San Francisco is allegedly a transit city, but my calendar says otherwise. This is the shortlist of cars I either drive now, have seriously shopped, or keep running numbers on when I should be doing DCFs. Think of it as a mixed portfolio: some blue-chip commuters, some overleveraged fun, and a couple of moonshot EVs that make no sense for street parking but all the sense for my dopamine receptors.
The small-cap growth stock of cars: light, nimble, occasionally impractical, but the smiles-to-dollar ratio is absurd. Only downside is explaining to non-car friends why 181 hp feels plenty.
If a track day and a Costco run had a baby. Three-cylinder turbo, manual only, and seats that your spine will have opinions about—yet it’s still a viable one-car solution if you pack like a New Yorker.
The overachieving ETF of daily drivers. Manual, decent power, and it sips fuel. You can commute, autocross, then drive your parents to dinner without anyone complaining, including your bank account.
Short wheelbase, big personality. Feels like BMW remembered how to do ‘fun’ instead of ‘spec sheet.’ Also feels like a terrible idea for monthly cash flow, which is why it lives rent-free in my browser tabs instead.
The stealth wealth play: looks like a normal hatchback, moves like a junior sports car. AWD for wet commutes, DSG for traffic, enough restraint that your insurance agent doesn’t call you by your first name.
Owns the ‘old money off-road’ niche. Feels like you should be wearing a fleece vest and discussing private equity while crawling over trail ruts. Thirsty on gas, but bulletproof enough to outlast a few economic cycles.
The deep-value EV: not sexy, but the math works. Cheap to run, easy to park, range that covers my weekly chaos. Cabin feels rental-car basic, but at this price point, I grade on a curve.
Basically a rolling IPO from 2010 that never updated its prospectus, and I mean that lovingly. Old-school, overbuilt, and hilariously overqualified for city errands—but ready the second someone says ‘let’s go find dirt.’