Imagine a person buys a car for the price of an apartment. It is luxurious, it is fast, but ... try to park it in the yard. Or drive on a bumpy road, where every hole has to be avoided like a mine. 🚧 And you are no longer driving, but painfully protecting your treasure from this imperfect world.

It seems that a car should give freedom. But the more expensive it is, the more it turns into a cage. You are afraid to leave it unattended, afraid to scratch it, afraid that someone will even look askance. Where is the freedom here? This is more like a new form of addiction.

I once sat in a very expensive car. It would seem that this should impress: leather, lighting, quiet interior. And inside I had a feeling of... alienness. As if I was in a museum where nothing can be touched. And I even wanted to breathe more carefully, so as not to leave traces.

And so I think: maybe real luxury is not when your car is like a skyscraper, but when you get behind the wheel and just don’t think about it? When it is not a symbol for you, not anxiety, not pathos, but an extension of you. 🚙

But, probably, expensive cars exist so that we ask ourselves again and again: am I driving them or are they driving me?

Maru