Without
wishing to disrespect Jack Dee, there can't be many things the British comedian
has in common with the late, great, American actor Gregory Peck. Height,
gravitas and the most scholarly diction are Peck's alone, although one could
argue that Dee has the edge on deadpan witticism. But both are united in their
appreciation of that most famous of Italian designs, the Vespa. The former
liked to ride his in the opening credits to his witty BBC sitcom Lead Balloon,
while the latter did similar – though far more suavely, it must be said –
through the streets of 1950s Rome.
That
cinematic segment of Peck's, which came halfway through William Wyler's classic
1953 film Roman Holiday, sent worldwide sales of Italy's leading utilitarian
mode of transport through the roof, and transformed its image overnight. This
was due not only to the elegance of its design, but the fact that Audrey
Hepburn happened to be riding pillion, thereby creating in the viewer a
subliminal link between the bike and the world's most beautiful woman. One
cannot buy advertising like that.
The
Vespa has remained a style icon ever since, and the release this month of its
latest model, the Primavera, confirms it has lost little of its lustre. In the
florid prose of Marco Lambri, director of the Piaggio Group Style Centre, where
the two-wheeler is hammered into artisanal shape, "the Vespa was designed
around man from its inception, placing the human figure at the centre. It was
light years ahead of its time, and she is truly the daughter of functionality."
Yes,
quite. In other words, it works. Like the Fiat 500, a machine also generous
with its curves, it has been adopted, and adapted, for subsequent generations
ever since. In the 1960s, it was the heavily accessorised ride of choice for
mods buzzing down to British coastal towns looking for rockers to glass, and by
1979 its cachet was seamlessly revived courtesy of the film Quadrophenia, which
documented that 1960s era. In the 1990s, Jamie Oliver gave it geezerish appeal
(he rode it in between chopping onions on The Naked Chef), while Britpop
included it as part of its nationalistic cultural obsessions, despite its
thoroughly foreign style.
The
Vespa was launched into post-war Italy in 1946, and has changed little in its
68-year history. "There's a reason for that," says Andy Gillard,
editor of Scootering Magazine. "You don't fix what's not broken."
The only
real change has been a merciful one: the replacing of its original two-stroke
engine – which may well have explained its name (vespa, in Italian, means wasp)
but also made an ungodly racket – to the quieter four-stroke, so much more
amenable for the man or woman about town. Though its popularity is perennial –
1.3 million have been sold in the last decade – the average owner today is
pretty much Jack Dee: a chap in his late 40s/early 50s, likely experiencing the
quiet beta-male midlife crisis, content to let his alpha counterpart rev
himself silly on a fat Harley-Davidson. As Andy Gillard points out: "The
Vespa's fun, but it's also practical. Lift the seat, and you can put your
shopping in. Handy."
It isn't
exclusively the plaything of balding men, however. Lucia Jordan, a 41-year-old
digital marketing executive from the Wirral, runs vespa.org.uk, an online
appreciation society with thousands of members worldwide, many of whom convene
up to 12 times a year for international rallies. "We have many women
members," she assures, "and we're all very friendly."
Its
enduring appeal, she suggests, is a fundamental, pan-gender one. "You know
when you see a dog sticking its head out of the car window, grinning in the
breeze? That's how I feel on my Vespa every time. I'm as far away from my
computer screen as I can get. I'm free."
The
Vespa Primavera 125cc retails at £3,371 (inc OTR).
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