The part two of the vaping story is the smoking story. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to take up vaping (because that would be monumentally stupid.) No, it was finally time to quit smoking.
It took me forever to get there, long after most of my friends had quit, long after it became impossible indoors, long after it was stigmatized (good marketing, btw, making it uncool, brought to you by the settlement with the tobacco companies.)
I started smoking in high school. It was the ‘70s and everyone smoked. I was around 14, and every school day a friend and I went to a coffee shop in town (we were old enough to be able to leave school premises.) We’d sit at a booth and smoke. I was helping her get through her Regent’s exams. We’d study and smoke. We’d chat and smoke. It was a secret to our families, of course, but we weren’t that careful.
Actually there was another place and way we’d smoke in those days. We used to hide a pack of cigarettes deep in our rooms, grab it, jump on our bikes and ride to the golf course. We’d smoke there, and stop at the library before we went home.
For books and other literary adventures?
Nah. We’d hidden a bottle of mouthwash on one of the less-visited shelves.
In college you could smoke in class. To my younger readers - seriously. You could smoke anywhere. I had one English professor who not only continued to smoke in class after the school started banning indoor smoking. Not only did he continue to smoke but he made it a litmus test: if you can’t handle my smoking you can’t handle my class.
Yeah.
We smoked on planes and in movies and in offices and even in hospitals. There were smoking lounges in hospitals.
Amazing to think of now.
I loved smoking. That first cigarette of the day, the one you’d light after you poured your first cup of coffee was magical. So was the one you lit when you had a cocktail. So was the one you had when you sat down to write. There were smoking moments all day and they were all great, until late in the day when you were what we referred to as “smoked out” and nothing tasted good.
In those days it was cool, and also helped keep your weight down. And it was everywhere. No stigma yet, but smoke everywhere.
I knew I had to quit eventually. I paused during both pregnancies but returned immediately to smoking. I left a hospital shortly after spine surgery to take a walk and have a smoke (they quickly found me and returned me to my room.)
Everything revolved around smoking. In those days ad agencies had big tobacco clients. To be honest those accounts helped pay the bills and make other things possible. Most big shops had tobacco accounts, though you could ask to not work on those.
(Parenthetically, at one of the agencies I worked at in early career you could ask off one account. The agency had tobacco and booze clients - a lot of them. But the number one account people asked off of was neither of those; instead, it was kids pre-sweetened cereal accounts. You know, those cereals that turn the milk blue. I always found that interesting.)
I remember the approaches we were told to take when marketing tobacco and the permissible language around them. You couldn’t come out and say the objective was to get people to smoke more, so you talked about rewarding loyalty. What you meant was getting them to smoke more. You couldn’t talk about encouraging people to start smoking, but you could talk about “sampling.” What you meant was getting new smokers into the fold. You couldn’t talk about the demographics of the audience but you referred to them as “urban.” And you knew exactly what that meant and exactly what you were doing.
Meetings with tobacco clients were memorable. The clients were all men, all white men. Every one kept his pack of cigarettes in the left side pocket of his button-down. There was a giant ashtray in the center of the conference room table. To a man, each sat down, took the pack out, removed a lighter from another pocket, placed both down in front of them, to the left of their notepads and set themselves up to meet and smoke. Every time, the same ritual.
A little more on the marketing aspect of this. Brand loyalty is what every marketer craves and plans and resources and prays for. It’s Valhalla for marketers. And that’s never been tougher than it is today. But for smokers, brand loyalty is everything. We knew each other’s brands, who was a Marlboro smoker, who loved Parliament. I smoked Salem Lights. A tobacco exec once said to me “oh, the only menthol brand that white women smoke.” It was a different time. But there was no brand we more loyal to than our cigarette brand. It was singularly important and it helped define us. I would say that that’s the power of marketing. And to a degree it is. But to a greater degree that’s the power of addiction. A very dangerous combination.
Ok, let’s leave marketing now.
Back to my smoking. It wasn’t just something I did; it was central to my identity. I had an assistant who called my office “Smokey’s lounge.” I was told of a colleague I hadn’t met that “she’s just like you. Survives on caffeine, nicotine and water.”
That was true.
Over time the pressure built. I never really tried to quit. I’d worked on smoking cessation products and was unimpressed. I knew that patches and gums wouldn’t give me the tactile part of the experience that was so central.
I had kids, I had to be responsible. And I was, but this was a mountain I couldn’t climb. Two young kids, challenging marriage, high-stress job. Yeah, quitting smoking seemed like something I’d get to. When I was ready. Whenever that was.
A drug came out - Chantix. My doc prescribed it and I had the prescription filled. I did with it what I do with anything new and unfamiliar that I acquire - I just let it sit there. A few days, a few weeks. I do the same thing with any new tech. It’s like I need it to absorb room tone before I can touch it.
I started hearing horror stories about the drug. Nightmares that were driving people toward suicide, other massive and terrible mental health effects. I read articles that said the FDA should never have greenlit it. My doc told me to skip it.
I did.
I needed a forcing function. I knew as a marketer that vague threats about future health wouldn’t work (they didn’t; only the work that was done to “de-cool” smoking did.) It didn’t need to be earth-shattering. It just had to be something that was ahead - not too far ahead - where my smoking was going to be an issue.
I found it. Scuba diving.
We were going on a trip with friends to Cozumel. They were big divers and I really wanted to try it. And I figured that life as a smoker would compromise my ability to get the oxygen I needed underwater. THAT was the forcing function. A month or so ahead of the trip I started experimenting with e-cigarettes and found my way to vaping.
The diving was amazing and I can’t wait to do it again. Also, every single diver on the boat was smoking. So not a forcing function for everyone, but I didn’t need it to be. Just needed to work for me.
And it did. That trip - nearly ten years ago - was the forcing function. I haven’t had a cigarette since.
I don’t always miss it and sometimes when I smell others cigarette smoke it nauseates me. Other times it smells like the best thing in the world.
But I’m not going back (no pun intended, especially in the wake of the election we just all lived through.)
I’m a former smoker now. I’m not one of those zealots who turns hard against the very thing they used to do. I understand why people smoke, and I understand why they quit. I understand addiction. I knew how the industry manipulated and exploited that addiction.
What was so central to my life and was in fact a defining feature of my life is no more. I wish I could be a social smoker - just have one now and then as others I know do. But I don’t trust my self-control. Don’t get me wrong - anyone who has followed the Ed thread knows that my self-discipline can be severe and unforgiving. But that’s about food. Not about cigarettes.
So no smoking, at least not for the next decade or two. I dream about it, with less frequency these days. But some mornings I’ll wake up thinking I’m still smoking.
Then I remember that I’m not, and I’m fine.
And I smile.
Vaping gives me the tactility I need, and when the vape is fresh and working well I get that powerful nicotine inhale. It’s not perfect - by a long shot - but it’s kept me from smoking for what’s now quite a long time.
And I can smile.
Appreciate you, beloved readers. Will be making cinnamon rolls in the next few days so a baking post is in the offing.
You’re amazing!👏💪💯