On the Bugatti Veyron... Sort of.

Opening a written work about something by saying that everything that can be said about it has already been said doesn’t seem like such a bright idea, unless you don’t want anyone to read on beyond the first sentence. However, in the case of the Bugatti Veyron, many would say that enough has indeed already been uttered.

Every motoring authority and every single car enthusiast with an audience has, at some point, spoken and/or written about it. The overwhelming abundance of wording that has been conjured up to do so is of such an exhaustive prolixity, that it is nigh on impossible to say anything about it that hasn't already been thought of, expressed and communicated through one channel or another.

I do occasionally have to remind myself of how blessed I am to be feeling so passionately about something. I know it isn't an ideal or a human being , it's merely an object that I will probably never get to see in person. Still, it does give me comfort that I am able to demonstrate such uncontrollable gushes of enthusiasm and outpours of admiration and respect about a self-propelled passenger vehicle.

That said, having respectively seen and read almost every pixel and every word of every piece of interweb content that is even remotely related to the Veyron (From mere fleeting mentions to full-on hands-on reviews), I'm still somewhat left wanting more. I can feel a nagging part of me that is, as yet, achingly unsated. My feeling is that as long as there exists an individual that isn't persuaded of its brilliance beyond sway, then something must be amiss. I have waited long enough for someone, somewhere, to fill this gaping void inside my being with a piece on the Veyron that would be so comprehensively and irreproachably thorough, that it could convince, once and for as long as necessary, every single human being in the world with a droplet of automotive passion in their bloodstream, that it is the greatest and absolute best car that has ever been made.

Obviously, I have since come to my senses and realized that that is but a deluded and hopeless aspiration. I'm obviously suffering from what I'm going to call, for failure of finding the technical term that has nonetheless probably already been coined, a forced-consensus effect. To mirror the recognized psychological effect of false-consensus, whereby an individual systematically presumes that their ways are shared by others. When overwhelmed by this forced-consensus sensation, which I believe is certainly not exclusive to the subject matter at hand here, one would not only assume that one has amassed a quantity of knowledge that is so substantial and so well ordered that it could almost be regarded as an absolute and undebatable truth, but also and more importantly have an itching urge to impart that knowledge, exactly as it is arranged in one's intellect, to whomever the matter may concern. With the ultimate aim of unifying everyone's opinion and forming a consensus that would be based on an inescapable but voluntary individual conviction.

Now, assuming you haven't already nodded off reading through that philosophical drivel. I shall go on and say that that is almost exactly how I felt about the Bugatti Veyron. I would get this egocentric and smugly self-righteous sense that my opinion of it was so solidly founded and irrefutably true, that the only reason for anyone not adhering to it would be their falling short of the requisite inferior limit of knowledge which I was presuming I'd attained about it, and which must inevitably lead to the aforesaid conclusion in regard to that car.

Having thankfully overcome this obsessive urge, I have decided that the only way to sate my hunger for such a written piece is to attempt to compose it myself.

Before I've even begun, a dizzying array of superlatives and laudatory epithets is already bouncing about in my head, making it even harder for me to structure the remainder of this post, which has already ended up being much longer than I'd intended.

Actually, on reflection, if I'm already dead set convinced of the conclusion that this theoretical perfect piece of writing would try to establish, and since I've spent the last few paragraphs attempting to show how I've become dead set unconvinced of the possibility that people may unanimously share this opinion, then whatever is the point in trying to write it anyway? I would still, afterwards, have to skim through painful comments saying that the Veyron is ugly, uselessly overpowered and over-engineered, too heavy, too quiet for a hypercar, that it has a dull and featureless interior, that much simpler cars can achieve similar performance figures at a fraction of the price, etc. And each time I would get the same tingling sensation running through my fingers and willing me on to reply to each of those comments' authors and set them straight. Each time I would feel anger and disappointment. Call them obtuse and unappreciative. Regard them as lacking sufficient background knowledge. Essentially, I would presume that they were wrong.

This matter ends up amounting to nothing more than the simple resignation to the fact that opinions will be diverse, divergent and dissimilar. Never has righting wrong opinions or wronging right ones been possible, or due. There is therefore simply no point in the undertaking that spawned this post. One must simply find exclusive pleasure in one's passionate convictions. An attempt at forced-consensus, over any subject matter, no matter how strongly one might feel about it, ultimately seems but a fool's errand.

It saddens me however that after what felt like one of the most intense suspense build-ups in blathering history, comes, although crucially amended, the most anticlimactic and predictable statement possible :
I believe that the Bugatti Veyron is the Greatest Car in History.