Muscle, muscle, muscle... It's overated.
I like the honesty of old Detroit iron. They're not made to be aerodynamic, or get great gas mileage. They're built to smoothly slip down interstates exuding style, and pizzazz.
I love the thin, transparent, acrylic steering wheels, the glistening chrome interior trim, and those pleated, button tufted bench seats that allow me to be up against my man. I even find the no-feel, over boosted, steering and brakes charming. I'm especially intrigued by how analog the cars were. Why, anyone can work on them, and most problems can be diagnosed by watching how the parts are supposed to move.
I love how those old cars let me imagine a time when all men were as dapper as Don Draper, and all women were as beautiful as Sophia Loren. Where every family lived the American dream and never worried about war, money, taxes, health insurance, or their in-laws. Sure, it's a time that never existed, but I like to imagine it was at least a little real.
(An aside. If the country club in that ad is so swanky, why are there bars on the windows? Haha)