Automobiles, for the petrolhead and even to some of the uninitiated, are so much more than just objects. I've delved into the psyche before when comparing the love and fondness for certain cars over others to the love and fondness for certain women over others.
It's true that cars are, in the strictest sense, mere objects. They are inanimate unless coaxed into motion by a human. They are transportation appliances unless their bodies are sculpted and engines cast to not be merely a device to get you from point A to point B.
They are a waste of money since they rarely gain in value and those that do cost their owners more in maintenance than they can generally make back during a sale. But we still lust for them.
Against all logic. Against everything you learn in even the most basic of economics classes. Against any semblance of sanity. We lust for them.
We want to be the one that turns the key and presses the accelerator to make the inanimate animate. We want to be the one that sees the form over the function and to feel the energy from a perfectly tuned, raucous engine unfit for "daily driver" duty. We want to be the one who goes poor so that he (or she) can own that perfect specimen of an automobile.
That perfect specimen is different for each of us. But, when someone tells you he (or she) bought their dream car -- no matter what it is -- we can understand. And we are jealous of them, even if we disagree with their choice of dreams.