Dialogue: Now every boy can be a hoon

A 30-something couple I know took their restored Chev Impala to the Domain one evening intending to have a romantic candlelit picnic.

It was a naive move, perhaps, as they were soon surrounded by what looked to be 12-year-old drivers of three-door Japanese hatchbacks, jeering more at my friends' American classic than their romantic intentions.

For those who are usually home well before you risk your car turning into a pumpkin, you're missing one of the most prolific evening scenes in Auckland - the new-style boy racer in a Japanese import.

The boy racer persona has always been inside every teenage lad, but for many years in New Zealand it was not an accessible dream for all.

In the 50s and 60s many watched their American counterparts well into hot rod culture customising cheap old roadsters from the pre-war era.

Over the 70s and 80s, when cars were still relatively expensive, a few enjoyed Mum's old Hillman Hunter or Vauxhall Viva, but many a boy-racing dream laid dormant.

But now the Japanese import has changed all that. Not only does the price of Jap imports make the dream of owning your own car an achievable reality for every lad, the accompanying accessories and gadgets allow boys to fiddle about with them. And as cars have always been an extension of the male psyche, this makes it all the better.

As is often said about fashion, the key word is accessorise, and luckily the Japanese have always had a fetish for knick-knacks.

Inside an import you'll find electronic coin sorters, radar detectors and air purifiers, while the exterior is adorned with such gadgets as under-chassis lights and fancy exhaust systems.

While the new boy-racer scene is happening in every New Zealand town with a reasonably substantial teen population, probably the best place to observe the phenomenon is outside the old Chinese markets on Quay St, the depot to which they return after the customary burn-up on Queen St.

It seems that while Imprezas, Pulsars and Familias crop up time and time again, a lad can weave magic into even a humble old Laser 323.

The entry point for boy racers is Mum's old shopping trolley with refitted exhaust and special muffler for the correct doofdoofdoofdoof sound effect.

After hitting the olds up for more dosh, the next thing is to buy low-profile tyres, which are sort of a boy's version of a teenage girl's shoes.

Around this time it helps to get the car stereo fitted and keep all windows down, including those allocated to sometimes non-existent rear passengers, to allow loud bass beats to shamelessly permeate neighbouring cars.

However, the biggest capital outlay for Mum and Dad may be when it's time to lower the suspension, so that it appears that a baseball cap is driving the car.

Should we be concerned about a proliferation of young boys hooning? Well, they seem to go only short distances - they hoon for about 300m, then stop and hang around before another burst of fast and furious hoony behaviour.

This is primarily the scene of boys born in the 80s and now of driving age. Jasons, Campbells and Karls-with-a-K abound.

There are subsets and splinter groups - girl racers out to meet a mate, and the wealthy Asian contingent for whom the Jasons seem to reserve a mix of admiration and resentment as they usually arrive with the top-of-the-range kick-ass models of whatever the lads have spent hours customising.

These orange-headed Asian teens opt for at least four doors and sometimes stretch to Japanese-imported European vehicles.

Boys will be boys, and for reasons that seem unfounded to many a female, they just love cars. Many other vehicular subcultures exist, attracting older lads. So when these Jasons and Karls-with-a-K grow out of the Jap import scene they may find themselves first toying with big 70s gas guzzlers like the Kinsgwood before moving into the pricier domain of the 25- pluses who appreciate the styling of Americana classics.

By the time they reach their mid-life crisis they may fit the CEO car persona of the BMW-by-day-Harley-by-night variety.

And what will become of the souped-up Jap imports that marked their youth? Just one more easy-come-easy-go trash item characterising the disposable popular culture.