As a child, I thought the minivan a gateway to awesomeness. As a man, I am convinced that a minivan is the Millennium Falcon of vehicles. “She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.”
Ian Bogost charts “The Death of the Minivan.” He notes that with the ascendance of SUVs in the U.S. sales have dropped about 80% since their peak. He connects the minivan’s “least cool” element to its associations with “the burdens of the domestic life.” But I cannot relate.
As a kid, the minivan was a sure transport to adventures, to sports, to dances, with friends piled in, filled with raucous conversations and experiences. As an adult, why wouldn’t I pilot others into other galaxies of adventures?
It’s no mistake that the minivan and Millennium Falcon emerged within years of each other in the late ’70s. When Star Wars was cooking up the Millennium Falcon, Chrysler was cooking up the minivan, and many others have followed.
In fact, their very names are likely related. “Millennium Falcon” became Mi-ni-Fan for short, and then became just “Mi-ni-van.” (Intergalactic etymology is tricky.)
Not convinced? Let’s walk through this.
For one, most minivans have four captain chairs up front, just like the Millennium Falcon. (Yes, I know some minivans started with a middle-bench but, once designers saw the versatility of the Millennium Falcon seating, the choice was obvious.)
Note the slightly rounded interior too . . . like a minivan. (Image by Steven Miller, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.)
Also, let’s talk field of vision; it is wonderful. When you drive a minivan, you ride higher like an SUV with a field of vision that would make even Admiral Ackbar smile. Afterall, you have less engine in front of you . . . like the Millennium Falcon.
Storage? There’s good storage space in a minivan. Although Solo never would’ve branded it “Stow-N-Go” due to security concerns, and although you’d probably never want to smuggle yourself below deck, it is the interior space that makes the Millennium Falcon and the minivan so wonderfully practical.
Seven or even eight people. No problem. Even comfy.
And, like Solo, I’ve transported quite a few things besides people over the years. Three dressers at the same time. Eight sheets of drywall. Two kayaks. And that’s all inside of the van. (Excepting the dressers, I’ve also carted all those on top as well.)
Moreover, every good vehicle has a few surprises left in her. Here’s one of the minivan’s: no one asks to borrow the minivan for hauling stuff even though it can move nearly as much as a truck and more than an SUV. Instead, you can offer your van, they’ll still turn you down –minivan prejudice!– to find someone else who owns a truck, and you’ll still get social cred for offering. That’s a win.
Adjusting for fuel-use and overall size, whether for longer trips or getting around town, the minivan has no equal in communal comfort and space.
While it is true that the National Highway Safety Administration would condemn lightsaber training when traveling, there’s still space in a minivan to play games while waiting for the fleet to break up, errr, I mean waiting for a traffic jam to clear.
And just how do you drive a minivan? The minivan’s faithfulness and steady loyalty practically invites you to “fly casual.” It drives with the comfort of a truck on a Sunday country road firm in the conviction that there’s good work to be done when the time is right. If driving a minivan usually stresses–or excites–you, it’s probably because you’re driving it wrong.
Bogost calls it the “least cool vehicle ever designed, yet the most useful.” And let’s face it. A minivan is about community, not coolness.
There’s perhaps no better indication of the minivan’s communal purpose than the way a minivan “arrives” at an event.
With other cars, an arrival can create that celebrity type moment. You know the one. The door swings open. The camera pans up your stunning leg to reveal someone who is a gift to the world. That arrival is about one cool individual ready to make a mark. Of course, we don’t doubt for a moment that that person does have it all together like an X-wing pilot, but the minivan arrival is a communal event.
The minivan doors slide back and life emerges in all its weird glory. Unlike a red-carpet arrival, it’s a bit more like when a SWAT team piles out with the trample of feet, “move, move, move!” But with a hint–okay, maybe more than a hint– of chaos mingled with the cool confidence that there’s probably a plan if somewhere the driver can find it. Oh make no mistake, this crew will make their mark!
And this is where Bogost’s article is at its finest. He observes that while commercials show people using SUVs for climbing bouldered mountains, for fording rivers, and well, for just about everything they will barely do, the minivan exists for all the adventures you’re actually going to do, plus some more.
Though I have yet to confirm that a minivan could win the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs, the minivan was and is a gateway to many real adventures.
Yes, there may come a day when the minivan retires to the junkyard. But I truly believe there will be something like that stunning moment on Jakku when the dirtied sheet blows off as the Millennium Falcon roars to life. Hearts will soar.
And when kids ask, “Did you really do all that in a minivan?” I’ll respond under my breath, “It’s true; all of it.”
By Eli Plopper
Copyright 2024
Other resources:
- Ian Bogost’s “The Death of the Minivan,” The Atlantic, Sept 18.
- The History of the Minivan | Smithsonian
- See my Ode to the Silver Bullet, where I briefly wax nostalgic about our family’s Toyota minivan in the 90s.
- If you’re here in Oregon, we’d love to provide a car and home insurance comparison for you.
- Learn more About Us (actual people!) and our Sensible Approach to insurance.