I Drive a Lexus ... Your Call

Car names attracted my interest at the weekend.

I find it odd that people are employed to come up with names for the company’s flash new vehicle. Some of them make sense – the Suzuki Swift, for example. Mazda’s series of RX2, RX3, RX7 and RX8s all reflected that they were experimental rotary engines.

Others we just don’t really think about: Ford’s long had the Falcon, which actually has no feathers at all. Holden has a Commodore despite the vehicle not technically being a yacht.

I saw one this morning actually, it was something like a Toyota Armada Illustrious.

When I was a kid my father had a penchant for Ford Zephyrs. He liked the Mark III with its v-fins and six cylinder grunt that allowed him to roar past the Wolesleys, Consuls, Singers and other ’70s shit that used to pollute the roads.

Zephyr – a light breeze. What were they thinking? Were they referring to the six-cylinder motor’s compression? Were they referring to the hurricane which accompanied one of these monsters passing you on the open road? They had the aerodynamics of a concrete slab.

But I digress.

I had an idea at the weekend that car manufacturers should be forced to name a car after its target market.

Like instead of the Honda CR-X you’d have the Honda Hot Blonde Chick.

There would be no confusion. You wouldn’t have some misguided middle-aged accountant accidentally driving around in a Honda Hot Blonde Chick.

No, instead the car sale ads would all be for the new Subaru Suicide; the BMW 5-Series Just Made Partner; the Volvo Moderately Successful Architect; the Mitsubishi Wannabe; the Ferrari I Make Way Too Much Fucking Money; the Porsche Drug Dealer; and the Toyota My Life Is Over minivan people-mover.

Hmmm... what would you drive?