Among all the impromptu debates I’ve started having because of this column, one question sticks out more than others.

“What is it about cars that you like so much?” a blond girl, who approached me outside of DuSable, asked in a vaguely condescending tone. I think she wanted to ask, “Are you really that shallow?”

I exhaled my cigarette. Indeed, I am, and what is it about cars that I like?

There are a lot of reasons I devote most of my waking moments to ‘car contemplation.’

I remember the night I was leafing through the latest issue of Evo magazine and came across a feature on the legendary 1920’s Bentley Blower racer.

I read about the car with my uncle sitting across the table. I turned the magazine his way and said, “This car is worth millions.” He scrunched his face and muttered something like, “That’s ridiculous.”

I responded, “Do you think Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ painting should be valued in the millions?” His lengthy answer summed up was, “Yes.”

Hmm. We have a problem.

Art is an interesting thing. It’s an expression of culture. Some of it makes our faces scrunch, and other times it’s our brains that fall into contortions.

The automobile is art.

No, I’m not talking about Chevy Cavaliers or Ford Tauruses – they are regrettable things that happen sometimes, just like Jackson Pollock.

I’m referring to pure objects d’arte, designs that seem molded from organic materials rather than assembled with laser-cut body panels.

A prime example is the 1950 Jaguar XK120. A dramatic, elongated S-shaped line drapes across the flank, moving into a gentle crease at the rear. Subtle chrome detailing adds interest, but it’s mostly an exercise in shape and proportion.

Unlike today’s designs, which stress aggression and power and chintzy details, it is beautiful.

That’s not to say modern cars aren’t significant. The previous generation Mustang was quite hideous – bloated shapes joining into sharp creases and a weak-kneed stance ensured its ugliness.

But the revision is no-reservations-great, looking something like a tri-athlete in spandex. The taut front end bunches up as the lines move rearward, and there’s something animalistic about its stance, like a lion hiding in the brush.

It’s not beautiful like the XK120, but it brings to the road a faithful translation of the muscle-car ideal.

Speaking of large cats from Africa, they enjoy a certain aspect of life that is distinctly absent from our own. They roam and wander and see on a daily basis much more than a computer screen and lecturing teachers, unlike myself.

My car, a nondescript Honda Accord, allows me to roam. Some days seem tailor-made for a windows-down, music-blaring cruise through the corn fields.

It is this reason that autos are a unique product. Some just carry us around, but others drive with a contagious sense of occasion. It’s not about living a lifestyle, but rather an appreciation for the engineering and artistic expression of a culture. The 1950 XK120, even to the most untrained of eyes, is from Britain and only Britain.

Cars are a chance for artists to breathe onto a canvas something with identity, a shape that everyone remembers. We buy that expression because some part of us agrees.

A car can have all the right moves from the steering wheel, like the Nissan Sentra SE-R, but if it doesn’t catch the eye, and hold it, history will remember it only in the dusty pages of library archives.

The Porsche 911, one of the most celebrated cars in history, is an engineering marvel. It consistently runs laps around the track more quickly than most of its rivals.

And it’s no coincidence the world’s most popular sports car is also the most recognized shape in auto history.