The sum total of my knowledge of the fashion industry could probably be engraved on the buckle of a seat belt. I don’t particularly care for trends, or fads, or movements, or revivals, or influences or anything really. I appreciate the relevance of the industry in the world in which I live, but I just don’t particularly care for it.

One thing I have noticed though, and I suspect I’m way behind on this one, is the fascination with vintage clothing in Cape Town. It is baffling. I’ve mentioned it here before; I can’t quite understand why anyone would want to wear clothing that looks exactly like the kitchen curtains in my dad’s old construction-site caravan. You know the ones that are stitched around a pole and you have to sort of slide them closed. These ones.

Some future skirts there.

Generally, and this is certainly a generalisation, things get better with time. As technology progresses, and manufacturing techniques advance, the items we use in our day to day lives improve. I am currently wearing a pair of jeans that will probably outlive me. My current microwave does not make horrendous popping noises like the one from my childhood, which encouraged my mom to clear out the kitchen while it was working. The current Polo I am testing has 300 airbags; a fuel-efficient, powerful, yet tiny 1.4 litre engine, a boot big enough for at least three of your enemies and space for four adults (inside). And a good sound system. That sort of car, even 30 years ago, was unthinkable.

However, as things inevitably progress, I feel that the products we purchase and interact with get cheaper. Not just in value or their construction, but in the sense that you are not the only person with a Polo. You are not the only person with a pair of those jeans. And you are certainly not the only person with a microwave. You are one of millions, maybe hundreds of millions, and there is nothing unique about what you own. And that is cheap.

This, I feel, is what has drawn our affectionately named hipsters to vintage clothing. The idea that you might be the only person in the world, or at least the country, or at the very least Cape Town, who owns that jacket. Or that hat. Or that pair of brogues. Your floral-printed blouse is now one of kind, because the rest of its ilk are now moth-bitten rags, torn up long ago to do cleaning duty at your gran’s house.

And for some people, it’s the same with cars. There are millions upon millions of identical vehicles roaming the globe as we speak. Someone in Utah is driving exactly the same Audi A4 as you. It’s frightening. To combat this mass-market effect, car manufacturers now offer an unfathomable array of options. Take the new Mini for example; 1.6 billion of those could roll off the production line, and no two would be the same.

Cars, certainly, have lost something in the modern era. They are products made by robots in a warehouse in a field clearing in the Ukraine. They are washing machines that you can drive to work. There is no sense that a human being added his or her own influence and personality to the vehicle. There is no sense that the wood trim was chosen by anything other than a computer algorithm. As safe, efficient and fast as cars have become, they have lost their soul.

And like a hipster to a Sunday clothing market at an art-house cinema, many, many car enthusiasts are drawn to the vintage car market. It’s a wonderful place. Searching for that rare MG convertible, finding an example that still goes and stops without endangering your life, and taking it home to care for it and love it for the rest of your days is… The worst idea you will ever have.

An old MG convertible, yesterday.

And I’ll tell you why. Vintage cars are shit. They are rusting, cantankerous, temperamental old codgers that will make your life a misery. Depending how old your desired car is, it will have no safety features. If you hit a balloon-giraffe at 10km/h you will end up in hospital and your car will be a write-off. Seatbelts weren’t even mandatory until the late ’60s, so you might even have to have seatbelts installed. Because aluminum is a fairly modern car-material, all old cars are made of steel, and thus weigh 7000kg. The huge engine required to move this bulk will burn more fuel than a wildfire at a refinery. And everything will break. Twice.

But, as usual, I have a solution: old cars with new running gear. Beautiful and vintage from the outside, modern and safe on the inside. And because engines have literally halved in size and doubled in power, you could happily fit a 1.6 litre Toyota Tazz engine into your dream MG convertible, and the little thing would positively fly.

New brakes, new suspension, new gearbox. Well, relatively new obviously, but sourced from donor cars that have been in accidents. It’s really not hard to achieve this, and I can point you to about 10 different workshops in Cape Town, run by brilliant people who build and restore brilliant cars. Sure, they focus on the high-end muscle car industry, but they will be happy to work on smaller, daintier models.

It’s all about finding a good foundation car. It doesn’t have to be running, but the body should be as rust-free as possible, so head inland away from the coast. Little towns in the Karoo are good hunting grounds, and the dry weather keeps the bodywork in good shape. And then let the car-builders do the rest.

A new car that looks like a classic? I think I’m onto something.

Main Photograph © Mia Couvaras