Gatsby's car is very much a symbol of the man himself. Nick, indeed, first describes it as "gorgeous," just like Gatsby appears to others: well-dressed, well-spoken, well-educated. He appears to be perfect, just like his car.
However, Nick goes on to describe it as
[...] swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and tool-boxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, we started to town.
Words like "swollen" and "monstrous" have quite negative connotations, especially to describe such a "gorgeous" vehicle, alerting us to the fact that something more is going on here. "Swollen" is often used in connection to some kind of infection or illness, and "monstrous" connotes something grotesque, deformed. This might lead us to imagine someone who is puffed up, someone who has made something of themselves that is completely different from who they really are. Gatsby himself has become larger and stranger by his acquisition of all the material goods that seem to swell his car and draw attention to his giant size.
However, the labyrinthine, multi-layered glass seems like so many beautiful ways to distract from something or hide it altogether. Instead of clearly revealing the person within, they mirror "a dozen suns," protecting the identity within the labyrinth. Just as the car's windshields hide its driver, so does Gatsby's elaborate persona hide the person he really is.
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