I’ve just had the most unusual invitation ever. Could I, it said, take part in
a debate on whether sexism in the media is a thing of the past.
I declined for two reasons. First, I’m servicing my lawn mower that night, and
second, women in the media haven’t just broken through the glass ceiling
they’ve smashed through it, furnished the upper floors with lots of cushions
and painted the chimney pots pink.
Top Gear, the television programme I present, is made by the general factual
department of the BBC. That’s run by a woman, as is the specialist factual
department. Then you have the boss of all factual programmes, who’s a woman.
The head of entertainment, needless to say, has long blonde hair, big brown
eyes and answers to the name of Jane.
Recently, I’ve been asked to present a programme about inventors and machines
that have changed the world. It will be a festival of steel and soot, a
coal-powered extravaganza with explosions and thrust vectoring. Needless to
say, the director is a woman.
The controller of BBC1 is a woman. The controller of BBC2 is a woman. The
director of television is a woman. Even the director-general is called Dyke.
So what about newspapers? Well, I also write a column for The Sun. Home of the
page three breast and the gentle feminine views of Richard Littlejohn.
That’s now edited by a flame-haired temptress call Rebekah. Who’s a woman.
So is sexism in the media dead? No. It’s alive, well and jumping up and down
on the hairy, vicious, warmongering genitals of anyone who happens to be a
man. And this is good news because women are just as competent and just as
insightful as men. But in addition, you can spend all day guessing what
they’re wearing under their skirts.
When I’m dealing with a man I think, “That’s an interesting idea. Tell me
more.” But when I’m working with a woman I think, “That’s an interesting
idea. Tell me more. And I wonder if you’re wearing stockings?” See. Who says
men can’t multitask? The sheer number of women is what makes the media so
vibrant and interesting. I love it. But I also work with the car industry
and that’s rather different. Occasionally Ford girds its muscly loins and
employs a woman to choose the carpets in its new family car, but for the
most part it’s just an endless succession of men in liveried bomber jackets
talking about tread shuffle and slip angles.
Generally speaking — and I know there are exceptions, so don’t write to tell
me you have breasts and a Mitsubishi Evo VII — cars are a man thing. I wish
it were different. I wish more women were interested in cars and that they
held positions of power in the car firms. But the fact is that my daughters
can’t tell a Land Rover from a land agent, whereas my son can spot when a
tappet’s out of kilter from 400 yards. It’s in the genes.
Women’s magazines are forever trying to find someone who can write about a car
from a girlie point of view and I always think, “What’s the point?” It would
be a bit like a car magazine doing a feature on cushions from the blokey
point of view. We don’t have one.
No man has ever thought about or bought a cushion and even if you commission a
piece jointly written by Nick Hornby, Brian Sewell and Will Self, he never
will.
We’re told that women now buy 50% of all new cars but what does this prove? I
once bought an oven but it doesn’t mean I want to curl up at night with What
Grill? magazine. And no, I really don’t care if the Belling goes from zero
to 60 degrees four seconds faster.
The result of all this is simple. Cars are as masculine as a six-pack stomach.
They have interiors that look like men’s wash bags, all black and grey with
superfluous red stripes. And even the mumsiest models are still like Lynx
aftershave commercials with big fat 20in alloys.
I have been racking my brains all day and I cannot think of a single car ever
that’s been made for women. The Ford Galaxy? What, with all that brushed
aluminium in the cabin? Brushed aluminium is as female as a scrotum. So what
about the MG? Well, perhaps, but only after Christopher Plummer had finished
seducing Susannah York with it.
Now, however, Ford has stepped into the breach with the Streetka, which is the
automotive equivalent of going to bed at night with a teddy bear.
It’s hard to explain why it’s girlie but I think cuteness has something to do
with it. This is a completely unthreatening car, the sort that makes you go
“aaah” rather than “oooh” or “eeek”. That and the detailing. The reversing
light, for instance, looks like a navel piercing.
Normally, when I’m writing about a car, I try to put myself into the shoes of
the person who might be interested in such a thing. When I’m in a Ferrari I
pretend to be Jay Kay. When I’m in a Cadillac I pretend to be Stuart Hall.
When I’m in a Nissan Micra I pretend to be my old geography teacher.
But with the Streetka this was impossible.
I kept falling off the heels. This car is an A-line skirt. If it could talk it
would talk about babies. If it could dance it wouldn’t stop. It is for
girls. And I’m not talking about girls who are interested in cars. I’m
talking about girls who only give cars a second thought when they run out of
petrol or need a service.
Ford says that 80% of Streetka buyers will be women. But I’m struggling to
think what the remaining 20% might be. Not men, that’s for sure.
So what’s it like? Well, the first thing you need to understand is that it’s
practically handmade by Pininfarina in Italy, which means you’re getting an
awful lot of pedigree and badge for the money. The base model is £12,495 and
the luxury version £13,745.
To put that in perspective, the cheapest Peugeot 206 CC, which is the same
sort of thing really, is £14,695. Though it does have two small seats in the
back and a metal roof. Then there’s the new Smart Roadster, which costs
about the same as the Streetka but comes with the engine from a Moulinex.
The two-seat Ford has a 1.6 litre motor that produces 94bhp. That is not a lot
and, as a result, it doesn’t pull your eyes out every time you stand on the
accelerator. In fact, it takes more than 12sec to get from 0 to 60mph and is
all out of ideas at 108mph. I’m faster than that.
So far as the handling’s concerned Ford says the front track is almost an inch
wider than it is on the normal Ka hatchback while the rear is nearly 1½in
wider. The front springs are 12.5% stiffer and the rear twist beam has been
hardened, too. Why? Why tell us this? The only people who have the first
clue what it means will not be buying a Streetka.
And that’s a pity because I took it for a drive — at night, obviously — and
thought it was great. Yes, there’s a bit of scuttle shake (translation: it
wobbles) but it’s not as bad as in that other girlie favourite, the Saab 9-3
convertible, and it doesn’t spoil what is a lively, grippy chassis.
As a car then, the Streetka works. It’s not fast or noisy or aggressive. But
you can throw the roof back — it’s not electric but it’s super-easy
nevertheless — and have fun on a country lane.
It’s in town, though, where the baby Ford really starts to shine. Not because
it’s easy to park and light and nimble but because absolutely everyone
stares at it. Men, with a look of bewilderment — how dare this female
interloper come into my masculine world — and women with a look of pure
longing. I have never driven a car, ever, that has prompted so many
questions from so many women.
I have no doubt, therefore, that over the coming months we’re going to be
seeing an awful lot of Streetkas outside the hairdressers and the gym, and
most of all in the underground car park at the BBC.
VITAL STATISTICS
Model Ford Streetka Luxury
Engine type Four cylinders, 1597cc
Power 94bhp @ 5500rpm
Torque 99 lb ft @ 4250rpm
Transmission Five-speed manual
Suspension Independent with MacPherson struts (front);
twist-beam (rear)
Tyres 195/45 R16
Dimensions 3650mm length; 1679mm width; 1832mm height
Fuel 35.8mpg (combined)
C02 189 g/km
Top speed 108mph
Acceleration 0 to 62mph 12.2sec
Insurance Group 7a
Price £13,745
Verdict It's different for girls
