There are lots of different types of gearheads. Some enjoy old British roadsters that break down every three miles but have all original parts. Some love off-roaders with upgraded suspension and tires that grip like geckos in velcro suits. Some prefer muscle cars whose engines can wake the dead and whose hoods are long enough to serve as emergency runways. But to truly be a gearhead, you can’t just sit around and talk about cars; you kind of have to take the plunge. You have to pay actual money for a car that will regularly break down or that won’t hold all your kids or that can only be serviced at a particular garage in New Jersey or that simply costs too much for a machine that is primarily for getting you from Point A to Point B. Why would you do this? Because, to you, that car is worth it. Me? I drive a Kia Rio hatchback. Not a bad car, but it is proof-positive that I can only be one kind of gearhead: a wannabe gearhead.

So what does it mean to be a wannabe gearhead? Well, I enjoy learning about cars. For no reason in particular, I enjoy reading about, for instance, the W16 engine used in a Bugatti Veyron and how the Nissan GT-R got its nickname of “Godzilla.” And I enjoy looking at cars, admiring the flowing lines of the Lamborghini Miura or the unapologetic bluntness of the Triumph TR6. But I have never taken the plunge and bought one of the machines that I have admired.

Worse than that, when it comes to actually making a car move, I am useless. I usually get the manual out to double-check how to jump a battery. I’m the kind of person who, when my car is having issues, will pop the hood because that is what you do, not because I expect to be able to fix anything that I find under there. I mean, really, there are only two things that I can theoretically accomplish by opening the hood. The first is, well, jumping the aforementioned battery, usually with minimal side effects and/or screaming. The second is spotting something that has gone so massively wrong that even I can identify it. But even this would make for a vague service request: “Yes, the boxy-looking thing in the upper right-hand corner of the engine compartment has exploded. Do you have an extra upper-right-hand-corner boxy-looking thing?” So, yeah, if you have engine troubles, call someone less likely to add oil to your windshield wiper fluid.

So I may not own a cool car. And I may not have any practical knowledge about cars. But I still admire great cars. And some of my family members know this which can make for some awkward Christmas gifts. After all, the only way to really be a gearhead is to own a cool car. Owning some merchandise that declares how much you wish you owned that car is just . . . sad. Wearing a t-shirt with a Ford Mustang emblem is not all that cool even if you actually own a Mustang. But imagine showing up to dinner with some friends wearing such a t-shirt as you emerge from a . . . Kia Rio. Yeah, no, you should leave now. So if you have a wannabe gearhead in your life, please keep this in mind. Maybe they actually want that t-shirt; if so, you need to save them from themselves. But more likely, if you get them that t-shirt, it will just hang in their closet for several years until, running low on laundry, they find it way in the back and think, “Wow, I did not make as much money as I thought I would by 30.”

As for me, I will probably keep on admiring great cars for their beauty and engineering prowess. I will keep on learning about new cars, trying to determine which would look best in my garage. I will keep paying someone more competent than I am to do basic maintenance on my actual car. And I will keep on avoiding the back of my closet. Because I am a wannabe gearhead.