There was a time, once, when the Ford Mustang symbolized everything Americans loved about their cars. Powerful. Fast looking. Practical enough to be convenient and impractical enough to be fun. Affordable. It could gallop like a wild horse and a regular guy could afford one.

It was the people's icon of American car culture. We wrote songs about it, stars drove it in the movies; we gave it names and pinned it up on our bedroom wall. It was the legend and romance of the open road, made available at the corner Ford store.

And then it stopped. The Mustang stopped its gallop and started commuting. It stopped being something we would aspire to own and started becoming something we wouldn’t own – its long and heavy doors, plastic interior and ill-fitting componentry a turn-off in an automotive world that prizes perfection of fit and finish and super dependability.