The formula for classic American muscle has been oft-repeated and it’s pretty straightforward – stuff the biggest, most powerful engine possible into the smallest car, go really fast in a straight line. Sure, if you checked the right boxes, you could get cushy stuff like power windows, air conditioning and an automatic transmission, but most of these options just added weight and aided your competition at the next stop light.
But the prosperous, thirty-something proctologist who had outgrown street racing on Colorado Boulevard or Woodward Avenue, didn’t necessarily care about giving up a few tenths of a second to his neighbor, the accountant. Still, they weren’t ready for the squarish conformism that a four-door Olds, Buick or Cadillac represented. For these guys, an interesting brand of personal luxury muscle thrived briefly. Here are five of our favorites: