You can’t measure it on a dyno, find it on a window sticker, or order it as an optional package. But some vehicles have something that makes you feel alive – the moment you grab the steering wheel. What is it about certain automobiles that makes them so much more than A-to-B appliances?

They say an inanimate object can’t have a soul. And technically speaking, that’s true. But ‘a creation’ mirrors the soul & passion of its creator/s. And there are some things that are just unexplainably more than the sum of their parts. Things that inspire us & excite us… and truly move us. Stuff that engineering & specs alone – simply cannot explain.

So yes – in some way some cars do have souls…

It’s not just the metal & material, it’s what’s behind it. The moment you open the door, settle into the seat, wrap your hands around the steering wheel, and turn the key… something happens. An engine comes to life, and an energy runs through the steering column, the seats, and the pedals.

And sometimes, if you pay attention, you can almost feel it breathing…

That’s not entirely a metaphor either. Because arguably, it is breathing. Inhaling oxygen, and exhaling carbon dioxide.

And also like us – I’ve always believed certain vehicles carry their experiences with them. Not necessarily in some mystical sense, but visible through the way they’ve aged, the way they respond, the sounds they make, and the little imperfections that give them character. A worn steering wheel, a manual transmission with a particular rhythm, an engine that sounds slightly different when it’s cold, or a suspension that communicates every little change in the pavement. They define their time.

Growing up, my family owned three Ford Expeditions…

They weren’t sexy cars, their engines didn’t sing through the hillsides, and they certainly weren’t the kind of vehicles people normally reference in a conversation about automotive passion.

But those Expeditions carried my family across this country. East to west, north to south – through cities, across mountains, down highways that seemed to stretch into eternity. They took me to baseball, football, and basketball games, and countless other places that have become part of my childhood memories. Those Expeditions were part of our lives. And they had personalities. I remember the way they sounded when you started them. The rumble of the V8, the exhaust talking back, the sensation of the engine settling into idle. I remember how they drove, how they felt on a cold morning, and the sense of familiarity that came from climbing into a vehicle that had been part of so many adventures. When the 2007 became mine due to my dad’s health, every single time I got into it, a rush of nostalgia & memories washed over me. Every time I started it – I was reminded of the day dad brought it home new.

Now, somebody else could climb into one of those Expeditions, and see nothing more than an old Ford SUV. A thirsty V8, an outdated interior, and a vehicle that probably isn’t worth a whole lot on the used-car market. But to me? Those vehicles carried pieces of my childhood. They were there for experiences I could never recreate, with people I love, in places that helped shape who I became. You can’t put a price on that. And you certainly can’t find it on a window sticker.

But here’s where the conversation gets interesting…

A vehicle doesn’t necessarily need decades of memories to have a soul. Sometimes, you feel it instantly.

I still talk about the Range Rover Sport SVR I spent 11 days with last year. Here was a supercharged British performance SUV that carried considerably more weight than its relatively compact proportions might suggest. It was luxurious, sophisticated. Yet somehow – the moment you got behind the wheel, it seemed to develop split personalities… shrugging-off its weight and transforming into something wonderfully entertaining.

And that exhaust! Good Lord – that exhaust! It sounded like an angry lion being disturbed from slumber. Open its butterfly valves, and the sound intensified! The sort of sound I imagine saber tooth tigers made. Every time I hit the start button, it was as if somebody had opened the gates to a wildlife reserve full of predators.

The SVR wasn’t simply fast… Plenty of vehicles are fast these days. But the SVR had a personality that encouraged you to interact with it. Refined, yet burly. Sophisticated, yet disobedient. You wanted to hear the engine; you wanted to feel the shift points. And you wanted to take the long way home, find a tunnel, drop a gear, and behave like a slightly irresponsible teenager with access to adult money. It made me smile. And I was happy to drive it with no destination in mind – simply because driving it was an experience worth having.

 

And I’ve seen that same reaction from Wooley…

Whether he’s behind the wheel of his B16 CRX, his ’79 Porsche 911 (or ’84 944), on his old-school stand-up Jet Skis, or piloting his Wrangler, there’s a particular smile that glows on his face. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it half the time. It’s the kind of expression that comes naturally when you’re genuinely enjoying something. Nobody has to tell him the vehicle is special. And nobody has to nudge him about horsepower figures, resale value, mileage, or what some automotive influencer thinks. The connection is already there.

 

Then there are new vehicles like the Ford Bronco…

The current Ford Bronco is a modern SUV that reminds us that ‘the experience of driving’ doesn’t have to revolve around acceleration figures, massive touchscreens, detachment, and/or how effectively a vehicle isolates its occupants from the outside world. When I spent a week with a Bronco on Long Island, I found myself driving with the windows down & the front roof-panels removed… even when the weather wasn’t particularly cooperative. I wanted to feel the cold air. I wanted to hear everything happening around me. And I wanted to experience the outside world… instead of being insulated from it.

That Bronco encouraged something that a surprising number of modern vehicles seem determined to eliminate – participation.

Let that sink in – because maybe that’s one of the defining characteristics of a vehicle with soul. They invite you to participate in the experience… rather than simply observe it from the driver’s seat. A Shelby GT350 does this through a glorious naturally aspirated V8 and a manual transmission. And a Miata does it by stripping away everything that clouds the connection between the driver & the moment. Meanwhile – a Bronco does it by encouraging you to take the roof off and explore. Meanwhile – an old family Expedition can do it simply by reminding you of the people, places, and experiences that made you who you are.

Different machines, different purposes, different personalities. But the connection is unmistakable…

Sometimes you just know a vehicle has a soul the moment you lay eyes on it. All it has to do is sit there, and somehow, it speaks to you.

Think about the automobiles of the 1930s, ’40s, ’50s, and ‘60s, extending into the early ‘70s. There was a period in automotive history when manufacturers weren’t afraid to give their vehicles unmistakable personalities. When the automotive industry was not dictated by efficiency, regulation, & production cost. Enormous tail-fins, sweeping body lines, elaborate chrome trim, sculpted fenders, and distinctive front ends – expressed an era where imagination & design went hand-in-hand. Driving was an open-ended opportunity… not an inconvenience.

And more importantly, you wanted to look at these cars…

They drew you in. There was variety, intrigue… elegance & authenticity. Consider the Mercedes Gullwing, the 1959 Cadillac with its enormous tailfins, or an early Corvette. You didn’t need to be told that something special was sitting in front of you. Move into the ‘60s – and suddenly you’ve got Mustangs, GTOs, Chevelles, Chargers, Impalas, European sports cars… and gorgeous Corvette Sting Rays. By the later ’60s and early ’70s – Camaros, Firebirds, Challengers, ’Cudas, Mach 1s, and all sorts of wonderfully excessive muscle cars had joined the party. Every manufacturer seemed determined to create something that would make you stop, stare, and lust for it.

And it wasn’t exclusively American. The British gave us MGs, Triumphs, Jaguars, Lotus, and Aston Martins. While Italy produced some of the most beautiful rolling sculptures ever conceived. Germany, Japan, France, and plenty of other countries had their own interpretations of what an automobile should look, feel, and drive like. Different cultures, creating distinct engineering philosophies, and completely different driving experiences. Yet so many of these machines shared one wonderful characteristic: They had character… soul.

Walk through an old salvage yard or abandoned property somewhere in rural America.

Off in the distance, half-hidden beneath overgrown grass and decades of neglect, sits the remains of an old automobile. Maybe it’s a ‘57 Chevy, a first-generation Mustang, an old Galaxie, a Karmann Ghia, or something you can’t immediately identify. The paint is faded, the chrome is pitted, the tires have long since surrendered, and there’s a good chance the local wildlife has been using the interior as refuge. Yet – you STILL find yourself walking toward it.

Why?

You don’t know who owned it. You don’t know where it’s been, how many miles it traveled, or why somebody parked it and never came back. You have no idea whether it spent its life carrying a family across the country, cruising through small towns on Saturday nights, or serving as somebody’s first car. For all you know, the last time that engine ran, gasoline cost less than a buck a gallon.

But there’s something magnetic about it. An allure. Something that makes you want to brush the dust off the dashboard & find out more. And imagine what it must have been like when that machine was new. You start wondering what it would take to bring it back. What would it sound like? How would it drive? Could you save it?

It’s almost as if the car is asking you to give it another chance…

And I know that sounds ridiculous to somebody who sees automobiles as nothing more than an appliance. But to an enthusiast, that machine represents possibilities. A chance to experience something from another time, to preserve a little piece of history, or perhaps to create an entirely new set of memories with something that already has decades of them behind it.

I think that’s one reason restoration is such a powerful part of automotive culture.

People don’t usually restore vehicles because it’s financially sensible. But they do it because there’s something about that particular machine that refuses to let them walk away. Of course, I don’t believe beautiful styling alone guarantees a vehicle has soul. There have been gorgeous cars that were miserable to drive, just as there have been rather ordinary-looking vehicles that became extraordinary companions.

I also don’t believe the automotive industry stopped producing interesting designs sometime around 1973. There’s still plenty of personality out there. But – I do wonder whether we’ve lost some of the willingness to be different. When so many vehicles are designed around similar proportions, tightening regulations, packaging constraints, and market research, it’s easy for individuality to become another casualty of efficiency. There’s nothing inherently wrong with building a practical, refined, efficient, comfortable automobile. But – does every vehicle have to feel like it was designed to offend absolutely nobody?

There’s also something to be said about the little imperfections that give a vehicle character…

Modern automotive engineering has become incredibly good at eliminating noise, vibration, harshness, and nearly every other sensation that might remind you there’s a machine working beneath you. And in many ways, that’s great. Nobody wants a daily commute that feels like operating a piece of agricultural equipment. But I sometimes wonder whether, in our pursuit of perfection, we’ve engineered-away some of the very things that made driving memorable, fascinating, and nuanced.

There’s a difference between refinement and isolation. Believe it or not – a vehicle can be comfortable, without feeling numb & disconnected. It can be technologically advanced, without removing the driver from the experience. It can be quiet when you want peace, and wonderfully vocal when you want engagement. Some of the best modern performance cars prove that these things aren’t mutually exclusive. They manage to combine incredible engineering with an unmistakable sense of personality.

And on that note – let’s not pretend every old car was some glorious masterpiece of automotive expression. Nostalgia is often seen through rose-colored glasses. Plenty of those past-era cars were slow, uncomfortable, unreliable, poorly built, and about as exciting to drive as a dishwasher. The past wasn’t perfect, and neither were the vehicles that came from it.

But the ones that mattered? We remember them…

Sometimes we remember them because they were extraordinary machines. And sometimes we remember them because they were absolutely terrible, and surviving the experience became part of the entertainment. Sometimes – we remember them because they were simply there & familiar. Sitting in the driveway when we came home from school, carrying us across the country on family vacations, helping us move into our first apartment, or taking us on that late-night drive when we needed a little time to ourselves.

A car doesn’t have to be fast to have soul. Nor does it have to be expensive, rare, beautiful, or particularly desirable to anyone else. It doesn’t even have to be a good car. Sometimes the vehicle that means the most to you… is the one everybody else gave up on. The one that requires a little more patience, a little more understanding, and occasionally a vocabulary that would make a sailor uncomfortable.

Yet you keep it…

You keep it because every time you climb behind the wheel, something familiar sets in. Maybe it’s the sound of the engine, the smell of the interior, or the way the steering wheel feels in your hands. Maybe it’s a memory of someone who used to sit beside you. Or maybe it’s the realization that this particular machine has been there through some of the most important moments of your life.

And perhaps that’s the part that no manufacturer can truly engineer. Carmakers can give a vehicle personality. They can create an engine that sounds magnificent, a chassis that communicates beautifully, or a design that makes people stop & stare. Carmakers can build something that inspires you to explore, and engage with the world around you.

But the memories? We create those…

I’ve never cared much for automobiles that feel like appliances. I understand their purpose, and I certainly understand why people buy them. For millions of drivers, a vehicle that starts every morning, gets them where they need to go, and asks very little in return – is exactly what they want. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. But for those of us who genuinely love automobiles, transportation has always been ‘only part’ of the equation.

I want a car that makes me look back & smile after I’ve parked it. And sometimes – I want something that makes a little noise, requires a little more tug on the steering wheel, and reminds me what living is all about. Sometimes I want to drive something that won’t be mistaken for everything else on the road.

And sometimes, all I want to do is stand in front of some 70-year-old automobile that’s been sitting in a field for half its life, admire the lines, and wonder about the stories it could tell.

I think about those old Expeditions my family owned. And sometimes I still think about the SVR and the ridiculous grin it put on my face. I think about Wooley enjoying his cars on the daily, the Bronco that made me want to drive in cold weather with the roof open, my old heavily modified G37S that tried to erase me from existence daily… and the countless forgotten automobiles sitting in barns, garages, junkyards, and fields across the country. They’re all different machines, built for different purposes, by different people, during different eras. Yet they all remind me of the same thing…

The automobile has never been just an appliance to me.

For as long as I can remember, they’ve been a companion, a classroom, an escape, a source of frustration, a source of joy, and sometimes a rolling collection of memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Someday, somebody might inherit your car. They’ll turn the key, hear that familiar engine come to life, and wrap their hands around the same steering wheel you held for thousands of miles. They won’t know every road you traveled, every conversation that happened inside, or every moment when that machine was the only place you wanted to be. But maybe, just maybe, they’ll feel something. And maybe they’ll find themselves smiling without knowing exactly why.

Perhaps that’s what we’ve been calling soul all along…

A vehicle with a soul doesn’t necessarily need you to drive it. Sometimes it just needs you to notice it. But when you finally do turn that key, grab the wheel, and head down the road in the right car… you’ll understand why some of us have never been able to look at automobiles as ‘just transportation’.

Article by David S. Windsor