Cigarettes are back, and they are snuffing out convenience.

It is hardly profound to note that cigarettes are seen as “cool” by young people; one could argue they have always been perceived as arbitrarily cool by the younger population, regardless of the decade. They have always signalled something effortless, shameful and nihilistic. 

The Ttumblr feminist will tell you that the king pack is community: a warm conversation behind the venue, passing around a BIC lighter and chatting until the dart goes out. Part of the gimmick is an “in” group, one that knows how to hold the cigarette and how to not wet the filter. Who wants to be caught being a poser?

Cigarettes almost seem to market themselves. In Canada, tobacco packaging is subject to  strict regulations. Vogues and Belmonts share the same look and the same lung cancer PSA on the back. Evidently, it is not Big Tobacco selling us the idea that cigarettes will bring you one step closer to achieving your dreams of being a DJ — we know that cigarettes cause 80 per cent of all lung cancer deaths. 

In an attempt to diagnose this cultural relapse, many writers have hypothesized that this is a mere fad — something that has come “back into fashion” as a trend from the 90s, as if it is a pair of cuffed jeans or a slip dress. The pendulum has swung back to tell us that Gen Z is immune to the no-smoking PSAs and the lung cancer warnings splayed on the back of every cigarette pack. But what does a pack of Paul Malls actually sell us? An “aesthetic” that most people roll their eyes at? 

In her article “Cigarettes are back in vogue. How did this happen?”, author Jessica M. Goldstein talks about how the visibility of cigarettes represents an attitude shift towards smoking rather than an actual uptick in tobacco sales. The cultural shift is promoted in pop culture and media, and seems to promise a certain status or lifestyle. She credits the habit to the political nihilism of young people, along with an uptick in cynicism and the desire for a ‘bad-girl-blase’ aesthetic. Goldstein  argues that part of the appeal also comes from this being an enemy that we know and can understand. 

Similar to Gen Z’s return to analogue media [link Gen Z is Going Analogue article], where young people are making the conscious, cumbersome switch to collecting more physical media, convenience seems to be something of an opioid of the masses. Collecting cassettes and CDs or taking photos on film or digicam requires secondary or tertiary pieces of technology to be compatible with our lives. It’s almost as if young people are purposefully seeking out this friction to combat the perceived vapid convenience found in every other corner of life. 

Then we ask: Is the ultimate goal of smoking nicotine? The obvious answers may be something along the lines of hedonism, addiction or naivety. But I want to draw a noticeable cultural attitude towards cigarettes specifically, different from Zyns or vapes, which have been marketed as more “healthy” alternatives to help kick the smoking habit. Studies have even shown that the flavours and marketing make such products more appealing to the younger population, if anything.  Therefore, we have to concede that the pull is not merely towards access to nicotine, but a pushback against something that could give us some larger cultural insight.

It is perhaps less that cigarettes are “back” in fashion, but more that vapes and sanitized fitness culture are going out of fashion. For every time the pendulum swings towards AI music and Hailey Bieber denim, we manage to swing back towards a menthol cigarette and hardcover books. 

The next question is: What does convenience cost us? 

Enter the Cocomelon-esque foil to cigarettes. Vapes (Juuls, Geek Bars, chooches — they go by many aliases) are seen by many young people as a cheugy pacifier, and have failed to achieve the same cultural staying -power as a pinch of tobacco rolled in paper. In its hype, they are positioned as an alternative or a solution to help kick the habit of smoking and are suggested to help chronic smokers quit altogether.

A vape is highly convenient, allowing one to take aone puff of Mango Punch Ice before placing it in your pocket, ready for the next time one might feel that itch. The smell does not linger like a cigarette and could easily be mistaken for an overly sweet gourmand perfume. In this way, vapes have removed one of the unique traits of a cigarette that keeps the world in equilibrium: shame and inconvenience. So what is the pull toward a cigarette that a vape does not have? If all that one seeks is nicotine and a buzz, Gen Z would surely not be so selective about how they get it. 

The cigarette demands full commitment and attention. It occupies one for only as long as it is lit, demanding from its users a commitment to the entire dart, and the stench of smoke lingering on your hair and fingers and following one inside. The shame is an equilibrium, a PSA as well as a declaration of your personal vice. The “coolness” a cigarette seems to promise is intertwined with this shame. It is a commitment to something gross, stinky, and demanding of your full attention.  

Let me ground this question for readers with a moral opposition to cigarettes — hello Grace Lancaster from The Fault in Our Stars. Picture a quick, convenient Keurig in the mornings or between breaks at work. At the counter, you’ll grab the plastic Mocha pod and slam the machine shut. You might lean by the Keurig and listen to it groan while you tap your fingers, letting yourself space out for the first time all day. It interrupts you, horking up your coffee, and within all but 20 seconds, your break is over. 

On a work trip, I watched as my coworker would make us Pakistani tea. She boiled milk on the stove, granting us a few moments of chitchat. As she gently added the spices and sugar, mellow moments of tranquillity sat between us. Think of what’s been robbed by the Keurig! In a world of constant stimulation and easy access, have we perhaps begun to seek out ways to catch a break?

Of course, I did not author this article to convince you of the many reasons to turn to cigarettes for this stillness and calm. Instead, I am pointing out a broad desire to catch our breath and find a bit of friction in our daily lives. I am suggesting that maybe, the cyclical “fashion” of cigarettes tells a story not purely of posers and 90s nostalgia, but of desperation and the continued effort to combat increasingly dystopian times, of which suffocating convenience is the most emblematic symptom. Perhaps this age of convenience and all its trade-offs is the real culprit for a cultural relapse and for striking the match.  

“One smokes the cigarette almost in homage to smoking cigarettes, whereas one hits the vape in an inward-facing homage to one’s own inability to cope…plus blueberry flavour. Or something.” – Nicolas Rock, Culture Editor