

Could it be because applying a name takes away the vehicle’s core identity? Or is it because humans are just as fallible as machines, and I trust neither? Maybe it’s a sexist thing — I know many men name their cars, but it always struck me as something more commonplace among women. Or is it because I don’t want to grow too attached to a car?

Why I feel such an aversion to this practice remains shrouded in layers of psychology I can’t peel away.

But over to you — have you ever named your car? And if so… why?

[Image: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles]