Dear Herculodge: If I Opt for the Automatic Transmission, Will I Compromise My Masculinity?

Dear Mr. Man Points,

As traffic around town has steadily worsened and as sciatica pains shoot down my ass, I find I’ve lost my urge to pump a clutch pedal during my two-hour traffic-filled commute. I’ve therefore opted for an automatic transmission. Does this violate the Male Code?

Spare me your pathetic excuses for getting an automatic transmission, you Pillsbury Dough Boy. Few things in life feel more manly than zooming around town in a sporty car with a six-speed manual gear box, which in effect is a very empowering experience. It makes a man feel “one with the car,” it allows him to feel the engine’s power in ways that are not possible with the automatic, it affords him the pleasure of the low-end torque as he shifts from first to second gear and beyond, and most importantly it affirms to his male brethren that he refuses to compromise his car’s performance for nebbish convenience.

Loathsome philistines can’t be bothered with the masculine experience of shifting gears. The convenience and ease of an automatic compromises speed and “car connectedness.” As a result, it wastes the potential thrill of the BMW M5 or the Infiniti G37 coupe or the super charged Mini Cooper. What kind of man makes this compromise? An emasculated one. A man could be driving around town in his six-speed manual BMW M5, and as such he could be swinging breathtakingly huge elephant testicles. But pathetically, he opts to drive the same car, in the diminished automatic version, which renders his testicles sun-dried Brussels sprouts.

Moreover, a man who surrenders to the automatic version casts doubts on other aspects of his character. Does he squat when he pees? Does he scream falsetto during a surprise encounter with a spider? Does he cringe while gutting a trout?

Therefore, a man’s purchases a sport car with the automatic transmission, featuring “Agitronic Paddles,” which allow him to “shift” without a clutch, does not appease the contempt of his male friends who have told him repeatedly that in middle-age he must get a “fun” car, an automobile that generates adrenaline and heightened states of masculinity. To show their displeasure, they will not even come over to see his brand new seventy-thousand-dollar automobile. Let’s face it, when a man buys a new car, one of the purchase’s greatest pleasures is the opportunity to show off the car to his male friends, to watch them gawk at it, to envy him, to ask him questions about its specs, to “inspire” them to buy the same car, and to feel the power that such influence wields.

But a man who has “ruined” his car by opting for the automatic is now a pariah, a Judas of Male Society. Therefore, you should be warned that no matter how many good reasons you come up with for getting the automatic—you can’t eat a breakfast burrito and talk on your cell phone while shifting gears, your herniated disc makes it too painful to press down on the clutch through city traffic, the stop-and-go traffic is so horrendous that in ninety percent of your driving you can’t even get out of second gear and as such you feel “like a caged animal,” that being trapped in second gear causes road rage and a seething dyspepsia that counteracts the alleged advantages of manual shifting—you will not receive any sympathy. For a man in middle age with the resources to buy his dream car is expected to get it in a manual and no excuses in the world will save him from losing Man Points.

Dear Mr. Man Points,

As traffic around town has steadily worsened and as sciatica pains shoot down my ass, I find I’ve lost my urge to pump a clutch pedal during my two-hour traffic-filled commute. I’ve therefore opted for an automatic transmission. Does this violate the Male Code?

Spare me your pathetic excuses for getting an automatic transmission, you Pillsbury Dough Boy. Few things in life feel more manly than zooming around town in a sporty car with a six-speed manual gear box, which in effect is a very empowering experience. It makes a man feel “one with the car,” it allows him to feel the engine’s power in ways that are not possible with the automatic, it affords him the pleasure of the low-end torque as he shifts from first to second gear and beyond, and most importantly it affirms to his male brethren that he refuses to compromise his car’s performance for nebbish convenience.

Loathsome philistines can’t be bothered with the masculine experience of shifting gears. The convenience and ease of an automatic compromises speed and “car connectedness.” As a result, it wastes the potential thrill of the BMW M5 or the Infiniti G37 coupe or the super charged Mini Cooper. What kind of man makes this compromise? An emasculated one. A man could be driving around town in his six-speed manual BMW M5, and as such he could be swinging breathtakingly huge elephant testicles. But pathetically, he opts to drive the same car, in the diminished automatic version, which renders his testicles sun-dried Brussels sprouts.

Moreover, a man who surrenders to the automatic version casts doubts on other aspects of his character. Does he squat when he pees? Does he scream falsetto during a surprise encounter with a spider? Does he cringe while gutting a trout?

Therefore, a man’s purchases a sport car with the automatic transmission, featuring “Agitronic Paddles,” which allow him to “shift” without a clutch, does not appease the contempt of his male friends who have told him repeatedly that in middle-age he must get a “fun” car, an automobile that generates adrenaline and heightened states of masculinity. To show their displeasure, they will not even come over to see his brand new seventy-thousand-dollar automobile. Let’s face it, when a man buys a new car, one of the purchase’s greatest pleasures is the opportunity to show off the car to his male friends, to watch them gawk at it, to envy him, to ask him questions about its specs, to “inspire” them to buy the same car, and to feel the power that such influence wields.

But a man who has “ruined” his car by opting for the automatic is now a pariah, a Judas of Male Society. Therefore, you should be warned that no matter how many good reasons you come up with for getting the automatic—you can’t eat a breakfast burrito and talk on your cell phone while shifting gears, your herniated disc makes it too painful to press down on the clutch through city traffic, the stop-and-go traffic is so horrendous that in ninety percent of your driving you can’t even get out of second gear and as such you feel “like a caged animal,” that being trapped in second gear causes road rage and a seething dyspepsia that counteracts the alleged advantages of manual shifting—you will not receive any sympathy. For a man in middle age with the resources to buy his dream car is expected to get it in a manual and no excuses in the world will save him from losing Man Points.