CATFISH '99

An Ode to the Unloved Catfish

Some cars are born icons. Others earn their status through sheer, stubborn character. My dad bought this 1999 Camaro brand new when I was a kid of 12 or 13, and in my eyes, it was the coolest car on earth. Years later, the automotive world would decree that the fourth-generation facelift Camaro was the ugliest—a "catfish." The purists scoffed: it was a V6, not the LS1 V8. It was an automatic, not a manual. It was a convertible. Everything said I shouldn't love this car.

When my dad decided to get rid of it years later, I couldn't justify the parking space or the endless list of maintenance it needed. With a heavy heart, I told him no. I thought that was the end of the story. But my wife had other plans. For my birthday that year, she surprised me with it parked in our driveway, wrapped in a massive red bow. Now based in Miami, I spend my weekends getting my hands dirty, proving that the V6 Catfish isn't just a toy—it's a rolling vault of memories.