Freedom of choice…

6th November 2011

By Anthony Peacock

It struck me the other day, when I was helping a friend buy his new car, that the whole experience has become alarmingly similar to buying coffee from Starbucks.

The car that my friend Ian wanted was a Ford Fiesta. A good decision – the Fiesta has WRC pedigree, sharp looks, handles nicely, is relatively cheap to run and even has an interior that was inspired by the controls of Nokia mobile phones.

With Ian and Lisa’s first child due imminently, the car was going to be urban transport for the new baby and all its associated paraphernalia. Judging by the proposed itinerary of visits to relatives, clinics, and even baby swimming classes, the chauffeuring requirements of this baby were clearly going to exceed those of the Chief Executive of Glaxo Smith Kline.

So Ian was understandably keen to delve into Ford’s options list, to make sure he specified any extra equipment available to help keep the baby safe. Living where they do in London, the only guarantee of this would be if Ford offered the Fiesta with the option of bonnet-mounted sidewinder missiles, armour plating and an ejector seat. But they don’t. Instead though you can have a perimeter alarm, soft feel gear knob, electronic automatic temperature control, parking sensors and capless refuelling system – among many other things – if you so choose. The list goes on.

That was before we even got onto the colour. Luckily Ian was quite clear about this: blue. It’s always been his favourite colour and there’s a 50% chance of it matching the new baby’s bootees. But blue is a relative concept, as generations of manic depressives over the years have found out. There are in fact three shades of blue available on the base Fiesta alone. And that’s before you even get into metallics.

No wonder Ian ended up apologetically saying that he simply wanted his new car to be “just a sort of blue blue”. That floored the salesman entirely until we settled on Ocean. In metallic. With optional paint protection.

We then moved onto the interior cloth, the five choices for which were dealt with mercifully quickly. But we weren’t done yet. We had to choose the wheels, the trim, insurance, finance guarantees, payment protection, breakdown cover: you name it, we did it.  

But let’s be fair: we should be grateful that Ian was not buying a MINI or a Fiat 500 – each of which, when all the possible options and engine sizes are taken into account, is available in more than 500,000 different configurations. In fact, MINI estimates that no two cars are entirely identical.

Choice, of course, is one of the things that define the civilised world – but does there really have to be so much of it? Go back 30 years, when the Fiesta was first introduced, and there was a selection of three models: L, S and Ghia. The L was basic, the S had a few extra luxury items (such as headrests!) and the Ghia had everything – including some hideous fake wood and a cigar lighter.

After the whole experience was over, I took poor old Ian, head reeling, across the road for a restorative coffee to Starbuck’s.

“I’d like a coffee,” he said, not unreasonably for a man who had just walked into a coffee shop.

“Certainly Sir,” chirped the girl who was serving. “Would that be a latte, cappuccino, skinny cappuccino, espresso, frappe, caffe misto, cafe au lait, decaf...”

Ian is still lying down in a darkened room with a wet towel over his eyes as I write.