Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

Buchanan examines the hot specimens at The Bridge car show


When I was invited to the super exclusive car show known as The Bridge at The Bridge golf course my answer was, “Hell, yes!” I don’t know a thing about cars but there is one thing I do know. At this event, it is all men.

Started three years ago by The Bridge golf club founder Robert Rubin, luxury PR and event organizer Shamin Abas, and attorney and car enthusiast Jeffrey Einhorn, it is sort of the Pebble Beach of the East Coast. So, I was set. Shave legs, check. Blow out, check. Uber ordered to allow champagne drinking, check. Gentlemen, start your engines. I also am sensitive to ghosts and the golf course was once the site of the famous Bridgehampton Race Circuit where Mario Andretti, Richard Petty, AJ Foyt, Al Unser, and Stirling Moss put the pedal to the metal. Super hot.

The classic and contemporary gems of the automotive world dotted the rolling fairways and greens of the course. I heard a lot of heavy breathing and exclamations of pleasure as murmurs were uttered, “600LT by McLaren Special Operations, Bugatti’s new Chiron, 1957 Maserati 300S XKSS, 1965 Shelby GT350 R, 1954 Aston Martin DB2, and 1960 Lancia Flaminia SZ.” Clearly, this was serious car porn.

Like being a visitor in a foreign country who doesn’t speak the language, I decided to admit my ignorance and ask for help understanding these amazing specimens. I was expecting something about engine capacity or chassis or racing history but instead one car owner pointed out the rip in the fabric of the ceiling from his now wife’s stiletto. This started a group confessional of men’s deepest admiration for cars as the place where they first had sex. Clearly, they had better taste or parents’ money as my family Ford Pinto was never going to be a den of iniquity.

One woman chimed in that thank God skinny jeans weren’t invented then because they would be better than birth control as they are impossible to shed quickly or put on before police flashlights shined in.

I asked one man if he could have a hot wife and an average car or an average wife and hot car he said, “Look I can always buy another car. But if she’s a pain in the a** wife that’s another question.” Men freely admit their polygamous nature when it comes to cars. One can be a smooth luxe ride, one tight handling on crazy curves, and one that is too valuable and he just polishes her in the 12-car garage.

I have to admit that my attraction to certain cars was purely superficial. I liked the pink racing Porsche that matched my outfit and the new Rolls-Royce Cullinan SUV that sported the most amazing picnic basket ever and would inspire me to drive friends’ children to soccer practice. Oh, and the Terrafugia’s new Transition prototype of the world’s first practical flying car had me envisioning picking up and flying over the traffic on the LIE. But just looking at the expressions of surprise and delight on these men’s faces as they perused the amazing assortment of autos was better than a group of fashionistas flocking around a vintage Birkin bag collection.

I have to admit that women, contrary to some opinion, can love cars too. Their own. I have named mine the White Rose and she has special monogrammed floormats in Gothic font. Seriously. She has had more spa days of detailing than I have. I am not only a monogramist but a monogamist when it comes to cars. I buy one and keep it for at least a decade, then have a formal goodbye ceremony when I finally sell it for about five hundred bucks.

I am sorry to say that every time I have bought a car including in the past few years the dealer has always been looking over my shoulder for a husband. What they don’t know is that a woman’s independence can be equally expressed in her desire for a car as any man’s.

So ladies, start your engines.

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