Dapper Stuff: Naming Cars & Other Ways We Love Our Automobiles

Captain Dapper has been naming cars since 1991.

This morning I had to leave a beloved family member at the doctor for a little emergency cosmetic work. When Pepper drove into my life earlier this year, I didn't know how much I would come to love her. At first she was just another car, a gas sipping Prius that came to me secondhand from a friend. In the weeks prior to taking possession of the car, I told The Mister that I was done naming cars. "It's silly," I said. "And I'm too old for that shit." 

The weekend after I got the Prius, I took it on a road trip to visit my parents. Within two hours of being in the car alone, the name came to me in a flash. Pepper! I texted The Mister (later, from the comfort of my parents' home, NOT while driving) and let him know that the car would henceforth be known as Pepper Prius, the spiciest little Toyota to ever roam the streets. 

So, then, I guess I'm not done naming cars after all. I've been naming my cars for the past twenty years so it's a hard habit to break. And, really, why should I break it? Bestowing a name on a car is a little way of personalizing it. And what's wrong with that? The longer I own a car, the more I rely on it to get me from point A to point B, the more it becomes this living creature, a part of the family, a trusted friend. 

It all started with my first car. It was a Dodge Colt, a tiny little hatchback that was a hand-me-down from my parents. While they owned it was simply known as the Colt or the blue car. When it became my car, however, it was immediately christened Bertha. Why Bertha? I kind of liked the idea that this tiny little car would be given a name associated with big ladies. Unfortunately, Bertha met an untimely death after a run-in with another, newer car. Literally a run-in. 

Maybe it's because she was first car, the one that took me from high school dances to my first off campus apartment, but I'll always have fond memories of Bertha. Then again, I have fond memories of most of my old cars. After Bertha there was Sally, the Pontiac Sunbird and Harry, the Honda Civic. Later, when The Mister and I started buying cars together, we welcomed Beverly, the old Volvo Station Wagon, and Leonard, the little Mini Cooper, into our lives. We chose those names together - The Mister's acceptance of my quirky car naming being one of the many reasons I love him. The Mister currently drives Heinrich, a Honda Element so named about five years ago, even though the car isn't German in the least bit. 

When I think back on all the cars that have passed through my life, I think of them fondly. I think of their names and smile wistfully as I relive the road trips and daily commutes, the breakdowns and mishaps. Even today when I talk about that old Volvo, which I haven't owned for eight years, I still refer to her as Beverly.

Is it silly to name cars? Yes, probably. I used to tell people who didn't bestow names on their cars that they would run better and cooperate more often if they did. Of course, that's nonsense. It's just a car, not a person. And naming a car is not going to make it behave - if only it was that easy! And yet I keep on doing it and, every time I do, I develop a deeper affection for my ride.

When another car pulled out in front of me as I was driving along in Pepper last week, and as we made contact with that other car, creating the damage shown in the photo above, my first thought (after knowing that all the people involved were safe) was OMG POOR PEPPER! I've grown attached to my little buggy over the past six months and seeing her smashed in nose made me sad. How could this happen to my little four wheeled friend? It doesn't help that the front of the Prius looks like a face, making it look like the Incredible Hulk punched Pepper in the nose.

So what about you? Do you name your cars?  

Image: Jason Loper