I follow Armie Hammer on Twitter because he’s been in some movies that I really like (Sorry To Bother You and Call Me By Your Name). Like a lot of people that I follow, I only come in contact with his tweets accidentally. It’s like a little surprise. This week, however, I saw two of Armie Hammer’s tweets and they were both about one thing: the wonder of minivans, and how much he loves them. I feel that. Hard. And I want to help.
In the first Tweet, you can tell that Hammer’s interest is piqued. He’s doubtlessly impressed by the utility and the space minivans offer. And he doesn’t give a wit about the tired stigma of minivan ownership. There’s a lesson to be learned from Hammer’s ability to shrug at perceived uncoolness.
It’s at this point that I should confess that for a few months in the early aughts, my parents had two minivans as their sole means of transport: a Dodge Caravan and a Plymouth Voyager. These were identical save for the nameplate (and the color). I don’t remember why this happened, but it did. And I hated it… outwardly. Internally, I cooed about the chance to take a long trip in a dope backseat captain’s chair that could recline or crawl back to the third row to ball up and nap like a plump kitten.
Minivans are pretty freaking amazing. If you take the seats out (SOMETIMES YOU CAN TAKE THE SEATS OUT), you can help a friend move a small love seat on a rainy day. Minivans are the cargo sweatpants of vehicles and I mean that in the best way possible. I can admit all of this now in a public space thanks to Armie Hammer.