I largely agree with the adage "You are what you drive." While I don't claim the axiom is bulletproof, there are endless examples that support the theory — from the successful lawyer in a stately German sedan, to a general contractor with a tool-ridden F-250.

I fell hard for the Porsche Cayman when it first appeared (nearly 10 years ago now), but it took me more than three years to acquire my 2009. Though far more practical, my second Porsche (a 2016 Macan S) shares a familiar driving spirit with the Cayman.

I admit I enjoy the attention that comes with owning cars of this caliber — parking lot discussions and drive-by salutations from friends and strangers alike. It might sound pretentious, but I've spent way too much time behind the wheel of Chevy Vega and a Ford Fiesta to resist metaphorically blowing my own horn.

Right or wrong, we place a great deal of importance on what we drive. Critiquing others freely, we are likewise judged by the metal that surrounds us because, like it or not, cars are the ultimate reflection of ourselves — a view into our nomadic soul.

We often purchase what fits our current character and life status. Everything from the color to the style and brand is carefully and deliberately (if not subconsciously) selected. Much of our lives is spent developing this vehicle persona — and it evolves as we do.

Our standards may change from year to year, and they are dependent on existing socioeconomic and other mercurial conditions. A mortgage and two kids in college for instance might have significant influence on what sits in the driveway today — as would our line of work, the community we live in or even our circle of friends.

Whether or not we currently own the car of our dreams does not mean the statement is any more or less false. After all, that particular purchase is often obtained later in life, when the bell curve of fiscal capacity intersects with our personal objectives.

Some look at these possessions the same way they would a toaster oven. But most remain forever mindful that the car we drive is an instant image-maker, an accessory that carries more impact than nearly anything else we own or are otherwise associated with.

Not everyone can ultimately live with a status symbol of course — whether they intended to or not. Just go to any Porsche dealer and look at the ridiculously low-mileage castaways in the used car section. Their original owners have perhaps moved on to the more practical Cayenne or Panamera. But it's still a Porsche, right?

When I was in college, I did some yard and maintenance work for an affluent woman who owned both a 1982 Mercedes 300 and a Porsche 911SC of the same vintage. The Benz left the garage with her every morning — you can't deny the luxurious comforts a Benz provides.

But once a week she left for the country club in the Porsche to play golf and be noticed by the membership. And she made sure the 911 was immaculate. I was honored with that task, and was allowed to shake off the surplus rinse water with a spirited run down the lane that led to her home.

Being associated with cars as an extension of ourselves is a natural consequence of our driving culture. Like clothing, we dress in steel and rubber the same as we do with cotton and silk. Color, texture, design and shape — we insist on being seen in our best outfits.

Gas stations are the great equalizer for this activity — the one place where we gather like creatures at the waterhole, replenishing empty tanks. The perfect spot to critique both car and driver while peering through sunglasses at the other patrons from the safety of distance.

When I emerge from my car and swipe a card at the pump receptor, fellow consumers draw conclusions based on what I am fueling with premium unleaded. And I'm not bothered by that notion — after all, I'm doing precisely the same thing.

Vanity comes in many forms, and even the modest will present their vehicles with adamant defiance — like wearing blue jeans to a wedding. But their objective is not unlike anyone else, it's just perhaps a different perspective.

Although you may deceive society by how you look and the way you dress, your manner of speech and education, the neighborhood you live in or the reach of your bank account, none of this really matters in a material world. Because in that very moment of judgement, you are inevitably what you drive.