Pimpin' Gets Cheesy

It is better to pimp than to be pimped. Pimp My Ride, MTV's almost-engaging automotive reality makeover series hosted by the charismatic Xzibit, a rapper whose winsome smile betrays the intelligent Detroit-born Alvin Joiner behind the gansta masquerade, shows what has become of the once-proud American car culture.

In each episode, Xzibit does a Publisher's Sweepstakes ambush on a lucky contestant whose "ride" will be "pimped" by the "crew" at West Coast Customs, a 21st-century chop shop set in the shadow of LAX. (Pimpee: "Grandma, this is Xzibit. He's here to pimp our ride!" Xzibit, glancing in half-feigned consternation at the camera: "Er, fix your ride.") After much hugging and screaming, X takes the keys and drives (or pushes) the vehicle in question to WCC, where the Stanislavsky-trained West Coasters moan, groan, and shed crocodile tears at this latest rusted-out indignity. Then comes a conference-table meeting at which each team leader (interiors, wheels & tires, paint, accessories) describes his plan for the car: "I'm going to give this bad boy a set of Giovanna rims wrapped in Pirelli tires." A choppy montage of deconstruction follows, and the camera sweeps across the carcass before Act II, the rebuild, begins. After the rebuild comes "the reveal," as reality showmen call it, in which the MTV-gen driver squeals with glee at her new personality on wheels. The squeal must be key, since it's featured in nearly every promo and cut to commercial, but it kind of ruins the suspense for me: What if the pimpee doesn't like the new ride?

The show has been a hit since its 2004 debut, winning its Sunday night time slot against basic cable and popularizing the phrase "Pimp my ___." But from an automobilist's perspective, either Pimp My Ride has simply jumped the shark, or the age-old American love affair with the motor car has reached a sad state. The MTV generation may still love their cars, but they have decided to see other machines.

Los Angeles car customizing has a long and noble history. Early hot-rodders preserved for eternity the aesthetic of prewar cars with their individualized design elements—fenders, head lamps, hoods, rear ends, each standing alone. Modern cars, by contrast, are of a piece, the culmination of a design trend that can be traced to the failed 1934 Chrysler Airflow but began in earnest after World War II. "Chopping" down hoods and "channeling" bodies was an attempt in the postwar period to bring that prewar aesthetic into the modern age, and the results can be stunningly beautiful art forms. In fact, LA customizing gave birth to the new journalism via Tom Wolfe's classic essay, "Kandy Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamlined Baby."

When it began, Pimp seemed worthy of that heritage, paying appropriate homage to the 1970s. They started with a Japanese Hi-jet microvan, a vehicle whose uncommon scale and shape offered a chance for a kind of George Barris kookiness. (Barris is among the most famous car customizers, specializing in wacky TV and film cars such as the original Batmobile and the Monkees-Mobile.) After a groovy paint job, a new two-tone interior, and an absurd chrome spoiler, the car was indeed ready for, at least, a very tiny pimp.