America has a new midlife crisis, and it weighs four tons.
The full-size pickup has officially lapped the minivan, the sedan, and probably your retirement account in the race for Most Irrational Purchase.
The average new truck now costs more than a year of in-state tuition, and that's before the dealer tacks on a "market adjustment" because you had the audacity to walk onto the lot.
Roughly three-quarters of truck owners tow something once a year or less.
Some studies put "never" at a solid majority.
So we've got millions of people hauling nothing but air and a lingering sense of inadequacy, getting eleven miles per gallon to do it.
It's four and a half feet long, which means it can't fit a sheet of drywall without a flag and a prayer.
It can, however, fit one (1) cooler and a bag of mulch.
Congrats, you bought a convertible with extra steps.
Modern trucks sit so high that the front bumper is basically at eye level with a kindergartener.
Safety researchers keep publishing studies showing that these things are dramatically more likely to kill pedestrians, and the industry's response has been to make them taller.
And somehow, none of this matters, because the truck isn't a vehicle anymore.
It's a $900 monthly payment that says "I could fix your deck" while you're actually an assistant regional manager who hasn't touched a socket wrench since 2011.
The truck bed is empty, but the truck bed is also, spiritually, full.
Meanwhile, the people who actually need trucks for work can't afford them.
A decent used work truck costs more than it did new a decade ago, because the same guys buying them as fashion accessories keep the demand floor high.
So the guy who actually hauls lumber is priced out by the guy who hauls a gym bag.
Automakers know exactly what they're doing.
They killed the cheap, small, useful truck on purpose.
Why sell a $22,000 workhorse when you can sell a $70,000 leather-lined spaceship with massaging seats and a screen the size of a laptop?
The margins are better, and the buyers are too proud to comparison shop.
But if your truck has never seen a single bag of concrete and it's blocking half the parking lot at Trader Joe's, you're not a rancher.
You're a guy with an expensive opinion about himself.
If you genuinely use your truck, God bless you, you've earned it.
Final Thoughts
If you bought it to intimidate people at stoplights, you didn't buy a vehicle, you bought a costume, and the rest of us can see the zipper.