Luxury brand identities, huh? Okay, here we go:

Auburn: You’re sex on wheels.

Maybach: You have no identity. You’re just mildly confused with all the right ingredients, but the wrong fucking recipe.

Bentley: You’re a wealthy as shit A+++++ lister trying to be hip. You still don’t have a clue.

Rolls-Royce: You’re a wealthy as shit A+++++ lister who gives zero shits about being hip, cool, or even what goddamn list you’re on. Why? Because you have a Rolls-Royce. Now shut up and pass the Grey Poupon.

Aston Martin: You’re trying to be James Bond, but the harder you try, the cheesier you come off. Kind of like the new Vanquish Volante.

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BMW: You’re a douche.

Audi: You’re a douche that pretends to hate other douches.

Mercedes-Benz: You’re a douche, and you’re damn proud of it.

Cadillac: You’re Bruce Springsteen singing about “Glory Days.”

Lincoln: You still exist?

Lexus: You’re grandpa.

Jaguar: You’re quirk. You’re class. You’re quietly confident. You’re still scared shitless of your electrical system.

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Porsche: You are cold, calculating, and silently biding your time in a plot for revenge after your plans to buy out VW backfired in the most spectacular manner possible.

Acura: Hello, Walter Mitty.

Infiniti: Hello, Minardi.

Maserati: You’re the Italian Jaguar. A little louder, a little less suave, but every bit as quirky, classy, and probably a little more exciting.

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Ferrari: You’re the automotive equivalent of the New York Yankees. You’re flashy, successful, and everyone hates you because you’re an arrogant prick.

Duesenberg: You’re Jay Gatsby.

Pierce-Arrow: You are class. Pure, fucking class.

Jensen: Class be damned. You’re a four-wheel-drive hatchback rocket ship, and that’s all that matters.

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Bristol: You don’t fix things that aren’t broken. You also don’t exist anymore.

Lamborghini: You’re a spoiled, whiny 8th-grade brat throwing a temper tantrum after losing out on a date to the middle school prom.

Imperial: You’re proof that the 80s sucked for everyone, including royalty.

Stutz: You’re the automotive equivalent of Lindsay Lohan. Once upon a time, you were cute, sexy, and stylish. Then you coked up and sold yourself out until your career ended.