Science has proven Porsche’s “there is no substitute” slogan
It’s me. I’m science.
The 911 isn’t a particularly interesting car to look at.
Most generations do look the same.
But yet, as many will admit, it’s a car that looks good.
Unfortunately, the only real way to appreciate a 911 is to drive it…
…for an extended period of time.
A test drive around the block doesn’t cut it.
You need time with a 911 to understand it. And only after you understand it can you appreciate it. And in typical relationship fashion, only after you understand and appreciate it, can you actually love it.
But here’s the catch — you can’t fall in love with a 911 on the first date. You will think it’s cool after the first date. You’ll like how the flat-6 sounds, the seating position, and maybe the gauge layout. You’ll want a second date. And a third. Which is great because the understanding comes in after the 3rd date, the appreciation comes in after the 6th date, and you’ll finally fall in love sometime around the 20th date. By then you’ll have probably fixed something that broke on it too. Which is good. There is no substitute.
My friend, Lo, replacing his battery in an O'Reilly’s parking lot during Monterey Car Week. Once again, there is no substitute.
You need time to notice the details.
You need to go through a few shared experiences together to “get it”.
Once someone lives with and owns a 911, there are very few people that don’t own another one at some point in their life. They don’t always keep the original one that got them hooked, but they still end up in a 911.
One reason is because every detail on these cars has been developed for over 60 years:
The clutch pedal feel
The steering feel
The IMS issues
The shifter feel
The bore scoring
The seating position
The chassis dynamics
The gauge layout
The (wrong) engine placement
It all just works.
And despite the flaws and some shoddy engineering throughout the years (Porsche engineers make mistakes too despite what “Bernard” says on the 911 Owners Facebook group), they’re some of the most incredibly rewarding vehicles to drive and own.
“Porsches in Yosemite” - Jarry Lune
I never desired to own a 911 until I drove one for an extended period of time. I always thought, “Yeah, it’s a cool sports car. It looks good. Fun to drive. Would love to drive it again. I should probably add salmon to the Costco list. Can the frunk even hold a Costco-sized pack of toilet paper? (Yes it can)”
But once I came to understand and appreciate the 911, it clicked. Unfortunately for me, this happened 5 years before I owned one.
No matter what I would do to my E36 M3, it would never drive like a 911.
I could throw infinite money at it — brakes, suspension, power — and it would still never feel like a 911. That's because the E36 starts with a fundamentally different foundation: a sports sedan chassis designed for hauling groceries and children that BMW later decided to make fast. Some of the subframes were practically made from metal cardboard. Nevertheless, I am not numb to the fact that there are faster E36s (and E36 drivers) than me in my 911. But speed isn’t always the point, you heathens.
Alas, a photo of my E36 and the 911 that made me love 911s.
The 911 was born a sports car from day one. Its chassis wasn't compromised by practicality. Practicality had to adapt to it. It's not perfect with that absurd rear-engine layout that physics says shouldn't work, but that unwavering commitment to its original purpose is exactly what makes the difference. You can't engineer around DNA. A car's fundamental design purpose and architecture determines its character in ways that can't be overcome with modifications.
Again, I think the most important part is that this car has been developed for over 60 years. A fellow 911 owner, Scott, put me onto that fact.
And when you do something for 60 years, you get pretty f*cking good at it. 60 years eclipses the 10,000 hour mark of being an expert or professional at something (we're talking 124,800 hours roughly — more than 12x the requirement of achieving world-class expertise, according to Malcom Gladwell). This is a lifetime of knowledge and development. There really is no substitute for that. There’s no hack to replace that. No shortcut. It’s only time and diligence. And probably some beer.
Perhaps my favorite part is that despite being a sports car, you don’t have to drive a 911 fast to enjoy it. Unlike a Miata, you might hate life unless you’re driving it hard. The 911 can go to Costco, have lunch in the mountains, stop by the office, take the dog to the park, and then take your partner out for a date — all in the same day. And then you can comfortably drive across the USA over the next week while hitting your favorite race tracks along the way. You’ll mostly look good doing it too.
I'm not trying to convince you to buy a 911. In fact, don’t. I don’t want you pushing up the prices.
And contrary to all the words in this article that I’ve punched on my keyboard and that you’re now reading, I'm not even trying to convince you they're good cars (they’re f*cking great).
Back to my E36 M3. I didn't truly love that car until I'd spent countless mornings watching the sunrise through the windshield, or felt the chassis wiggle on ACH and Highway 9. Or did the RTAB pocket reinforcements. Or replaced my water pump for the third time. As a matter of fact, I still love that car.
A 911 demands the same commitment, just in a different way.
And maybe that's the beauty of cars in general. The special ones aren't appliances for only going to work. They invite you to experience a story about life (past, present, and future) that only unfolds over time and miles. They drive you to the definition of nostalgia. They’re things that you develop a meaningful relationship with. It’s even more meaningful if a friend or family member owned the car before you — you get to experience the same relationship that they made with the car. And if that friend or family member isn’t here anymore, you get to be with them again in a way. I don’t know how to put that feeling into words on a page yet, but it’s a feeling that feels really good. Because a car remembers where it’s been, even if you forget. Or something like that.
When people ask me why I loved my E36 despite its flaws, or why 911 owners seem culty about their cars, I used to struggle to explain it. Because unless you've felt it yourself — that moment when a car becomes an extension of you rather than just a thing you own — it's hard to understand and explain.
So the next time you see a 911 and think "cool, but looks like every other 911," remember: its magic isn't in how it looks or what its cult members say about it (me included, ironically).
It's in how it makes you feel when everything clicks and you suddenly get what Porsche has been refining for six decades.
Clocking high smileage somewhere on CA Highway 84.
You either get it, or you don’t. And that’s ok.
The kind of understanding a 911 requires can't be rushed, faked, or shortcutted. Maybe that’s the whole point of the 911 — time, commitment, and a little trust in the absurd. The rest, it turns out, is magic.
There really is no damn substitute.
