The term “hairdresser’s car.” Few phrases in the motoring world are flung around with less thought, usually by fellas whose driving “enthusiasm” peaks at a Tesco roundabout before they crawl back home, bragging about “VTEC spirit” while refusing to go above 80 because “aiyah, fuel expensive.”
Born in smoky pubs and basement forums of 1980s-90s Britain (where half the members wore leather jackets they never took off), the term became the default insult for small, stylish convertibles, sticking to them like that bad haircut you pretend is “80’s pop culture inspired” while everyone else just calls it “tragic.”
So where Did This Come From, Anyway ? The idea was that hairdressers, as guardians of style and keepers of all things trendy, would buy cars purely for how they look rather than how they drive. If it was small, looked sporty, had a soft top and could pull up perfectly outside a café for an iced latte, surely, it must be a “hairdresser’s car,” right ?
And so, if you turned up in your convertible, all polished chrome and unbothered confidence, then some joker in a creaking Myvi with fake exhaust tips and a “Takumi” sticker would smirk and mutter “hairdresser’s car”, like as if his judgment mattered through the clouds of his RM14 air freshener. Meanwhile, he’s praying his window doesn’t fall into the door again when he tries to wind it down, and hoping no one notices that the only thing louder than his exhaust is the sound of his ego compensating for his bank balance.
Never mind that these so called “hairdresser’s cars” often, weigh as much as your lunch but handle like a terrier on Red Bull, Deliver more smiles per kilometre than half the “serious” SUVs blocking the fast lane and most of all are the very cars that teach people why driving is fun in the first place. It’s a tired phrase parroted by some back water racer boy wannabe, most of whom have never sat behind the wheel of one, yet love to rant about horsepower while clinging to the steering wheel at the slightest bend, getting overtaken by school vans on corners.
Calling these cars “hairdresser’s cars” is like calling nasi lemak “just rice.” It says more about the person saying it than the car itself.
Victims of this phrase have included and maybe deserving are the,
It was meant as banter, but it quickly became a tired cliché, ignoring the engineering, the driving joy, and the big grins these cars deliver.
Now, Let’s talk about my personal steed, the Porsche Boxster S 986. It’s not Just a Pretty Face, I assure you.
Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s a convertible. Yes, it looks good parked anywhere, especially with the top down on a crisp morning. But to call it a “hairdresser’s car” is like calling a Porsche 911 “just another Beetle.”
Underneath:
✔️You get a mid-engined, flat- ix symphony that sings through the revs.
✔️ You get surgical steering and near-perfect balance.
✔️ You get the essence of Porsche, distilled into a lightweight package that loves corners as much as you love nailing the perfect apex.
The Boxster S 986 doesn’t just drive, it dances, reminding you that joy is not found in horsepower alone but in how a car makes you feel.
The BMW Z3: A Misunderstood Classic
The BMW Z3 gets the same undeserved label. It’s easy to see why, stylish, a Bond car, a soft top. But beneath the style:
✔️ You get classic BMW rear-wheel-drive handling.
✔️ The straight six engines are silky and willing, singing their Bavarian tune.
✔️ It delivers analogue roadster joy that few modern cars can match.
The Z3 isn’t about posing, it’s about feeling alive with the wind in your hair, the road unfurling before you, and the tail gently reminding you to respect the throttle.
Calling these cars “hairdresser’s cars” says more about the speaker’s insecurity than the car itself. It’s easy to mock a convertible when you’re stuck in traffic in a heavy, soulless crossover that handles like a soggy mattress. Cars like the Boxster and Z3 are about feeling every ripple of the road, carving through corners with a grin and experiencing motoring in its purest, most joyful form.
The Mercedes SLK, proof that style, substance, and a cheeky smirk can all fit in a two-seater.
The Mercedes SLK, often misunderstood, occasionally mocked, and unfairly lumped into the “hairdresser’s car” club by people who think torque is a kind of French pastry. Let’s be clear, this is no salon on wheels. The SLK is a cheeky little rogue, suave, sharp, and capable of delivering a driving experience smoother than a jazz saxophone solo on a Sunday morning. That retractable metal roof isn’t for hiding from the rain, it’s for dramatic entrances and even more dramatic exits. It folds away like a magic trick while lesser convertibles fumble with canvas and hope.
Sure, it’s stylish, but since when was that a crime ? You don’t buy an SLK because you want to blend in at the bingo hall. You buy it because you enjoy the finer things, precision engineering, rear wheel drive thrills and a cockpit that feels like a tailored suit stitched together with Stuttgart swagger. Let the keyboard warriors scoff from behind their aftermarket spoilers. Meanwhile, the SLK driver is out there, top down, sun kissing the dash and living their best grand touring fantasy one twisty B road at a time. Because at the end of the day, calling it a “hairdresser’s car” just means you’re jealous of someone with better taste.
Next time someone calls your Boxster, Z3 or SLK a “hairdresser’s car,” smile. Then, invite them for a drive. Let them hear the engine’s song, feel the chassis balance, and experience the joy that only a truly well sorted roadster can bring. They’ll soon learn, It’s not a “hairdresser’s car.” It’s a driver’s car and if your hair happens to look fabulous while you’re carving up a B road, well, that’s just a bonus. If driving with the roof down and a smile on your face makes you a hairdresser, then hand me the scissors and call me Vidal Sassoon, because I’ll happily take that label if it comes with this much driving fun.
