In a city that routinely mistakes extravagance for taste, Keanu Reeves just reminded everyone what genuine style actually looks like. On a crisp Saturday morning in late November, the 61-year-old actor was spotted at Evergreen Dreams, the beloved family-run Christmas tree lot on Sunset Boulevard, personally selecting and securing an eight-foot Noble fir to the roof of his iconic Guards Red 1995 Porsche 993 Carrera. There was no driver, no assistant, no security detail—just Keanu, rolled-up sleeves, a quiet smile, and the calm confidence of a man who has never needed to prove anything to anyone.
Witnesses described the scene as something out of a dream. He arrived shortly after nine, the flat-six engine of the last air-cooled 911 still ticking as it cooled under the morning sun. After parking nose-first between two gleaming SUVs, he opened the frunk, pulled out a well-worn moving blanket and a set of high-quality ratchet straps, and began walking the rows of trees with the unhurried patience of someone who genuinely enjoys the ritual. He touched branches, inhaled deeply, gently shook each candidate to test how the needles would hold ornaments, and finally settled on a lush, slightly asymmetrical Noble fir that he described, in his soft-spoken way, as having “the right kind of soul.”
When the time came to lift it, he waved off offers of help, hoisted the tree himself, and placed it carefully on the roof. With the same meticulous care he brings to everything from stunt rehearsals to rebuilding carburetors, he centered the trunk, padded the roof with the blanket, threaded the straps through the door openings the classic 911 way, and tightened everything down until the tree sat as securely as if Porsche had designed an official Christmas-tree carrier for the 993. A final tug on each strap, a gentle pat on the fender as if thanking the car for its cooperation, and he slipped behind the wheel. Moments later, the unmistakable rasp of the 3.6-liter air-cooled engine echoed down Sunset as Keanu eased into traffic, the magnificent fir riding high and proud above one of the most beautiful sports cars ever made.
The photos and videos appeared online almost immediately. A teenager’s quick clip hit ten million views in less than a day; someone slowed it down, added Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” and titled it “POV: You are the luckiest tree on the planet.” Car enthusiasts lost their minds on every forum from Rennlist to Reddit, declaring that this was the only correct way to transport a Christmas tree if you are fortunate enough to own an air-cooled 911. Even Porsche’s official Instagram account—normally the epitome of corporate restraint—posted a subtle tribute: a single image of a 993 roof lightly dusted with snow and the caption, “Some traditions never go out of style. 🎄❤️”
For those unfamiliar with the significance, the 993 generation (produced from 1994 to 1998) is widely regarded as the ultimate expression of the classic 911: narrow body, perfect proportions, and the last to use air-cooled engines before the shift to water-cooling changed the character forever. Reeves has owned this particular Guards Red example for nearly thirty years, having taken delivery shortly after filming A Walk in the Clouds. He has turned down seven-figure offers from collectors around the world, quietly maintaining the car himself and driving it exactly as Porsche intended—windows down, radio off, canyons whenever possible.
Friends say the Christmas-tree run has become a private annual tradition. Whether in this 993, the black 964 Turbo he once owned, or the discreet Speed Yellow 993 RS club-sport recreation he keeps under cover, Keanu has made a point of choosing, carrying, and strapping down his own tree for at least the last twelve years. He does it, they say, because the fragrance of a real fir instantly transports him to childhood winters in Toronto with his mother, because the physical act of tying the straps feels honest and grounding, and because there is still no navigation app that can compete with the long way home through the hills, engine singing at four thousand rpm, pine needles drifting through the open window.
In an era when holiday celebrations are so often outsourced—trees delivered by apps, lights programmed by algorithms, gifts shipped in cardboard—Reeves’ simple, elegant gesture felt like a quiet act of resistance. It was no performance; it was presence. It was choosing the real over the convenient, the tactile over the virtual, the slightly risky over the completely safe. And it was executed with the effortless grace that has defined him for decades.
By Sunday evening, #Keanu993Tree had become the top trending topic worldwide. Fans created slow-motion montages set to jazz, Photoshopped the tree into scenes from The Matrix and John Wick, and launched a lighthearted “993 Tree Challenge” that saw Porsche owners across the globe sharing their own (far less graceful) attempts at roof-mounted holiday cargo. Through it all, Keanu remained silent, as he ever does—letting the moment speak for itself.
As lights begin to twinkle across Los Angeles and the rest of the world prepares for another holiday season, one image lingers: a man in a faded flannel shirt, a thirty-year-old red Porsche, and a perfect imperfect Christmas tree riding high above the city he, heading home. It is a reminder that style, at its very best, is never about showing off; it is about showing up—fully, authentically, joyfully.
