SOMEWHERE IN GEORGIA – Driving to Florida on I-75 inching through a newly blue southern state, we spotted the 37-foot Thor Challenger towing a full-size pickup. This monstrous Class A motor coach named after the Norse god of thunder retails for $212,000.
To give you an idea of its enormity, the gross vehicle weight is 22,000 pounds. It has a king bed, theater seats, an overhead bunk loft and an exterior TV. It sleeps eight people comfortably.
Across the rear below the rooftop next to the 12-foot exterior RV ladder in a cutesy bold white font was this line: “I identify as a Prius.”
So, it’s come to this: gender vehicle identity.
My first reaction was to chuckle at the silly notion of an 11-ton recreational vehicle – literally a house on wheels – that self-identified as a Toyota Prius. “Gas-guzzling motorhome trapped inside a hybrid electric compact car’s body. Film at 11.” Pretty amusing.
Then, after sitting in Atlanta’s maddening rush-hour traffic on a Thursday during a pandemic, Rebecca and I started discussing the poor Thor/Prius’s dilemma. And the more we did, the more I felt bad for laughing and being so insensitive.
Not for the Thor, but for real people who feel trapped in their own skin. We talked some more, googled what we didn’t understand, and eventually the traffic cleared.
According to the Human Rights Campaign (hrc.org), an organization which fights for equal rights for LGBTQ people, gender identity is one’s innermost concept of self as male, female, a blend of both or neither.
It’s how individuals perceive themselves and what they call themselves. One’s gender identity can be the same or different from their sex assigned at birth.
Returning to my original vehicle metaphor, what’s under your hood may not always match what’s in your heart.
Humans, we once believed, came in two models: male and female. Two choices, also known as binary. There are a half-dozen or so now.
For me, it’s an awful lot to unpack. I feel for what youngsters struggle with these days. And am so glad I’m not in high school.
Returning to my original vehicle metaphor, what’s under your hood may not always match what’s in your heart.
Back to vehicle genders, something I know a little bit more about.
Historically, all kinds of vehicles – including ships, cars, trains and even engines – have taken on the feminine gender, especially in informal contexts and often when spoken of by men. As in, “My car, she’s a real beauty.” She was often named Betsy, if it was my father’s car.
Across the USA, I’m happy to report that the most-named car make and model is the Ford Mustang. Not surprising, really, considering songs like “Mustang Sally” were popular back in the 1960s when the pony car arrived.
There are “girly” cars, they say, including the VW Beetle, Mini Cooper and most compact electric cars. I have no idea why this is true. Maybe it’s the curves or colors. Or that their navigational systems are optional because female buyers will more likely ask for directions.
And then there are the “guy” cars. Apparently, a few of the manliest vehicles include the 1969 Chevrolet Camaro SS, Aston Martin’s V12 Vanquish and the Mitsubishi L200 Barbarian Black. I have no clue what that last one rides like, but it’s a badass pickup with some scary decals. Think Charles Bronson.
I’m not entirely sure what gender our vehicles belong to, except for my 1965 Mustang convertible. “Sal” is all girl. Most of the time.
Rebecca’s pristine SUV is too lovely to be a guy, except for maybe heavyweight fighter Muhammad Ali, who once said his opponent Sonny Liston was too ugly to win, adding, “The world champ should be pretty like me.”
And then there’s our RV. I have never thought about what gender a silver Sprinter van would be, and I don’t much care.
At 24-feet-long by 7-feet-wide and just under 10-feet-high, we call our Winnebago ERA 70X motor coach “The Beast.” We three are the beauties, humble passengers of this blessed Beast, happy wherever the road takes us.
Who knows? Perhaps under all that girth the Beast identifies as a Prius, too. Or, it is gender-fluid and non-binary, changing how it expresses and identifies itself over time.
Either way, it sleeps two adults and a small dog comfortably.
And looks to me like something Mr. Thor could devour in one bite.
