Almost...too accessible.

The Lost Identity of the Cigar: From Rebellion to Recreation

I’m going to step onto my soapbox for a moment and share a few thoughts. I’m not entirely sure whether this is a popular opinion, but it’s one I’ve been turning over in my mind, and I think it’s worth discussing.

There was a time, roughly 60 to 70 years ago, when cigar smoking carried a certain distinction. It wasn’t necessarily reserved for the wealthy, but it was often associated with an upper echelon of society: powerful politicians, notorious gangsters, celebrated athletes, and larger-than-life personalities. Think Winston Churchill, Al Capone, Fidel Castro, John F. Kennedy, Babe Ruth, Groucho Marx, and Che Guevara, among others.

The cigar was more than a tobacco product. It was an accessory to an identity. It represented status, disposable income, privilege, and, perhaps most importantly, a certain willingness to defy convention. There was something culturally rebellious about enjoying something that remained largely inaccessible to the average person.

Whether admired or criticized, the cigar made a statement.

Then came the cigar boom of the 1990s.

Following the conspicuous consumption of the Gordon Gekko era in the late eighties, disposable income and consumer spending helped fuel a growing appetite for luxury goods and recreational indulgences. People were buying homes, boats, cars, traveling, dining out, and, of course, discovering premium cigars. Tobacco companies were emerging and expanding throughout the United States and abroad.

The launch of Cigar Aficionado in 1992 helped propel the premium cigar industry into the mainstream, introducing an entirely new audience to the culture. Cigars were becoming fashionable, accessible, and increasingly associated with the rewards of financial success.

Smoking itself was also a very different cultural experience. Walk into almost any sit-down restaurant, and the hostess or waitress would routinely ask, “Smoking or nonsmoking?” It was an ordinary part of dining out.

Smoking hadn’t yet acquired the social stigma it carries today.

During that period, smoking a cigar—and, to some extent, cigarettes—still carried an air of rebellion. Much like riding a motorcycle, it was associated with independence, risk-taking, and a certain disregard for what others thought. There was an image of the rugged individual who feared neither convention nor consequence. Freedom and personal indulgence were part of the appeal.

If you smoked a cigar in those days, you were either admired or despised. There wasn’t always much middle ground.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

Today, that generation is getting older, and a new generation is discovering tobacco. However, I can’t help feeling that something has been lost in the transition.

The culture surrounding cigars seems considerably different. Today’s younger generation has grown up in an entirely different environment, one dominated by technology, social media, and instant gratification. They don’t necessarily gravitate toward the same experiences or values that once defined cigar culture.

They don’t ride motorcycles; they ride electric bicycles. They aren’t necessarily drawn to premium cigars; they’re vaping clouds of raspberry cotton candy or whatever flavor happens to be trending this week.

And while there’s absolutely nothing wrong with younger people enjoying themselves, I sometimes wonder whether the cigar has lost some of its original identity in the process.

We’re watching the era of analog experiences and face-to-face civility slowly disappear. People’s thumbs are rarely more than three inches from a smartphone screen.

Technology is wonderful, and I’m certainly not suggesting we abandon it. But when I walk into a cigar lounge, I don’t necessarily want to see someone setting up an Alienware gaming laptop, an extended monitor, a wireless keyboard, and an iPad across the bar. There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of that, but I can’t help wondering whatever happened to simply sitting down, lighting a cigar, and enjoying the company around you.

Perhaps I’m becoming a little old-fashioned, but I miss the independence that once seemed to accompany cigar smoking. Before social media, before everything became a public performance, and before every experience needed to be documented, there was something refreshingly personal about enjoying a cigar.

I’ve gradually stopped visiting cigar lounges, and it’s not entirely because of the expense. I’ve also grown somewhat disconnected from the atmosphere. Watching a room full of people, many of whom seem more interested in the surrounding spectacle than the cigar itself, has made me appreciate a quieter experience.

I believe that enjoying a premium cigar, much like riding a motorcycle, should be an extension of your identity. It should be something you genuinely appreciate because it means something to you—not simply because your friends, relatives, or social circle happen to be doing it.

Be an independent thinker. Develop your own tastes. Don’t become a follower simply because something is popular.

Cigars are considerably more accessible today than they were decades ago, and that accessibility is certainly a good thing for the industry. But perhaps some of the mystique has disappeared along with the exclusivity. What was once considered unconventional has become recreational, and what once made a statement has become another consumer choice.

I suppose that’s progress, although I’m not entirely convinced it’s an improvement in every respect.

These days, I smoke almost exclusively by myself. I enjoy the peace and quiet, the opportunity to slow down, and the simple pleasure of a good cigar without the distractions of a crowded lounge. I’m less interested in triple-decibel live music, whiskey representatives trying to sell me their latest offerings, or paying considerably more for a double Scotch than I would at home.

I’ve had my years of cigar lounges, and I’m genuinely grateful for those experiences. There were good conversations, memorable evenings, and plenty of enjoyment along the way. But I’ve reached a point where I value my peace and quiet more than the social spectacle.

Maybe the culture has changed. Maybe I’ve changed. Probably a little of both.

But I’ll continue to enjoy my cigars, preferably with a good cup of coffee, a little history to read, and absolutely no obligation to entertain anyone.

Sometimes, the best company a man can keep is his own.