Paul discusses the strange phenomenon of the thrill of the chase, where the hunt for that lifelong dream car is more rewarding than the car itself.
There’s a curious phenomenon in life. Christmas Eve, for example, is magical. The anticipation, the wonder, the thrill of not knowing whether Santa will bring you the bike you begged for or yet another pair of socks. But then Christmas morning comes, and within half an hour of shredding wrapping paper, it’s over. Done. You’re left with a pile of stuff and the creeping realisation that the socks were, in fact, from Aunt Brenda, and Santa brought you a colouring book.
Buying a car, it turns out, is exactly like this. The real joy isn’t in the driving, or the admiring glances at the petrol station, or even the absurd satisfaction of seeing it parked outside your house. No, the real joy lies in the hunt. The chase. The intoxicating, obsessive, occasionally maddening search for that perfect car. And if you’re anything like me, this isn’t just about choosing a car — it’s about dissecting every conceivable option until your brain resembles a configurator screen gone mad.
It starts innocently enough. One day, while polishing your current pride and joy, you think, “Maybe it’s time for something different”. You don’t hate your car, but you’re not exactly thrilled by it anymore either. It’s like being in a perfectly happy relationship, but one day realising you’re fantasising about that ridiculously good-looking stranger in the coffee shop.
And then it happens. You catch a glimpse of something new. Maybe it’s a Ferrari 812 GTS cruising past, its V12 screaming like a banshee on helium. Maybe it’s a bright orange Huracan Tecnica with a carbon fibre bonnet, sitting in a showroom with the sort of aggressive stance that says, “I was born to ruin tyres and terrify pensioners”. Whatever it is, it grabs you by the soul and whispers, “You need me in your life”.
But of course, you don’t just buy the first car that catches your eye. Oh no. That would be far too easy.
The moment you decide you’re in the market, the fun truly begins. You fire up your laptop, coffee in hand, and dive into the rabbit hole of every car website known to man. Autotrader, PistonHeads, the Supercar Driver Marketplace — even some dubious classifieds site you’ve never heard of but swear has the exact car you’re looking for.
But it’s not just about finding the model. No, that’s just the start. The real obsession comes when you start searching for the perfect specification, because it’s not just any car you’re after — it’s your car.
Colour? Critical. Do you go for something understated, like Grigio Titanio or British Racing Green? Or do you throw caution to the wind and go full Giallo Modena yellow? Interior? Even more vital. Black leather is too common, but cream leather is a risk if you ever eat a Big Mac behind the wheel. And let’s not even get started on the stitching — yes, the stitching.
Wheels, calipers, carbon fibre trim, Alcantara headlining… suddenly, you’re spending hours debating options that, let’s be honest, you’d never even noticed before. You become that lunatic who spends three weeks deciding whether they really need the upgraded sound system because, after all, the V10 will be your music.
At some point, you convince yourself you’re an expert. You join forums. You read reviews. You watch YouTube videos of the exact car you’re thinking about, analysing every frame for hints about ride quality, practicality, and whether the infotainment system is up to scratch. You scroll through Instagram, looking for pictures of cars in the spec you’re considering, just to see how they look in the wild.
And then comes the configurator. Ah, the manufacturer’s configurator. A diabolical tool of seduction that lets you build your dream car with an ease that belies the eye-watering price tag at the bottom of the screen. Here, you can see your car come to life in glorious 3D renderings. You spend hours tweaking and perfecting, switching between colours and options until you’re convinced that this is the one. And then you save it, only to start over again the next day.
After weeks of agonising, you finally narrow it down. You’ve found the car, or at least the spec, and it’s time to venture into the real world — the dealership.
Now, walking into a dealership is a peculiar experience. On one hand, you’re buzzing with excitement. On the other, you’re filled with a vague sense of dread because you know you’ll have to deal with… the salesman.
The salesman will smile and shake your hand and say things like, “Oh yes, sir, this is the one to have”, even though you suspect he’s thinking, “Please buy this car so I can hit my monthly target and finally take that holiday to Marbella”.
And then there’s the test drive. A glorious, nerve-wracking moment where you finally get behind the wheel of your dream car. Except, it’s not your car yet, so you drive like a nervous learner, terrified you’ll kerb the wheels or stall at a junction — or worse still, do a reenactment of a recent Better Performance GT3 test drive. I’m still amazed by Lewis’ foresight in naming a company the exact thing he expected from his customer on that fateful drive!
But by the end of it, you’re hooked. You make the deal, you sign the papers, and you leave the dealership, grinning like a kid who’s just been given the keys to Willy Wonka’s factory.
And then… the wait.
If you’ve ordered a car new, this can stretch on for months. Months! During which time you refresh your emails obsessively, waiting for that glorious update that says your car has entered production. You follow its progress like a parent tracking a child on a gap year, from “build slot confirmed” to “shipped to port” to “arrived at dealership”.
And when the day finally comes, when you finally collect your new car, it is glorious. The excitement is palpable. You drive it home, windows down, revving at every opportunity, basking in the glow of your new purchase.
But here’s the thing. Just like Christmas morning, the magic fades faster than you’d like to admit.
Oh, it’s still a great car. But it’s just a car. The newness wears off. The configurator obsession is replaced by the realisation that maybe you should have gone for the heated seats after all. You start noticing tiny imperfections that wouldn’t have bothered you before. And one day, you catch yourself scrolling through Autotrader again, thinking, “Maybe it’s time for something different”.
And so the cycle repeats. Because the truth is, the thrill of the chase isn’t just part of the process — it’s the best part. The research, the agonising over options, the anticipation of finally getting behind the wheel… that’s what makes car buying so addictive.
The car itself? That’s just the souvenir.
So the next time you’re sitting in your garage, staring at your latest purchase and wondering why it doesn’t feel quite as exciting as you thought it would, remember this: it’s not about the car, it’s about the chase. And somewhere out there, your next hunt is waiting.
Written by: Paul Pearce