Can I Bum a Cig?

Butt hear me out.

I live in Las Vegas, where it’s still not only common to stroll past someone standing outside taking an actual, no shame smoke break, but also legal in many places to light up INSIDE. Granted, there’s usually a bright, shiny, bing bing bing slot machine involved in the latter, but it’s one of those things I’m getting used to seeing again. You know, the way it became just another typical Wednesday walking past Secret Service when I lived in Washington, DC, or how I would turn the corner to find the Law & Order crew setting up to film a scene when I lived in the New York City area, or how nine out of ten cars were a Subaru when I lived in Portland, Oregon.

But back to the smoking. Today, I was running errands and stopped to check out a Vuori outlet I’d recently learned about from a dear Poshmark friend (spoiler alert: even at the outlet is still expensive as shit). While snaking my way through outdoor Las Vegas North Premium Outlets Mall to find said Vuori outpost, I spied at least three people taking drags.

That used to be me.

I smoked all through high school. Mostly Marlboro Lights, because somewhere I’d absorbed the idea that “light” meant “less bad.” I blame diet culture. In college, I graduated to the yellow pack of American Spirits and also doubled down from time to time with cloves, because nothing says main character energy like a cigarette that tastes like a candle.

In my early adulthood, approaching Y2K and entering the aughts, it was still very socially acceptable and I continued to take my cues from pop culture, especially from a certain Miss Carrie Bradshaw.

I eventually stepped down to mostly just the occasional bummed cigarette at 2 AM, the kind you smoke standing six inches outside a bar door after last call, insisting to yourself this doesn’t count. And then to nothing at all. Having significant others who were non-smokers, and non-tolerable of said heathens, also helped curb the habit.

When I stopped drinking and got sober over eight years ago, to my surprise cigarettes came roaring back in for a brief period (transference, anyone?). I knew it was temporary, but for about four to six months, I would literally get up with enough time before my first work call to go for a drive to a local Starbucks drive-through that was just far enough away for me to smoke one cig on the way there, and one on the way back. God, how I LOVED to smoke while driving back in the day.

I really have no desire to become a smoker again. I know all too well what these sticks do to your inner and outer body, and honestly, if I could go back in time, I’d tell my younger self, “Girl NO! Put it DOWN! You will save SO MUCH in skincare products alone!” But lately my corner of the internet has been serving me up content related to, “The Rise of the Cigarette” and smoking being en vouge again, and I have to admit, after watching all nine episodes of Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. & Carolyn Bessette, I wanted to go blonde and grab a pack, paired with a vintage Calvin Klein chic black turtleneck.

The algorithm also floods me with those who are mulling the idea of having just ONE cigarette, especially considering the ongoing shit show state of affairs. This content is mostly from my fellow Gen Xers or adjacent millennials (like the wonderful Stephanie Wittels Wachs, co-founder and CEO of Lemonada Media and acclaimed author), and oh my GOD, I have never felt more seen.

But I also know me. And if moderation with substances was something I excelled at, we wouldn’t be celebrating soberversaries, now, would we?

So no. I’m not REALLY bumming a cigarette from anyone ever again.

But if you see me, and you’re carrying, ask me if I want one anyway.

For old times’ sake.

xo,
SG

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