What Your Car Says About Your Golf Game

Toyota Camry

You play slow, safe, and straight. As a golfer, the Camry owner is allergic to risk.

You’re out here to keep it in play, maybe break 90, and lecture others on "the real rules of golf."

Your pre-shot routine is longer than your average drive, and your idea of flair is using one of those yellow balls that might have come from the driving range. Nobody fears you in a skins game, but everyone appreciates the fact that you bring extra tees.

BMW X5

You hit bombs and lose count after 14.

This is the guy who claims to drive it 320 “when he catches it,” despite routinely being outdriven by the junior in the group.

Your golf bag is all show and no go—those Titelist blades have zero business being in your hands. You quote tour stats and mark your ball with a poker chip from TPC Sawgrass.

Fast backswing, faster excuses, and always a story about “how good you used to be that one summer in college.

Subaru Outback

You walk the course and love the gimmie putt.

When golfing, the Outback driver walks with an overladen stand bag in a push cart and wears trail runners on purpose.

Your grips are worn, your towel is from the beach, and you believe par is an outdated concept. Your swing is compact, ugly, and yet somehow effective.

You have opinions about the agronomy budget and like to drop hints about your personal politics to your playing partners to figure out who they voted for.

Chevrolet Tahoe

You hit driver off the deck on par fives, even though you shouldn't.

The Tahoe driving golfer rolls up with a cooler, a Bluetooth speaker, and is always just a few minutes late.

You’ve never read the local rules sheet, and you routinely take mulligans “because it’s early.”

Your short game is more feel than form, and you don't play with a glove. You hit driver on par threes because you're playing from the wrong tees. Everyone knows when you're at the course.

Honda CR-V

You show up early, chip for 45 minutes, and shoot 85

The CR-V driver uses all 14 clubs in the bag and loves a good 5:30 a.m. tee time.

You keep stats by hand, have three spare gloves in your bag—but one is for rain, which you never play in.

You’re not flashy, but your wedge game is pretty good. You’re probably the group’s unofficial treasurer, and you know how to calculate Stableford points without Googling.

Chevrolet Corvette

Your golf game is built on decades of muscle memory and a healthy dose of nostalgia.

You’ve been playing since persimmon woods and balata balls, and you still think the 7-iron is the most versatile club in the bag. You hit it straight—not far—but you swear by “course management,” which mostly means aiming away from trouble and making sure you're home by dinner.

You’ve got more stories than birdies, a towel hanging from your bag that’s older than your playing partners, and you've been using the same putter since the Bush administration.

Ford F-150

You only carry one wedge and love to play “Texas Rules”

You don't mind bending the truth about your lie, and you’re a firm believer in “winter rules,” even in June.

You wear shorts in March, drink your swing lube out of a koozie or an engraved YETI, and swear by your rangefinder even though it's never been charged. Your iron set has seen more range mats than grass, and yet, somehow, you're deadly from 100 yards in.

That, or you're a cop.

Mercedes-Benz E-Class

Your entire wardrobe could double as golf attire.

The E-Class golfer shows up in pressed chinos and spikeless loafers, says “cheers” after pars, and references club championships they didn’t play in.

You’ve taken lessons, but mostly so you can tell people you have a swing coach. Your bag is color-coordinated, your head covers cost a fortune, and your grips are always brand new.

You claim to love the game, but deep down, you’re just here for the optics and networking.

Tesla Model 3

You play fast, putt with your glove on, and quote YouTube swing advice.

The Tesla golfer thinks golf is broken and is here to fix it with data.

You’ve got a launch monitor app, three GPS devices, and a swing coach named “AI Jeff.” You’ve played like nine holes at Topgolf and think that should count towards your handicap.

Your bag is all-new, all-Cobra, and color-matched. You believe replacing your divots should be someone else's job.

Jeep Wrangler

You carry a speaker, play barefoot, and bring the dog if you can.

The Wrangler golfer has never taken a lesson, doesn't drink, but consumes a significant amount of electric lettuce.

You play music, talk during backswings, and call sand traps “beaches.” You’re fun to play with and impossible to play against. You’ll try the hero shot every time, and when it works, you’ll talk about it for at least a month.

Porsche 911

You’ve got a single-digit handicap and no friends.

This player arrives in silence, walks to the range like a surgeon—because you probably are one—and doesn't speak unless spoken to.

Your warm-up is clockwork, your wedges are custom-grind, and your putter costs more than a used Civic.

You’re always “working on something,” but you still birdie the hardest hole every time. You're respected, not liked—and you kinda prefer it that way.

Mazda Miata

You play for the love of the game and the joy of the walk

The Miata golfer drives the smallest car in the lot and plays the shortest course they can find.

You’re not in it for the scorecard, but for the rhythm of the swing and the fresh air between holes. Your bag is minimal, you don't carry a driver, and you found your irons in the basement of a house you used to rent. Every bogey is considered a win.

Lexus RX

You’re comfortably competitive with zero drama

The Lexus golfer plays smart, drives smoothly, and keeps the peace on the course.

You prefer the 7-iron to the driver, and you’re happy to lay up rather than chase hero shots. Your bag is neat but not flashy, and your pace of play is steady.

You might not have the lowest handicap, but you’re often the last one smiling and offering plenty of encouragement to your playing partners.