‘Buy a Mustang GT,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fun.’

Purchasing my teenage dream car was the absolute best — and worst — life decision

I saw my first S197 Mustang in the late fall 2004. I had just turned 14 years old. With the possibility of getting my driver’s license a couple years away, cars had begun to fuel my imagination. Mustangs were my introduction and, whether I realized it or not, I was hooked.

My mom had a 1986 Mustang when I was a toddler. After parting with it, she often mused about owning a 1967 convertible. We would sometimes go to local cruise nights to appreciate first-generation Mustangs.

My mother put the idea in my head: “One day.”

I blame her for making me believe that owning a Mustang is a life aspiration and symbol of fulfilment. In my early teens, I remember being enamored by the 2003 Mustang Cobra “Terminator” I saw at a Toronto auto show. I collected as many models and posters of it as I could get. Movies like “Bullitt” and “Gone In 60 Seconds” burned the Mustang’s distinct fastback silhouette into my brain.

So, when 14-year-old me spied my first S197 Mustang, a silver hardtop GT, out of the school bus window on my ride home, I became obsessed with having one.

We feel everything more intensely when we’re teenagers. Raging hormones, heightened emotions and developing brains tend to hardwire our teenage preferences into us for life — like writing in soft cement before it dries.

I could sit here and tell you that I like the S197 better than a modern S550 because of its “retro” styling. I

could make a half-hearted argument that the S197 is more faithful to the spirit of the Mustang, that it’s a more striking and uniquely styled car than the current generation. But the truth is, I like the S197 because of the nostalgia I feel for it.

This year, I finally had the means to purchase a Mustang GT. If I’m honest, my initial instinct was to go with a newer S550 Mustang GT. I know, objectively, that they’re great cars. But between inflation, dealer markups and the realization that I simply won’t use a sports car all that often (I live in downtown Toronto) the idea of spending a lot of cash on a new Mustang grew less and less appealing.

Then I found a listing for a 2014 Mustang GT/CS — a hardtop, in black with a six-speed manual transmission and less than 40,000 kilometres on the odometer. That was the last year that Ford produced the S197 chassis. It had the right engine. It had the right options. It had a clutch. Nostalgia took hold. Objectivity was suspended. I bought the car.

Worst decision ever. Besides spending what felt like an uncomfortable amount of money, the car has many inherent flaws beyond the bumps, bruises and other cosmetic imperfections I’m debating getting fixed.

The car handles like a tractor. The 5.0-litre V8, while generally revhappy, is a big, fat lump of American pig iron slung over the front axle. You feel every bit of that weight while plowing the Mustang’s bulbous nose around corners.

The live rear axle hops around the road and, since there’s some camber to the wheels, the car will track on uneven surfaces. Traction control is a joke. This Mustang has busier hips than a pole dancer and this would all be fine if the steering wasn’t as numb as your mouth after a dentist visit. And the thing drinks a lot of fuel.

My Mustang is inconvenient, uneconomical, esthetically imperfect and lacks genuine merit as a sports car. Still, buying it was my best decision ever.

This big lump of metal is absolutely everything I wanted it to be when I was a teenager and driving it puts me into a state of peak happiness.

First, this Mustang is wonderfully analog, which is something you can’t say about many modern cars. Get this: to start it, you have to depress the clutch and turn an actual key. Ancient technology, I know. But between push-button starts and electric cars, I had actually forgotten how satisfying it is to feel like you’re the one breathing life into a burbling V8 engine.

There’s no “sport mode” with this car. My right foot is “sport mode.” The live rear end reminds me that my actions have consequences. And every time I clunk the clumsy shifter into gear, I’m reminded that my body is connected to the engine, to the wheels and to the road. That balance of danger, power and the need for control makes this car feel special in a way that very few new vehicles do.

Am I seeing all of this through the lens of nostalgia, personal taste and a thick coating of uncontrollable bias? You bet.

I’m not saying you should buy an S197 Mustang. I’m also not trying to make a case that cars need to devolve. They won’t and shouldn’t.

What I am telling you is, despite the reality of owning your teenage dream car — the sticker price, the upkeep, the objective imperfections, the leaps and bounds in performance that modern cars present you with — you should buy it anyway. Nothing will ever be as good as the thing you convinced yourself was great as a teenager.