Not a direct answer to your question, but a story why I do not want special cars anymore.

I named my first car „Wilson“, after the beachvolleyball that Tom Hanks had in the movie „Cast Away“. That car was old, rusty and slow, but I really liked it. It meant freedom and another step growing up. I felt responsible and was so proud of it too!

One night someone crashed into Wilson while it was parked. The police woke me up by ringing the bell early in the morning and asked me to come downstairs. I was still sleepy and panicked, only managed to grab a short pants and a t-Shirt. It was autumn, cold wind was blowing leaves along the empty street and I saw my Wilson crashed against a wall. The metal crumbled, the lights were broken, most of the windows shattered.

They made me fetch my belongings from the car, then it was already put onto a tow truck. I stood on the street, a box of car utensils and my sunglasses in my hands and stared at Wilson while it was being towed away. I was heartbroken. When the tow truck drove off, I felt like Wilson was crying.

Since then I never went into a „relationship“ with a car again. They don’t receive names, everything they get is a bit of decoration, maybe. It showed to be a good decision because the same thing happened with the next car, again the police rang my bell…