The Double-Edged Enthusiasm of Car Culture

The Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance and the Concours d’Lemons are two fixtures on California’s central coast. These events bookend a weekend that showcases the extremes of automobile collecting: the rarefied world of exclusivity and the decidedly more downmarket realm of “undesirability.”

The former is an invitation-only affair featuring some of the most valuable collector cars in existence, while the latter has become a tongue-in-cheek celebration of vehicles that are less coveted. This juxtaposition raises questions about what it means to be passionate about cars.

For enthusiasts like Sandra Button, owning one of these rarefied machines is akin to possessing an art form. She notes that caretakers must prioritize authenticity above all else – a stance reflecting the fetishization of heritage and provenance in high-end collector car culture. In contrast, the Concours d’Lemons takes aim at this seriousness with a wink and a nudge.

Alan Galbraith, founder of the latter event, has created an annual spectacle that revels in the opposite end of the spectrum. His affection for Ford Pintos and AMC Pacers is genuine, but he also respects – even envies – the rarefied world of Bugatti and Bentley owners, where exclusivity and prestige are paramount.

Galbraith’s irreverence has struck a chord with attendees, who come to poke fun at the very idea of car collecting. This lighthearted approach belies a deeper truth: Americans’ love affair with cars is fundamentally inconsistent. We’ll fawn over sleek, high-performance machines one minute and giggle at their less-than-sleek cousins the next.

This dual-edged enthusiasm speaks to something fundamental about our relationship with technology. On one hand, we crave innovation, exclusivity, and prestige – qualities embodied in the Concours d’Elegance. On the other, we have a morbid fascination with the misfit, the outcast, and the “undesirable.” The Concours d’Lemons taps into this latter impulse, embracing the idea that even the most unloved vehicles can be loved – if not for their performance or beauty, then at least for their kitsch value.

The two events send a mixed message about car culture as a whole. Is it possible to truly appreciate both the rarefied world of collector cars and its more downmarket counterpart? Or do these extremes represent fundamentally different values – one rooted in exclusivity and the other in inclusiveness?

Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in between, where we can find common ground with Galbraith’s irreverent spirit. For all its quirks, car culture has always been about storytelling – whether that story involves a Bugatti or a Ford Pinto. As long as we’re having fun, laughing, and smiling, perhaps it doesn’t matter what kind of car is parked in our driveway.

The future of car collecting remains uncertain. Will the two events continue to occupy opposite ends of the spectrum, or will they converge into something more nuanced? One thing’s certain: Americans’ love affair with cars shows no signs of waning, and we’ll be witnessing even more extremes – and maybe, just maybe, finding a middle ground that celebrates both exclusivity and inclusiveness.