I was sitting on a veranda, taking a break from work and watching cars go by, when something just hit me. Black. White. Charcoal gray. Dark blue that almost looks black. One after another, the same colors, over and over again. I’d say at least 90 percent of them fall into that group.
Then, finally, one break in the pattern. A hatchback in that rust, coffee-like color. Not even bright, but different enough to stand out immediately.
And it got me thinking…
There was a time when parking lots looked like someone had spilled a box of crayons.
Bright reds. Deep greens. Baby blues. Even the occasional yellow or burnt orange. You didn’t need to remember where you parked. You just knew: third row, beside the green one.
I remember being in high school in California and passing a Ferrari dealership that felt more like a showroom of color than cars. There was that classic red you’d recognize from Magnum, P.I. – the Thomas Magnum kind of red – but also yellow, white, orange, and even a pink one. And, of course, the classic black – somehow just as striking in its own way.
A few of us would walk by sometimes, just to look and dream.
Now, walk through almost any parking lot, and you’ll see the same palette repeated: black, white, gray, silver, and that deep navy blue that only reveals itself in the right light.
It’s not that color disappeared entirely; it just faded.
Part of it is probably practical. Neutral colors are easier to maintain, easier to sell, and safer when it comes time to trade in. A black or white car appeals to almost everyone. A bright teal sedan? Not so much.
Dealerships and manufacturers know this. And over time, they started producing more of what sells easiest. But that explanation only goes so far. Because at some point, we didn’t just accept neutral – we started preferring it.
There’s something about modern life that leans toward uniformity. Clean lines. Minimalism. Safe choices. In the same way homes shifted toward gray floors and white walls, cars followed suit.
You could argue it looks more refined and more timeless. But it’s also a little predictable.
And maybe that’s why older cars stand out so much now. You see a well-kept forest green sedan or a bright red coupe from the past, and it catches your eye immediately – not because it’s flashy, but because it’s different.
It has personality. It says something, even if unintentionally: someone chose this.
That’s what feels missing today. Not just the color itself, but the idea of choosing something a little outside the norm. I’m not advocating for some of the garish colors from the 1970s, but a little splash of color would be nice.
Even the blues we see now aren’t really “blue” in the old sense. They’re darker. Safer. One step away from black. Same with modern greens – if you see one at all, it’s usually muted, almost trying not to be noticed.
Of course, there are exceptions. You still see the occasional bright sports car or specialty model in a bold color. But those feel more like statements than everyday choices, and almost as if they need permission to stand out.
Years ago, standing out was normal. Now it feels like a decision.
None of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. A car is a car. It gets you where you need to go. But it’s funny how something as small as color can reflect something bigger: how we think, what we value, and how comfortable we are blending in versus standing apart.
Sitting there, watching another stretch of black, white, and charcoal gray roll by, that one rust-colored hatchback still sticks in my mind because it wasn’t the same as most that went by during that half an hour. It also made me wonder why I notice things like this. Maybe so I can write about it.
johnberkovich.com 