The carwash

In American TV sitcoms of the 60s, there was a ritual which occurred with such regularity that it assumed an almost iconic significance in the genre.  At some point, in a manner that could be either central to the plot or totally tangential, somebody would clean the family car.  Family because such comedies almost invariably dealt with nuclear groups, either perfect, imperfect or potential.  Car and not cars because people had not yet attained the consumer nirvana of multiple car ownership.

The ritual almost always took place in the front drive.  It therefore became a social act, and assumed a proportionately greater significance.  First, it said "we have a car."  That is, that the family had arrived on the first rung of the materialistic ladder.  Secondly, it said "we look after our car.”   The Puritan virtues of labour and cleanliness combine in a non-productive activity which nonetheless asserts a set of middle class values central to the American self-image at that time.

How things have changed.  Today, to be seen sloshing water over a soapy car is to cut a figure of fun.  Anyone who aspires to be a member of the culturally dominant generation - yuppies today, as in the 60s it was the newly-affluent middle-aged middle classes - uses a carwash.

The carwash is the one of the pantheon of perfect yuppie machines.  It is fully automated, and its robotics, albeit crude, meshes with the hi-tech world of cellular phones, Amstrad word-processors and CD players.  It is slightly surreal, with green nylon brushes spinning and rolling over the car like dervishes in a kind of manic caress, and the obscene dangling orifice of the hot-air dryer.  This controlled bizarrerie, because it is totally impersonal, affords the driver an opportunity to maintain the requisite coolness throughout the operation.  This is in stark contrast with the 60s approach; it is hard to be stylish with a chammy leather.

Because the process is automatic, it can be provided round the clock.  This kind of eternal availability is part of the yuppie credo which says that Thou shalt not be constrained by petty limitations such as time of day.  What could be cooler than roaring up to a 24-hour petrol station at three in the morning and sluicing down the car?  Nor is this just a luxury: it is a necessity.  Unlike 60s carwashers who wish to proclaim to the world that they are cleaning the car, because such an act of purgation is in itself praiseworthy, the latterday equivalents must maintain the impression that their car never needs cleaning; that it retains its gleaming pristine state whatever escapades its owner puts it through.  In this, the car, here as so often one of the truest symbols of yuppiedom, must mirror its keeper.  For as we all know, come what may, the locks and looks remain untrammelled, the dress still immaculate - and the corresponding success assured. 

The carwash has joined the lavatory as one of the yuppy unmentionables.  It is a monument to unstylish things.  It is further evidence that the post-modern stylists stand in opposition to the neo-realists with their earth and dirt.  For the yuppies such grime and grit is about as desirable as the eponymous Kitchen Sink and about as suitable for their cars.

Carwash, 866/(10.10.86)

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