offices in San Francisco, where
the staff sits near both a
1956 Chrysler 300B (owned
by Nonnenberg, who serves as
CEO) and a highlighter yellow
1973 Datsun 240Z. Howard
Swig, head of auctions, and his
hawkeyed team are the site’s
doormen: They allow maybe
40 percent of the 100 or so daily
submissions past the velvet
ropes. As with any good club,
the mix is everything. The site
needs some undersung exotica
(think Ferrari 456 or the unloved
Mondial), a bunch of affordable
rides with mounting fanboy
followings (’90s Japanese
sports cars or anything BMW),
and an oddity or two. A 1981
emerald green Chevy Suburban
with a chrome bulldog hood
ornament? Perfect.
What keeps Bring a Trailer
from being merely a well-curated
picture book are the extremes
it demands from sellers. Click
on any car and you’re hit with
100 or more images showing a
vehicle’s every angle and minor
flaw (for $349, BaT will send
a photographer to your home if
you’re not handy with a camera).
The accompanying copy, created
by Swig’s team, explains, with
all the panache of a bank teller
about to go on break, every
conceivable detail that the
pictures can’t: ownership
history, options, modifications,
accidents, a slightly loose trim
piece on the passenger-side
dash. Every BaT seller is strongly
encouraged to be available in
the comments for the full week
(up to two for ultra-high-end
cars) that the auction’s live. This
is when the commenters—most
of whom don’t bid or have any
intention of bidding—take center
stage at the show.
Some are supportive,
dropping “GLWTA” (“good
luck with the auction”) while
cheering on bidding wars
as the countdown clock nears
zero. Others, though, go into
neighborhood-watch mode
and help shape the success
of the auction itself. They ask
the seller, gently, if a common
problem with the car’s been
tended to. They point out
inconsistencies and pore over
the photos like Zapruder-tape
sleuths. They ask the seller,
rudely, why there are no photos
of the chassis from below
(is he hiding...RUST?!). All this
creates the virtuous cycle of
trust and cool cars that makes
Bring a Trailer so sui generis.
Dennis Chookaszian is a
Chicago business owner who’s
bought 37 cars on Bring a Trailer,
including some very weird stuff,
like a trio of sleek RVs called
Maucks. “It’s a seven-day
auction, and by the seventh day
you know everything about
that car,” he says. “I’ve bought
things on eBay—you never know
what you’re getting there. On
Bring a Trailer, you do.”
None of this, though, gets
at Bring a Trailer’s greatest
accomplishment: how much of
a blast it is to dick around on the
site, particularly when you have
no intention of selling, buying,
bidding, or even commenting. I’ll
stumble over from a BaT tweet,
the newsletter (not written by
Randy anymore), or because
I’ve just remembered, while
lying in bed at 11:47 p.m., that
I really want a mid-’90s BMW
7 Series with rims deep as
Detroit pizza, and find myself
hopscotching auctions for an
hour. The site itself will smash
your dopamine receptors with
a bottomless pile of dream
cars stacked in thumbnail
form. I’ll start reading about
a 1989 Jaguar XJ-S coupe,
only $6,258 with three hours
left, and God, how lovely is
that long, louche body with
those Art Deco buttresses?
Then I spy a ’95 Lotus Esprit,
a doorstop-shaped vision and
childhood favorite, and I learn
from the comments that it can
theoretically seat a six-foot-five
person (a tall potential bidder),
but that the footwell is so
tight that a shoe size larger
than 12 will be too cramped.
I don’t have the money to bid.
But maybe one day I will. My
size 11 feet will fit perfectly.
Jonathan Wilde is GQ’s
digital director.
Photograph by Joyce Lee
Bring a Trailer’s
company-owned 1973
Datsun 240Z.
APRIL 2020 GQ.COM 79
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