This is not the time or place to flex your Formula 1 muscles. Photo / Sylvie Whinray
With a new series of Drive to Survive arriving on Netflix, Formula 1 has once again become New Zealand’s number one car show.
This was a spot previously held by Knight Rider, the story of KITT the talking car, which was, in effect, an automotive remake of Mr Ed, the talking horse. Of course.
And like every season before it, the arrival of Formula 1: Drive to Survive has done what it does best.
It has turned people who previously thought a chicane was a type of sandwich into passionate Formula 1 fans.
People who once described cars simply as “red ones” are now deep in discussions about tyre strategy, team principals, and whether someone has “the right mentality for the seat”.
This alone is impressive.
The show has achieved something few sports documentaries ever manage.
It has made an extremely expensive, highly technical sport (did I mention extremely expensive?) feel personal, emotional, and accessible to people watching in dressing gowns from couches in Gore.
But it may also have done something else.
Something darker, like entering the Monaco tunnel with the lights out.
It has turned our once relaxed Kiwi drivers into budget Max Verstappens, people who optimise every traffic light launch, defend every gap, and treat the daily commute like a qualifying lap in Las Vegas.
You see it first at traffic lights.
The light turns green, and if you don’t GO GO GO (please read in a Murray Walker voice) within 0.001 of a second, you are met with a chorus of horns that suggests you have personally ruined someone’s championship campaign.
The car behind you is already moving, despite the fact that physics would suggest that it is impossible for two objects to share the same space.
Indicators, too, are now seen as unnecessary weight on the car.
Once a polite signal of intention, they are treated as a tactical error, giving your fellow road user an unfair advantage by revealing your race strategy.
Changing lanes has become less about safety and more about asserting dominance.
Roundabouts feel particularly influenced by Formula 1 culture.
There is commitment. There is bravery. There is very little lifting off.
Giving way feels optional if you take the right line and believe in yourself.
Merging lanes have also taken on a new intensity.
What used to be a co-operative exercise in zipper merging is now a test of nerve.
Hesitate, and your race/road position is lost.
Commit - and it could mean the difference between P1 and P12.
Eye contact is avoided. Everyone believes they have the right of way, especially the driver with the most significant overlap at the corner’s entry and apex.
And then there is tyre management.
This is where the influence of Formula 1: Drive to Survive really becomes apparent.
You suddenly have strong opinions about tyres.
Each morning, you place a hand on the driveway, assessing conditions, and quietly deciding whether today calls for hards, softs, or full intermediates.
An entirely theoretical exercise, given you have driven on the same set for the past three years and have no idea where the spare lives.
Changing a tyre has also become a much bigger production.
What was once a quiet, slightly humiliating roadside task is now treated with the seriousness of an F1 pit stop.
There is suddenly time pressure, a mental stopwatch ticking in your head as you try to beat a previous effort that was once governed only by the cry of “Is it fixed yet?” from the passenger.
Even stopping for a pee or a servo pie has been caught up in it.
What was once a polite question from the passenger, usually phrased as “do you mind if we stop soon?”, has now become an urgent instruction, “box, box, box”.
The call comes late, delivered with intensity.
You weigh up options at speed, calculating distance to the next stop while pretending this was always part of the plan.
Of course, we are not F1 drivers.
Our cars are not worth millions. And most of the time, “winning” is simply passing a warrant without the mention of a blown bulb.
This is not a criticism of the show. Drive to Survive is very good television. It is beautifully made.
It understands that people love stories more than statistics, and that conflict is far more compelling than lap times.
But it might be worth remembering that when you climb into your Corolla for the morning commute, or your ute for a quick job that turns into three, you are not on the grid.
There is no pit wall. No radio call. No championship is on the line.
So, enjoy the show. Argue about tyres. Pick a team. Feel the drama.
But on our roads, do as the title suggests and drive to survive.
- Glenn Dwight is the studio creative director – regional at NZME and an occasional writer for The Country.