Addicted to the Badge — Why Car Addiction is Real

True brand addiction is a disease. And it starts small.

First, you get the car. Fine. Harmless. Lots of people buy cars. Then you want the keyring. Next comes the cap. Then the jacket, the wallet, the scale model, the coffee table book that weighs more than the car itself, and before you know it you’re standing in your living room wearing Ferrari underpants and sipping Nespresso from a Bugatti mug, wondering at what point your life stopped being about free will and started being about catalogue orders.

And the worst part? You don’t even care. Because you love it.

Why cars, why brands?

It isn’t rational. Nobody wakes up thinking: I must have the full set of Porsche Martini Racing socks or I will die. But that’s what happens. Once a brand gets under your skin, it becomes more than a car — it’s an identity.

Ferrari doesn’t just sell you a car. It sells you you. The version of you that wins at life. The one who would never queue at Greggs or buy an ironing board from Argos. McLaren tells you that you’re clever. Lamborghini tells you that you’re fun at parties. Porsche tells you that you’re dependable.

None of this is true, of course. Most Ferrari owners are still late filing their tax return. But brand addiction isn’t about reality. It’s about how it feels.

The slippery slope

Every addict will tell you the same lie: I’ll just have one. One Ferrari. One Porsche. One pair of Yeezys. That’s it. Done. Complete.

And then? Suddenly you need the luggage. And not just any luggage — no, you need the carbon fibre cabin bag that costs more than the EasyJet flight it’s going on. You need the bespoke watch, with the little horse on the dial. You need the Ferrari-branded iPhone case that cracks on day two but still makes you feel slightly better about yourself.

Porsche owners buy Porsche Design kettles. McLaren will sell you a branded battery conditioner. Aston Martin flog £300 cufflinks shaped like the winged badge. Bugatti once sold a pool table. A pool table! Because obviously that’s what you need to complete the experience of a 250mph hypercar.

It’s absurd. But you buy it anyway. Because when you’re hooked, logic is just background noise.

Accessories are the crack cocaine

And this is the clever bit. The car companies know you’re weak. They know that when you’re addicted, you’ll buy literally anything with their badge on it.

That’s why Ferrari has a whole shop. A shop! Not for cars, but for jackets, watches, teddy bears and prams. I once saw Ferrari baby clothes. Can’t even walk yet, but at least little Hugo looks stylish when he’s sicking up his milk.

And don’t laugh at that, because if you’re honest, you’ve probably fallen for it too. You can’t buy the car? Fine. You buy the hat. The t-shirt. The Lego Technic set. It’s the methadone programme of supercar ownership - just enough to take the edge off until you can afford the real thing.

How it feels

And when you’ve fallen completely, you start to measure your happiness not in miles, but in merch. You look around your garage and think: yes, this is who I am now. The brand becomes your personality.

You stop drinking out of normal mugs, because you’ve got a set of Porsche crested ones. Your suitcase isn’t Samsonite anymore, it’s carbon fibre with a Ferrari logo. Your laptop bag isn’t Tumi, it’s Aston Martin Racing.

And when you finally check your bank account, you realise you could have gone on holiday to the Maldives, but instead you bought a pair of Lamborghini driving shoes you wore once before realising they hurt your feet.

But do you regret it? Of course not. You regret not buying more.

My own confession

I’m not above this. I’ve fallen harder than most. I’ve bought Ferrari things that, in hindsight, were about as useful as waterproof teabags.

And it’s not just cars. I’ve got an equally unhealthy addiction to Yeezy trainers. They are, let’s be honest, cloth and foam sold at obscene prices. But when that box arrives, my brain releases enough dopamine to make me forget that I’ve just paid £300 for something Kanye West once sketched on a napkin.

This is how it works. You convince yourself it’s logical, but it isn’t. It’s an itch that can’t be scratched.

The psychology

Brand addiction is powerful because it works the same way as any other fix. You associate it with identity, status, and belonging.

It’s tribal. You’re not just buying a car, you’re joining a club. Ferrari owners nod at each other. Porsche drivers wave. Lamborghini people just rev until everyone in town knows they’ve arrived.

And if you don’t have the car yet? The merch gives you membership. It’s a way of saying: I’m one of you. Even if you’re wearing the hat while queueing at Pret in a leased Golf GTI.

The comedown

The problem, of course, is that no high lasts forever. The new car smell fades. The shoes get scuffed. The branded pen runs out of ink. And then? You need more.

That’s why Ferrari owners upgrade every three years. Why Porsche drivers keep adding “just one more” to the collection. Why people who swore they’d never touch Yeezys suddenly have 20 pairs stacked like a Foot Locker clearance aisle.

The comedown is inevitable. But the only cure is the next hit.

Why we don’t want to quit

Here’s the thing. You’d think people would be embarrassed by all this. That they’d wake up, look at the pile of Ferrari shirts on the floor and think: I’ve made a mistake.

But no. We love it. We embrace it. Because brand addiction, at its core, is fun. It makes life more colourful. It gives you little moments of joy every time you see that badge, wear that cap, or open that ridiculously overpriced carbon fibre key box.

And in a world full of grey hatchbacks and dull practicality, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Do I need therapy?

I admit it. I’m an addict. To Ferrari. To Yeezys. To anything with a badge that makes me feel something.

And you probably are too. Whether it’s Aston cufflinks, Porsche watches, or a collection of McLaren jackets that make you look like you’ve been working pit crew at Le Mans, you’ve got the bug.

Don’t fight it. Don’t feel guilty. Because deep down, you know it’s not about cars or clothes. It’s about identity, belonging, and joy.

And besides, would you rather be addicted to Ferrari luggage, or to Beanie Babies?

Exactly.

Written by: Paul Pearce