It reminds me of when I first told my family I planned to use moisturiser in 1997. I was on the verge of adulthood and there was an almost dissident, subterranean mobilisation of young metrosexual men toward rudimentary skincare. It was a radical time, filled with high hopes and grand delusions in the face of strident scepticism. 

Look at me now; 43 years young and skin smoother than a baby’s bottom. That evolution then took bravery. And so it is with buying an electric vehicle.

Not all people want you to fail, but certainly the majority. Existing EV owners wish you the best the same way one parent wishes another good luck when they meet them in the maternity ward of a hospital. They know the pain, joy, hope, and humiliation. 

They also know the pressure. I’d heard about the pressure, but I thought it was just for tyres. Well, it’s for EV owners, too.

The first thing to say is, I’m not a car guy. A friend of mine was buying a car in the UK years ago and I asked him if I gave him money would he buy me one too, and, a little aghast at my lack of interest, he asked me what kind of car, to which I replied: “Black.” I’m that guy.

So, this experience is the first time I’ve cared about a car. I enjoyed the research when it came to the selection process. I liked staring at maps of the country dotted with charging points, plotting trips I know I’ll never take (six hours to Malin Head — sweet). I appreciated the simplicity of the acronyms: FCP (fast charge point), SCP (slow charge point), EVDs (electric vehicle deniers).

I also took a little joy in the fact that traditional car people tend to be appalled by EVs, most likely because they drive like souped-up golf carts. I like that about them. The silence, inside and out. How light they feel and how reactive they are to my commands.

I like the apps, too. The novelty of having an advanced baby monitor for your car will likely wear off, but I enjoy heating the interior to a toasty 22C from my bed, even though I’ve no intention of using the car. I also like the fact that initiating the climate control from the safety of my house would likely detonate any incendiary devices placed underneath the vehicle by disenfranchised neighbours.

It remains to be seen whether my particular personality traits are conducive to successfully owning an EV. There has been much local speculation about this. It is true that I am prone to letting the fuel gauge drift into the orange. I am, by nature, a risk-taker. I tend to plan refueling stops around my own need for sustenance rather than that of the cars.

There is little room for risk with EVs, but I’m betting my ability to impulsively react will serve me better than any personal deficiency on the planning front. It’s a gamble, and one that may well see me stranded on the side of the N4.

This brings us to the much-hyped range anxiety, a very real phenomenon that no amount of promotional material can adequately prepare you for. If you buy a car with a 77kWh battery with a stated range of 420km, say, you must condition your brain to at once turn that 420km into 350km. That’s before you account for climatic conditions and availability of chargers en route.

This is where the anxiety kicks in. It’s as if these vehicles are so goddamn smart that the steering wheels have sensors and can deduct from the tightness of your grip that you are becoming more anxious, and the battery power reduces accordingly, accelerating your distress. Prospective EV owners must understand that these cars are practically sentient, and we pass our stresses on to them the same way we do to our children.

So, treat them carefully. Get to know them. Listen to their rhymes and rhythms and never let them leave home on an empty stomach. Screw the begrudgers. You’ll make mistakes. Just remember this one simple rule: ABC — Always Be Charging.