Pimp My Ride
MTV
Thursday 10:30 p.m. / 9:30 p.m. Central

Most makeover shows are more about the idea of self improvement than any actual results. "Trading Spaces" celebrates wacky creativity, then leaves its participants with hokey gimmicks and shoddy workmanship that will wear equally poorly. "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" is more about fish-out-of-water high jinks than changing lives. (How many guys really want to own that much product?) "I Want a Famous Face" is a cynical joke played for shock value. You don't want to think about what's in store for these pathologically insecure self-mutilators; it's a safe bet it's not what they were hoping for.

And then there's MTV's "Pimp My Ride," the show that delivers the goods. If you want to present a new you to the world, forget about slipcovers and back wax — how about 25 grand worth of custom auto work? Could there be any more quintessentially American way to make a personal statement? And what statement could be better than "I am living large?"

Appropriately, MTV requires that participants be between the ages of 18 and 22 and live in Southern California. The rest is implicit. You send in a photo of yourself and one of your beater, cross your fingers and then one day, if you're lucky, underachieving but personable rapper Xzibit will come knocking at your door. After riding with you to assess the full lameness of your ride, he whisks it away to West Coast Customs. A couple of days later, your life has changed.

"Pimp" combines the gearhead appeal of "Monster Garage" with the over-the-top fabulousness of "Cribs", but its wish fulfillment angle makes it cooler than either. Nobody ever dreams about having a hot-rod lawnmower, and stars on lifestyle and reality shows often seem bored with their extravagance, but the sincere joy of the regular guys and gals who get pimped gives the show an earnest quality that makes it lovable.

Back at the West Coast Customs garage, a crack team assembles around a table to plan their attack. Looking not unlike a heavily tattooed version of Ocean's Eleven, they sound off by department: audio-visual, interior, body, paint, wheels. Standard electronics include TVs, PlayStations and DVD players, with bonuses like video cameras and detachable MP3 players. Interiors are tricked out with plush carpeting, velvet seats, refrigerators, moon roof, stash compartments — everything but a Showtime Rotisserie Grill. Flamed and faded candy apple paint jobs shine like pearls. The rims are the biggest available, even if the fenders have to be cut away to make them fit.

If it were only about generic luxury, "Pimp" would be entertaining enough, but the real fun starts with the personalized features. Each pimpee has a story to tell, and the West Coast crew helps them tell it loud. A business student who loves to rap (albeit poorly) gets a karaoke machine built into his trunk, along with a tiny hardwood floor and hoop for the basketball that always rolled around back there. An aspiring heavy metal guitarist gets a built-in amp and guitar rack complete with Fender — in the side window, so everyone can see. A hottie driving a $700 Cadillac hooptie gets a Rolls Royce grill and a third brake light that flashes hearts. A girl who drives her grandmother everywhere gets a massager built into her Civic's new suede passenger seat.

Needless to say, the kids are thrilled as they tour their reborn rides, all Charlies in their very own chocolate factories. For all their gadgetry, the cars are tasteful enough, but hardly understated. You've got to be ready to drive that whale tail or flame job every day of the week. In that sense, the pimped rides are both tribute and challenge: This is how cool you are — if you dare.

There's no confusion about the salutary effect of driving a pimped ride. Says the geeky guitar god's sister, "This is totally going to change Wyatt's life. Before, his car was kind of a joke, but now, he's got, like, the coolest car in the world." Cruising down the 405, the rapping business student voice-overs, "Now I'll get a lot more respect when I pull up to business meetings. My career is going to start off with a bang now that my car's been pimped."

Meanwhile, the viewer can't help but wonder about more prosaic things. Would you park that thing on the street? How often do you have to wash it? Do you let your friends eat Taco Bell on the suede seats? Do you, like, sit in your driveway playing PlayStation, drinking beer out of your mini-fridge? Or do you ride off into the sunset, another American dream fulfilled, another legend born? "Pimp My Ride" offers no answers, but it does offer hope.

— J. Daniel Janzen (dan at clownyard dot com)