What's With All The Spoilers

Frankly, I'm befuddled. We're in the midst of an automotive styling trend that makes me wonder aloud about the sense of the American public. In a nutshell: What's this absurd fascination with spoilers?

Walk through any parking lot and count the number of cars with decklid spoilers. And I'm not just talking sports cars. Late-model family sedans seem to be the most frequent victim of the stick-a-curved-piece-of-plastic-on-your-trunklid craze. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why.

Spoilers have apparently become to the '90s what tailfins were to the '50s. Each manufacturer has been not only trying to outdo the rest in flamboyance (remember the '94 Supra Turbo?) but in every-model-needs-them proliferation.

Originally, spoilers were functional. Little flaps of metal were attached to race cars to trim airflow over or around the bodywork for improved high-speed stability. And they worked. In the mid-'60s, Jim Hall's huge surfboard-size wing on the back of his Chaparral racers set the tone for things to come. Current Formula One race cars take this science to the extreme, creating enough downforce at 200 mph to drive upside down on a ceiling.

So, if spoilers work on race cars, they must be able to improve Mom's minivan, right?

Three decades ago, the spoiler was the earmark of the American musclecar. Trans Ams, Z28s, Boss 302s, Mach Is, 'Cudas, Challengers, AMXs, and about a dozen others prowled the streets in full winged regalia. But the most outrageous of all was the '70 Plymouth Superbird. Our Jan. '70 cover showed race hero Dan Gurney perched atop its girder-size airfoil. The Superbird model was created to homologate the wing shape (as well as the car's radical aerodynamically smoothed nosepiece) for NASCAR racing. Inside secret: On the street version, the height of the wing's upright supports was dictated not by optimal placement for airflow, but to be just high enough to allow the trunklid to open.

In fact, it's been proven in wind tunnels that the vast majority of those cool-looking "aerodynamic aids" on our beloved American ponycars of yore actually either interrupted airflow in a bad way or did nothing at all.

All of which got me to wondering about today's grand assortment of airfoils. A professional road racer friend of ours took a close look at the (street version) Viper GT2's manly wing and was not surprised that it's trimmed neutral-likewise, the superstructure attached to the decklid of the current Mitsubishi 3000GT VR4. So, no doubt there are other sports cars with for-looks-only aero adornments. I can live with that. It's fashion. It's the cowboy boots that never see a cow. But that doesn't explain the hordes of plain-vanilla sedans wearing these devices. Doesn't a buyer of a basic white Saturn want a reliable transportation cube more than a sport sedan? Wouldn't that Escort owner be just as happy if his car didn't have the annoying lip on the deck? Wouldn't those people rather use the hundred bucks it took to buy the spoiler for something else, like food or rent?

Obviously not.

Car manufacturers build what people want to buy. And judging by the scores of spoiler-festooned econo cars I see on a daily basis, I'm obviously out in left field on this topic.

Or am I?

I want to know your feelings on this. For those of you who bought non-sporty cars with spoilers, please tell me why. Did the salesperson suggest it'd improve gas mileage? High-speed stability (it feels really great over 160 mph!)? Or is it a polymer-composite substitute for Viagra? Whatever the pitch, did you believe it then, and what do you think now? Do you really feel sportier knowing you have a piece of plastic bolted to your car's decklid? I mean, really?

The Corvette C5 doesn't need a rear spoiler to be stable at its top speed of 174 mph. Neither does the Ferrari 550 Maranello at its 194 mph. So, why do you think a Camry or Accord does?

I need your insight, friends, because I'm lost.