I am a rational guy—most of the time. Every now and then, though, I do not throttle my irrational impulses, and when I don’t, I usually incur a significant cost. Cars, especially Porsches, cause me to become irrational, to discard my normal fine-tuned, accountant-fueled mindset, to throw cost benefit calculations out the window.
When I look at cars, I perceive potential—not reality. I visualize endless backroad twisties with no other cars, motorcycles or bicycles. I feel unbridled acceleration, heavy g-force cornering, crisp, aggressive braking. I embrace the subtly of the contours of the bodywork, the nuances of the underlying engineering. I imagine hearing the symphony of the exhaust notes. I don’t think about the costs, the traffic inflicted limitations, my inability to drive sufficiently well to take advantage of the car’s potential, the craziness of other drivers, the dings from parking in public lots. In short, I find myself in a virtual La-La Land, which makes sense, as I live in LA.
Before I started driving Porsches, I drove BMWs, and my friends used to laugh at me when I bought or leased one. I would go to the dealer and buy one—all on the same day. They were not wrong for laughing at me—I did not do tons of research or pit one dealer against another or threaten to walk away to grind the price down. Instead, I did enough research to support my decision, knowing which model I wanted and approximately what it should cost. Then I would go do the deal, knowing full well I probably spent more than I had to. Simple. Easy. And, to some degree, rationally irrational.
This week has been a rollercoaster for me, as I alternated between common sense and irrationality. It was not my fault. Far from it. It was foisted upon me by my good friend, John. The one who has talked me into renting an office as I glide towards retirement. He is still babysitting the Guards Red Porsche GT3 for his son-in-law. The one I drive sporadically. The one with the racing bucket seats that I have a love-hate relationship with. The one that will be for sale. The one he parked in my driveway Tuesday night because he was having some work done on his house. At least he was kind enough to put a cover on it, so all I could ogle from my dining room window was its silhouette. Unfortunately, that was still more than enough to drive me to irrationality.
It hit me—hard—on Wednesday morning as I was walking to Supercuts in Beverly Hills, something else my friends laugh at me for, but that is another story. Out of the blue, I was thinking that I should sell my two Porsches, the ones I rarely drive, to generate about two-thirds of the purchase price of the GT3. My thinking was simple: I would be taking a rational step to simplify my life and enhance my driving experience at the same time. It felt like a win-win. Kimberly and Pam thought I was nuts.
Then I compounded my problem by mentioning to John that I might want to buy the GT3. Of course, John mentioned it to his son-in-law on Thursday. His son-in-law offered to sell it to me for below market price because he would be glad the GT3 was going to be owned by an afficionado. Once Jeff, one of my friends who is not a car guy at all, heard that, he started telling me I would be an idiot to pass on the opportunity, going as far as saying it would be an appreciating asset. My irrationality spiked dramatically.
John came by on Saturday morning to take the car for a drive. As I handed him the keys, which he had left in my possession on Tuesday, he said, “You might want to go inside while I take the cover off and drive away.” He was right, but I could not bring myself to do so. Instead, I felt my heart rate accelerate as he uncovered it. I felt it accelerate further as I heard the exhaust note when he started it. I wanted to cry as I watched him drive down the street, my sense of loss palpable.
At that point I felt I had to buy it. Thankfully, I still had a modicum of common sense. So, a little later Saturday morning I reached out to several of my Porsche cronies to talk about it. My buddy, Mark, who has forsaken the Porsche marque because its sports cars are too impractical to fulfill his current lifestyle requirements, thought that I should buy it, despite any of its inherent inconveniences, impracticalities and exorbitant cost, saying I had earned the right to treat myself. He also noted that Pam, my saint of a wife, was way more tolerant of unnecessary and aberrant automotive purchases than his wife was. After the call, I was convinced the GT3 should be my well-deserved Father’s Day gift.
I spoke with David later Saturday morning and Charlie later Saturday night, just before I went to sleep. I had not kept up with either of them since my self-imposed exile from organized Porsche events at the outset of Covid, but I remembered that each had had a GT3 back then.
David, who has many, many cars, including two GT3s, has the same one that I wanted to buy. He extolled the virtues of its 4.0 liter, naturally aspirated, 500 horsepower motor, which redlines at 9,000 RPM. He was glad to hear that the GT3 had the option that electronically lifts the front end, making it possible to get in and out of almost all driveways without doing too much damage to the undercarriage. He thought it was a good buy, though he said that the 12,000 miles on the six-year-old GT3 would make it a high-milage car, driving home the point that most people look at them more than drive them. He is no exception to that rule. As I do not drive everyday, anyway, I thought I would fit the mold.
As the day wore on and before I spoke with Charlie, Jeff called. He was in his car with his wife and adult son. He went on to say that they had seen the GT3 while John had it, and they told me how wonderful “my new car” was. I continued to feel good about my impending purchase.
At 10:30 Saturday night I spoke with Charlie. Charlie has fewer cars than David does but drives each of them more. He is over the top when it comes to his Porsches. The day I met him, over a decade ago, he told me he did his own oil changes, going as far a leaving his cars on a rack overnight to ensure that every drop of old, dirty oil came out of the engine before he put the new oil in. He went on to tell me that he thought my Porsche at the time was running rich because he felt the color of my tail pipe was too black and not brown enough. Though I felt a tad violated, I realized he meant well and was a purist with an in-depth knowledge of Porsches. it was the start of a beautiful relationship. I expected Charlie to be irrationally positive about my need to buy the GT3. I was wrong.
He told me he sold his GT3 after a couple of years of ownership. I was shocked, as he was so into it the last time I spoke with him. When I asked him why, he said, “I never was in position to use the 500 horses, to rev the engine to its redline. I thought the car was too powerful and that the risk was too high to drive it hard enough to have fun with it.” He went on to say he thought it was a great car, but not for him. He bought a second Boxster Spyder and was much happier. It was a sobering conversation, reminding me that my Cayman GTS, which I adore and really do not want to sell, performs a lot like his Spyder did. My Cayman, which has about 65% of the potential of the GT3, has way more potential than I can utilize. I went to sleep second guessing my decision.
I woke up today, Father’s Day, realizing that I was not going to buy the GT3. Everything Charlie said resonated with me. It was too irrational to buy it. I just didn’t need it. Moreover, I just couldn’t use it enough to justify it.
I confirmed those thoughts when I took my Cayman GTS into Beverly Hills this morning, thoroughly enjoying the short trip. My plan was to go to Rodeo Drive to see the annual car show, and then have brunch with John and his family, as Pam spent the night at Shelby’s, babysitting the grandkids. Walking to Rodeo Drive, I saw several GT3s parked on the streets, noting that I did not feel the tug or the need to have one. It was liberating, and I thought I was over my bout of irrationality. I was wrong about that, too.
As I strolled down Rodeo Drive enjoying the world-class cars on display, I started thinking about how to spend all the money I saved by not buying the GT3, reminding me that my irrational side still needed throttling.