Don’t tell anyone: I’m emotionally attached to Volkswagens

RhishjaCars, Volkswagens


With all this business-y talk about “brand loyalty” and “net promoter scores”, I thought to myself: “Are there really brands that people care about? Isn’t this just more corporate hyperbole?”

In fact, I thought the whole notion of “emotional attachment” to a brand (you know, a faceless corporate invention) was absurd.

“That’s crazy,” I scoffed. “Whoever heard of someone being ’emotionally attached’ to a brand?” I dismissed this as something that applied to other “weaker-minded” people. People who “believe everything they see on television”, as my grandmother used to say.

And then it hit me: I have my own sappy, unfounded, illogical, emotional attachment to a brand.

A brand! A soulless, contrived corporate concoction.

Shhh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s Volkswagen.

Perhaps it’s because my very first childhood memory – the absolute first recollection I have as a human – is of stretching out as far as I could in the back compartment (we called it the “secret compartment”) of a late 1960’s Beetle – and not quite being able to reach the sides.

The short, brushy fabric carefully covered with a soft blanket and a small pillow. The paahrrr-rrumm that is uniquely Volkswagen – lulling me to sleep as I accompanied my mom here and there.

(These days, I guess I would have had to ride around in a car seat. Ugh. Doesn’t look nearly as cozy as the Beetle’s “secret compartment.”)

I traveled in the VW’s secret compartment until … I just couldn’t fit anymore. First, it was my flat feet reaching the side.

Soon I had to bend my knees a little. And then I had to bend them a lot.

When my head was finally visible above the back seat, it was clear to me that my compartment was no longer “secret” and I would have to sit in the car like a regular person.

And in high school, my first kiss was in a boyfriend’s 1961 Volkswagen Beetle.

My first car – this gorgeous 1968 Karmann Ghia:


It was 1980 and I was 16 years old. I took my California driver’s test in my 1968 Karmann Ghia.

That’s right, I drove a stick for my driver’s test. I scored a 96%.

Over the years, after that gorgeous Karmann Ghia, I have owned and loved the following VWs:

  • 1963 Beetle Ragtop
  • 1979 Scirocco (the only speeding tickets I have ever received were during the time I owned this car)
  • 1981 Rabbit
  • 1990 Fox (I drove a stick in San Francisco for 12 years!)

My 1979 VW Scirocco:

My 1990 VW Fox:

I have always been one of those people who loves cars. Especially Volkswagens. (My husband, on the other hand, if you ask him what kind of car someone is driving, he is likely to say, “A blue one, I guess.”)

I am currently the proud owner of a 2008 Passat Wagon. Her name is Pussy Wagon.

On Pee-Dub’s first night tucked safely inside our garage, I even brought her owner’s manual inside and read it, sharing moments of discovery with my puzzled spouse. (“There’s an umbrella pocket on the driver’s side door! With its own drainage system!”)

In 2004, I confess – I strayed and bought a 2004 PT Cruiser Turbo Limited Edition, for no other reason than it’s “cuteness.” (And it is a cute car.)

However, after driving the Chrysler for a few years, I became increasingly dissatisfied; something didn’t “feel” right.

But … I think deep down … I was homesick for my beloved Volkswagen.

Photo #1 by Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-1990-0430-004 / CC-BY-SA [CC-BY-SA-3.0-de], via Wikimedia Commons. All other photos © Rhishja Larson.