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Growing up around car culture, I quickly saw both the best and worst sides of it. When you’re a teenager spending time in car parks, like the classic McDonald’s meet-ups there’s a lot of energy, hormones, and competition. It’s not necessarily hostile, but it often becomes a “me vs them” atmosphere. Who’s got the best car? The loudest exhaust? The most attention?
It wasn’t until I started stepping back and observing it all that I realised how split the automotive world really can be. On one side, there’s the inclusive, passionate, community-led culture that brings people together. But on the other, there’s a lot of ego, comparison, and toxicity the kind that shuts people out, especially if they’re not there to show off.
Cars are deeply tied to status. Whether it’s the car you’ve built or bought, it becomes a way to display skill, wealth, or identity. In spaces dominated by men, that often gets tangled up with outdated ideas of masculinity, strength, silence, and competition.
The problem is, those same spaces leave little room for vulnerability. If emotional openness is wrongly seen as weakness, then talking about mental health becomes incredibly difficult. That disconnect between status and openness is what stops so many people in car culture from reaching out or even admitting they’re struggling.
What keeps me going is the small stories, the ones I hear directly or indirectly through the brand. I’ve had people come up to me at events and open up just because of the message on a shirt. I’ve heard of people turning up to Coffees & Cars full of anxiety or loneliness and leaving with a new friend or connection. And that’s not because of me, it’s because the space feels different.
When the environment encourages curiosity instead of competition, those barriers start to fall away. You don’t need a perfect icebreaker. All it takes is asking about someone’s car, or showing genuine interest. It’s a soft, safe way to open up, and that’s often all people need.
I wish more people knew that talking about mental health isn’t always about trauma or crisis. Sometimes, it’s just admitting you don’t know something. Or telling someone you’ve had a rough week. Or asking a stranger about their car. These everyday conversations build trust. They remind us we’re not as alone as we think.
There’s a lot of fear around talking to strangers even in places we feel relatively comfortable. But the car community can make it easier. It gives us something in common. A shared passion. And most of the time, that’s all it takes to get people talking.
With Takona, I’m not trying to make mental health a buzz word, and I’m definitely not trying to water it down. If anything, I want it to feel like a normal part of life. Not every conversation has to be serious or life-changing. But we do need space for the serious ones when they come.
Mental health is personal. It’s complex. Sometimes it's invisible. What I want Takona to do is hold the door open, to make it easier for someone to take that first step, whether it's through a t-shirt, a car meet, or just a passing conversation.
Car culture has the potential to be one of the most supportive communities out there. But we have to choose which version of it we feed, the one built on competition and ego, or the one built on connection and conversation.
It’s okay to talk. More than that, it’s time to talk.
