Tom1200 said:
There just seems to be some chromosomal defect that makes me want down market cars and or oddballs.
This, exactly this. There is something in my personality that makes me not want the things that other people want. I think it can be summed up in one sentence: "Success is for other people."
There is definitely some learned and/or genetically inherited thrift at play. My grandfather was so cheap, he drove a Henry J, then a DKW. My dad and his siblings grew up poor. Dad then took a job in the trades right out of high school and made money faster than he could spend it. He treated himself to a new car every year or so in his youth and generally enjoyed life.
By the time us kids came along, he was back to semi-cheapskate mode. My bike and clothes and toys always seemed to be a notch or two below whatever my friends had. While hardly child abuse, it probably played a role in teaching me that I do not need nice things - or, more accurately, that nice things are not for me. I learned to find value in the unloved and the second-tier.
I did not have the opportunity to buy myself new stuff. I bought one decent MGB as my first car and wrecked it after a year, then proceeded downmarket with a series of increasingly crusty Corollas, until I bought my MR2. For $400. Twenty-one years ago. And I haven't afforded myself decent garage space since, haven't been able to prioritize investing in cars or fun or fun cars. This, as you can see, is a series of failures culminating in a near lifetime of failure.
So there is a fairly crippling lack of confidence at play. I am unburdened by excessive self-esteem and consequently have never felt like I deserved a nice car, let alone a new car. Those are for people who've done something with their lives and feel justified in congratulating themselves. Or, worse yet, people who need to make an impression of success (e.g. salespeople, orthodontists, lawyers) - the kind of people who I fear may take my money, and are thus both repulsive and dangerous. These are not people I want to emulate. So I move downmarket, to the leftovers and the orphans and the misfit toys. If I fall, I won't fall as far.
Normal people try to move upmarket at any opportunity. Normal people want big houses, new cars, everything shiny and expensive. Those are so far out of reach for me that I can't imagine them. I can't even talk myself into a new pair of shoes. Hell, these thrift store Eccos still have most of the tread on their soles, and I've only been wearing them for two years. Maybe I can find another pair just like them.
I was going to end with the declaration that I am defective. And I am, to be sure. But I guess there is also some kind of lukewarm reward in getting by with the stuff that nobody else wants.
