Anyone who has visited or lived in Los Angeles or Toronto, the two most hideously sprawling megaloposis's in North America (where car ownership exceeds 600 per 1000 people), will agree with Russell Kirk that the automobile is a village destroying mechanical Jacobin.
I don't own one myself (they don't make me happy), because I find it more convenient to rent. However, if I were in the market to buy, I would keep my eye open for a vintage marques, something Morgan, Bentley or Aston Martin, not so much a car as a frame of mind.
Worthy of a Monarch's telegram, the Morgan Motor Company is celebrating its hundredth birthday this year, incredibly still running as a family-owned business by Mr. Morgan himself, whose paternal grandfather founded the company in 1909. The company employs only 163 people, still assembles their cars by hand, and fills orders on a two year waiting list.
Incidentally, the Royal Automobile Club, which received its royal patronage by King Edward VII (Old Bertie was a motor car enthusiast), is arguably the grandest of all the gentlemen clubs in London. With Victorian Turkish baths, Italian marble swimming pools, I think I will stop by next time I'm in old Londontown.