Ricer: “a person who makes unecessary modifications to their most often import car (hence the term “rice”) to make it (mostly make it look) faster.” – Urban Dictionary

Some also say it’s an acronym for “race-inspired cosmetic enhancements.” All I can say is that I dislike them, but not for the reasons you might expect. See, back in 2001, a little movie by the name of Fast and the Furious came out. Now, what did this movie do to car culture? It spawned the ricer movement, perfectly represented by the picture above. You couldn’t go half a block in 2001 without seeing a Mitsubishi Eclipse with a body kit, wing, and vinyls down the side. In the ricer’s mind, they’re making their car look fast or expensive. People still do these modifications today, but not with the frequency we saw a decade ago. To rice one’s car is to make a statement: my car is faster than your car. See my VTEC/turbo/GT-R badge? It means I’m fast. That exhaust you can fit a cantaloupe down? Yeah, I need the extra airflow. That’s the message they’re trying to get across. It’s disingenuous, and insulting the intelligence of everyone around them. We all know Mazda never made a Camry Si, so don’t try to fool us.

Now I have something to confess: I like gaudy cars to a degree. I like unique cars, the five-year-old inside me who ogles at Hot Wheels adores a candy red Golf with skirts and stylistically rusted panels. It’s self-expression, something I made damned sure to do in high school by dying my hair bright colors. The self-expression is a form of art, and I like it when someone is brave enough to put their real face forward, regardless of whether it will receive a slap or a kiss. You’re now wondering how I can hold this double standard, how I can applaud one owner for making a car unique, but call another, to quote Holden Caulfield, “a big fat phony.”

To explain myself, I need an example. I recently watched Kei to the City, a film by the YouTube channel Mighty Car Mods. It’s not only a great little documentary, but a joyful yet sad human story to be appreciated by anyone from any walk of life. You need to watch it, and I have left a link at the bottom of the article. The premise is that a pair of close friends take a trip to Japan for a few days, buy a cheap car, customize it, and take it to a grassroots drifting event. In one scene, they have a close look at the exhaust pipes seen above, and talk with the owner of the Nissan they hang from. Now, if I were to see this guy’s car on the road today, I would not dislike it. Yes, it has a wing, an outrageous body kit, poor workmanship, more exhaust pipes than necessary, and isn’t particularly fast. All are hallmarks of the term “ricer.”

But he isn’t one of them, and I’ll tell you why. When asked why he had so many pipes, the owner responded very simply: because they look like Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Go back and look at it. The next question was if he did it because Mickey and Minnie are popular in Japan, and he merely replied that he did it because he liked them. Let’s give it a moment of thought, then. This is a man’s expression of what he likes, and it was done solely to please himself. He wasn’t doing this to fit in, to make a statement, to peacock, or to say his car is great. It’s a pure communication of taste, and nothing else. What he has done is genuine, and is for himself only.

Now for a second example. This car from the film is also outrageously flashy, and looks like it’s straight from a rap music video from 2002. But these people, along with their cars, I respect. Give any 3-year-old a choice between driving these and a BMW, the kid will pick the car that looked like it had been driven through Elton John’s wardrobe every time. There’s excitement and presence about them, but also honesty, since they’re exactly what their owners want them to be, nothing more or less.

That, then, is where I make my point. I value integrity, something I see ricers as lacking. I’ve made it clear that I see the owners of these other pictured cars— the blinding Toyota, the ratty Nissan, the two Volkswagens— as being more real to not only themselves, but to others. Another point is that they don’t take their own cars to be integral to their identity. There’s a fracture in the Western scene: Mustang clubs sneer at Camaro clubs, and vice versa. Modifications must be “tastefully” made, and outliers such as the Corbin Motors’ Jettamino (see above) are met with backlash. People connect their ego to how their car is perceived, and those that go against the grain are pointed and laughed at.

Everyone knows the Mustang and Camaro are no slouches, whereas a winged neon-green Chevy Cavalier is. So maybe my problem isn’t what people do to their cars, it’s the message behind them. All fart cannon, and no bite. It’s obvious I have a soft spot for the exhibitionists, the Corbins of the world. Perhaps the ricers are just experimenting with their style, and I can’t damn that. Creativity may have gotten them laughed out of a few Cars & Coffee events, but it also was the root of the trendsetters who earned YouTube fame. Maybe what they drive today is a rough draft. Maybe they have dreams, inspirations, plans, and ideas… but no current means to fulfill them.

I’d rather believe the latter. Until then, I’ll shake my head, because Vin Diesel will never be seen in an eyesore like this one again, no matter how large the check.

Kei to the City: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cu6h5IoqkoA

Jettamino: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPN8kFGNPhc