The gender car gap

When I was not glued to the screen with a keyboard, I’d be glued to the one with a controller, and despite my mum’s protests for me to go out and play, I’d spend many summer days in my bedroom, playing Need for Speed Underground, Gran Turismo and many of the popular games of the time. These were particularly lonely activities as gaming wasn’t quite the social experience it is these days. I seldom managed to convince any of my girlfriends to join, so any multiplayer experiences were limited to any of the neighbourhood boys or to my distant cousin who’d visit once every few years from Luxembourg.

My first real glimpse of an in-person community only came with the purchase of my first bike. Interestingly, this was also when my mum’s protests shifted seamlessly from ‘you spend too much time inside’ to ‘you’re never home’. My faithful little sparkly orange Honda CBR125R would be the prototype to many of my following life choices.

First, I could finally modify it as I had dreamed so many times before. Maybe even create my own project thread in one of the many forums I frequented. And of course I went through the full rite of passage of motoring sins and dubious aesthetic choices. In my defence, I had a lot of pent up excitement, plus this was the Fast and Furious generation – these liberties were not only allowed, but also encouraged, almost obligatory. So, as a 16-year-old with no budget or real tools, my bike would soon be ticking the trifecta of loud obnoxious exhausts, fake carbon fibre vinyl and go-faster stickers. It was tacky, but as a shy kid finally finding her feet and exploring the world, I still look back and remember those times as some of the happiest of my life.

University was an odd one. I finally had more friends as car mad as me, but still many of the men looked at me and my only other female colleague as if we belonged to a different planet. When I was old enough to exchange my bike for my first car, another string of questionable modifications ensued, including a parking lot remap by one of my colleagues, ill-suited lowering springs that made my car look like an elephant had landed on the bonnet, and a life-size picture of the Cookie Monster on the rooftop of my MINI Cooper D, much to my dad’s despair.

Still, the people around me seemed to get it. My car-clad notebooks were no longer seen as weird; I was amongst fellow nerds. Our nights were spent watching the bravest of us trying their luck at drifting their E10 BMWs and Ford Escorts around some remote badly lit roundabout. In the case of cars wanting to take part with incorrect-wheel drive, we’d ‘borrow’ trays from our local famous fast-food location and promptly install them under the rear wheels of any volunteering Fiat Punto or Seat Ibiza, which were made to spin around in circles until their passengers were able to hold onto their dinner no longer. We were young and stupid and having fun with it; I am very glad that much of the lore from back then still lives rent-free in our minds and obscure corners of YouTube.

But even then being female, I was in a minority and this would continue throughout much of my career. However, where Andrew has detected a loss of interest in all things automotive among the young men of today, my experience has been a bit of a plot twist. There has been a shift of late and, for the first time in my life, I now know many women with a genuine interest in and passion for cars. Scroll through my phone messages and you will find the biker girls’ group, the F1 female enthusiasts’ chat and the classic cars sorority.

I can’t tell you why. Maybe there isn’t one single reason. Maybe the push for more women in STEM occupations is finally starting to pay off. Maybe the wider use of social media has created new jobs and opportunities in an industry that has historically focused on more mechanical labour, or maybe we have just been given more platforms to connect and find each other. Whatever the reason, I am delighted to see it. My newly found group of girlfriends is now made up of very talented racing drivers and riders, motorsport commentators, car presenters, auto journalists,  motorsport engineers and mechanics, creative PRs and marketing managers. Women I feel as comfortable texting about my latest car-related woe as I am about my next Goodwood Revival outfit without being judged on either front. And for this I am thankful.

This has also become more of a norm at work. I remember a recent moment where I looked around the room just before a director-level meeting and, for a brief moment, the women outnumbered the men, which means we are making it up the automotive corporate ladder in greater numbers. More than representation, I can now find strong role models of leadership that for once look a bit like me.

However, I also have some fears. As Andrew put it very eloquently, we’re mostly united by the fact we are petrolheads – the key here being the p-word. We are united by our love of impractical and, frankly, rather rubbish old cars. We reminisce together about all the things we experienced growing up, making up for the time when the sight of another girl was reserved for the cover of Maxi Tuning.

I refuse to end this article on a bitter note by dwelling on the vilification of cars. Whatever the future of the industry may be, I want to believe that younger people will find the same joy in cars and bikes I felt when I was their age and every day since then. Maybe they will be curious about why the generations before came to love these lumps of metal on wheels so much. I have faith in our youth – be they women or men.