If I may, I have a story to tell.
My first pistol was a Taurus PT100. I loved that pistol. A lot. I had to sell it (college days and all that) and became pistol-less.
After realising I couldn't live without an efficient means of self-defense, I sold my left kidney to a wonderful couple from Tasmania and walked post-haste to the nearest gun store. My old friend Mike, the store owner, pointed out the ugliest piece of machined metal ever manufactured and told me it was a "Glock" (a whaaa?) model 22. It fired my favourite .40S&W cartridge--it had that going for it, at least--and, according to my good buddy Mike, it was selling like hot cakes (suuuuure, Mike!). I held it in my hand and strange thougths began forming: hmm, good pointability, nice weight, nice... hey, hold up a second!! What's happening here? I immediately recoiled from this scion of Satan and, crossing myself the required seven times, asked Mike for a 1911. I needed blued STEEL and NOW! With a smirk that showed Mike had witnessed many such performances, he offered to let me actually fire this plastic beast for free, something he termed an "indoctrination". Not being the kind of person to pass up a free... well, anything, I went silently into that good night. Twenty pulls of the trigger later, I wordlessly plunked down the proceeds of my Kidney sale and bought my first Glock 22.
That was eight years ago. I am pleased to say I am a willing servant of that most foul demon: Gaston Glock and his wonderfully ugly, plastic Glock.
Be well, stay safe.