A Woman’s Guide To Attending an Auto Show: Yes, It Can Be Fun!
Then there was Jaguar. Don’t get me wrong. The cars they were showing were mind-blowingly sleek and sexy… as were the statuesque women who spent the entire day doing nothing but smiling while pointing at them. These ladies were in 5” heels, form-fitting belted white dresses and perfect Rockette make-up and hair. When the champagne-colored satin sheets were lifted exposing Jag’s gorgeous 2012 line, one of the Mini Cooper gals said to me: “I feel sorry for their feet.”
I felt less judgey about Jaguar’s Women in White when I was standing next to a couple of them at the sinks in the Ladies Room. If they were beauty pageant contestants, I was the genderless schlub knocking on their dressing room doors saying “Five minutes, Miss Louisiana.” Plus, a gig is a gig and getting paid to look great while standing next to hot, expensive merchandise is a helluva lot better than say being the night janitor at a colonics clinic.
Other things I couldn’t have enjoyed as much if I had been with anyone but my purse, and yes, I’ve anthropomorphized my handbag. Deal with it. No way would I have been okay spending so much time watching Mazda’s 3-D video presentation and yes, I’m the idiot who ducks when a cinematic wave heads toward her. I would’ve been too self-conscious to stand in front of the Mini Cooper’s iconic red London phone boxes having my picture taken and then photo-shopped so it looked like I was one of the Queen’s Guards marching in front of a new Mini, although I don’t think I was fooling anyone. At Lexus, I would’ve been compelled to make a bee-line for their cars instead of marveling at the pristine and squishy carpeting under the them and then telling a Lexus VIP our illustrious leader Tara was interviewing, “Your new cars have great new colors and none of them are gold!”
If I were with my husband and son, this is the point where we would’ve hit the food court for something fried and then gone on to two or three more giant car-filled halls at the massive Los Angeles Convention Center. But I was alone. Yes, I was curious about the new Ford where you stick your foot under the tailgate and the back door flips open… but not enough to schlep there. I know where the dealerships are. I’ll check ‘em out on my own.
I did poke my head into the crazy-expensive car area. The smell of Bentley leather is an aphrodisiac that Old Spice should really look into, but then I remembered the time I was at the gas station filling up my Prius across from a mechanic who was gassing up a Bentley. Our pumps dinged at the same time. I said: “Mine cost $9.08. What was yours?” The mechanic looked at the read out and said: “$104.34” and then we laughed and laughed. Without even looking at the Lotuses or the Morgans or the Rolls Royces, I turned on my heels and left. To a man, this is a sacrilege, unthinkable, like turning off “Funny Girl” before Fanny Brice starts singing on that tugboat.
After all those years of dreading the Auto Show, now I can’t wait till the next one. Do you have to go alone to enjoy it? God, no. But then if I’d have had a Chubbette sister or a mother who’d have let me go back-to-school in those fringed pajamas I thought made me look like Cher, maybe I’d be more open to group activities.
But I didn’t. So I’m going solo and loving every minute of it.