4 MIN READ
May 23, 2026
I have a 1976 Cadillac Eldorado, a white-on-white-on-white Bicentennial Edition. I wanted a car that paid homage to the “Golden Era of Size,” the massive boats of the 1960s and 1970s. I purchased it during a trip to Las Vegas where I happened to be at a convention next to a Mecum car auction. While wandering through the auction, this grand, white Bismarck of a car caught my eye. It had only 40,000 miles, a single owner, and was from Texas—perfect. I brought it home as a surprise to my wife, but the surprise was mine when her reaction was less joy and more outright disappointment and disgust. Looking back, I understand now that I should have consulted her first, though perhaps I was afraid of the answer I’d get.
1976 Cadillac Eldorado Bicentennial Edition
Mecum, like Barrett-Jackson, specializes in auctioning collector automobiles. While Mecum holds more auctions annually, about 12, Barrett-Jackson typically features higher-value vehicles. Reading the Bloomberg article The Great Wealth Transfer Includes $570 Billion in Classic Cars reminded me of that auction. Two things stand out clearly in my memory. First, I was in my early forties at the Mecum auction and one of the youngest people there by 20 or 30 years, a noticeable gap. I might have been the youngest bidder at the entire event. I wasn’t the youngest bidder because the cars were so expensive; many sold for under $30,000, and there were bargains to be had. Second, I was outnumbered 20-to-1 by mustaches—the thick, “working in my garage” kind. These were the guys who’ve had mustaches since they were 18 and wouldn’t look recognizable without them.
Driving around town in my Cadillac, there are really only two groups of people who shout or honk in admiration: men over 70 and kids under 7. Everyone else is too embarrassed to be seen in it. What happens when the day comes that I can’t keep the Caddy anymore? Maybe one of my kids will take it, but not because they think it’s cool, more for sentimental reasons. Realistically, they’d probably keep it in their garage for a decade, start it five times, drive it twice, and eventually decide they have had enough sentimentality and it’s time to sell.
Who’s going to want all these old cars?
Will Gen Z think a 1967 Chevy Nova is as cool as someone who graduated high school in 1967 does?
Absolutely not. Will they want to keep the trickle charger on the battery, start it monthly, or fix something new that breaks every time it gets driven? No chance. Sure, some cars might become cool again, but many, like the Chevy Pinto, won’t. Sentimentality only lasts so long before practicality takes over, and most of these vehicles will end up in self storage time capsules. A large portfolio manager recently said the average customer stays in their self storage portfolio 24 months. Once these cars pass to the next generation and ultimately end up in storage, that average stay might become infinite.