It’s the oldest lie in the car world.

Older than “I can quit buying parts whenever I want.” Older than “It’s stock, officer.”

It’s the same phrase that has bankrupted more car enthusiasts than actual bad investments:

“I’m just going to do a few small mods.”

You don’t say it to be dishonest. You mean it in the moment. You picture yourself doing something tasteful—responsible, even. Just a couple of upgrades to make the car yours, nothing too crazy.

But then the disease sets in.

Phase 1: The Lie

It always begins with something innocent.

You’re browsing Facebook Marketplace at 1:47 AM, sipping cold coffee that you forgot to drink earlier in the day, when you spot it—a slightly beat-up but full-of-potential “future classic.” The seller swears it “just needs a little TLC.” Translation: it’s going to eat half your paycheck for the next two years.

You tell yourself it’s perfect. You’ll just slap on a cold air intake—because obviously that’s good for at least +50 imaginary horsepower. Maybe swap the rims so it looks better at Cars and Coffee.

You even say the words out loud to your significant other:

“That’s all I’m doing. Just a couple small things.”

They nod politely, unaware they’ve just witnessed the opening scene of a financial horror movie.

Phase 2: The Slippery Slope

You can’t put new rims on stock suspension. That’s just tacky.

So you order lowering springs. But then you read on a forum that lowering springs are “a waste of time” and “real car guys run coilovers.” So now you’re several hundred dollars deeper—and the car still drives exactly the same because you haven’t had time to install them yet.

Then you notice the brakes look tiny behind your new wheels. Embarrassing. Time for a big brake kit. And since you’re upgrading brakes, you might as well prepare for more power. A turbo kit starts to sound reasonable.

Your “just a few small mods” has officially entered the “Why not?” stage.

Every purchase now comes with the phrase, “Well, while I’m at it…”

Phase 3: The Deep End

Your weekends disappear.

The garage becomes a museum of cardboard boxes with part numbers. Your living room coffee table now doubles as a workspace for polishing intercooler piping. Your hands are permanently stained with grease and hope.

The car? It’s not running. Hasn’t been for weeks. But that’s okay—because in your head, you can already hear the turbo spool, feel the cornering g-forces, and smell the race fuel.

Unfortunately, your wallet feels something too: empty.

Phase 4: Financial Ruin (But Make It Fun)

Somewhere between buying titanium lug nuts and a carbon fiber dashboard you didn’t need, you stop checking your bank account. Not because you’re irresponsible, but because you’re protecting your mental health.

Your friends stop asking, “When’s it going to be done?”

Your family stops asking, “Where’s all your money going?”

The bank doesn’t ask. They just send letters.

And yet—you don’t regret it.

Because here’s the truth: car projects are not logical. They don’t make sense financially. They’re built on caffeine, stubbornness, and the unwavering belief that the next part will finally make it perfect.

The Final Stage: Acceptance

By the time your build is “done” (spoiler: it never is), you’ve spent more money than the car’s worth. You could have bought a reliable, newer vehicle. You could have gone on vacations. You could have invested in something sensible.

But instead, you have this.

Your dream. Your money pit. Your pride and joy.

And that’s why, when you hear someone say, “I’m just doing a few small mods,” you don’t warn them. You just smile knowingly. Because deep down, you know what’s coming:

That’s not a plan. That’s a prophecy.