The Aesthetics of Smoking, or Egomania

For many reasons, I grew up an anti-drug.

My parents divorced when I was very young. Me, my sister (the oldest), and my brother (the middle child) stayed with my father in our house on Osgood Road. My mother moved around a lot, but never too far away, always being sure to remain in touch enough to take us (sometimes) on the weekends or pick us up (sometimes) from school. She eventually remarried (not her last time) and re-reproduced (her last time). My father, on the other hand, invited a woman to live with me and my siblings when I was in Kindergarten. She was nice and had two children; one older than my sister and one younger than me. This mathematically made me the middle child in the middle of a post-broken home amelioration attempt. On cue, it blew up in its makers' faces and violence ensued. My elder blood siblings resorted to drugs, music, rebellion, everything people our age tend to remember the '90s for (good times and nowhere to go), while I, by default, became the counterpoint. The constant tension and strife between my father, my stepmother, and my siblings, was more than I could bear to consider partaking in. So I did what made sense; I did not do what my siblings did. This included steering clear of drugs and unsavory people that might lead me to become something my parents disapproved of. Not surprisingly, I became resentful of my good grades and anti-drug attitude, and was not proud when my parents said "good work" after looking over my report card. Though my self-reliant, self-righteous attitude effectively kept me out of social circles and off of drugs, it also made me a very lonely person.

My sister was a smoker from the age of 16 or thereabout. Every time I was around her when she lit up, I would lecture her about the harmful side effects of smoking, how it's killing her, and be generally dripping condescending incredulity. She would always say the same thing: "Gotta die somehow." A cliched smoker's response (she never said it without cackling afterwards), I always thought it was the worst defense. I found myself saying this recently when someone suggested I stop puffing on a Camel.

Like many people who are lucky enough to take the 4 year vacation known as college (and now have to PAY for it...), many things changed when I went to school. I began drinking and smoking pot. Not out of rebellion, but out of both curiosity and a sense of decorum. Nothing about shedding the straight-edge skin was painful. It was a blast. However, it made me reconsider certain values I held, the most glaring of which was tested two years into college. One day without much thought, I purchased a pack of cigarettes and started smoking. My friends alternately approved and disapproved.

So, why did I, and why do people in general, start smoking?

- From a sociological standpoint: The standard sociological argument is that it's a parroting effect - teen sees person she wants to be like or be near smoking so she herself starts smoking. Other factors are prevalent, such as smoking parents, but really, from that point of view, it boils down to the parrot effect.

- From a cultural standpoint: "Coolness" is (like, almost always?) the reason one starts smoking. Whether it's out of rebellion, the urge to do what is not allowed, or the desire to partake in what cool people partake in (most cool people smoke, or so it seems), smokers tend to trace their picking up of the butt to an image, idea, or person. Of course, smoking also is an act that has no justification outside of pure self-gratification, so in that sense, it represents an aspect of the American character - straight, undiluted, 200-proof self-gratification. This is often taken as the essence of cool; a sum of unexplained acts originating from a self that resists standard labels, explanations, and expectations. So if smoking could be considered cool, it would be naive to say that Miles Davis, Keith Richards, or Dont Look Back have nothing to do with it. People who start smoking for these reasons would probably never admit it or, at least, would disregard the attempt to explain the "why" of smoking when, duh, the lack thereof is part of the fun.

- From a phenomenological standpoint: Smoking is relaxing. It occupies your basic motor skills, helps you regulate your breathing, and helps you take time. It tastes great, especially when paired with coffee or red wine.

As far as I can tell, smoking was once as casual as drinking water. Now, there are signs in bodegas urging smokers to protest the proposed cigarette tax increase ($6/carton!) that New Yorkers are currently facing. Not only that, there are industries, profit and non-, built around helping people quit. Why has smoking become so bad? Depending on your sources, either one pack takes 7 minutes off your life or if you quit by the time your 26, there is virtually a 0% chance of developing lung cancer due to smoking. Clearly, evidence has indicated that smoking can and does kill all too often. Can cigarettes be enjoyed responsibly? And hasn't everyone "Gotta die somehow"?

Wes Anderson tends to make very pointed use of smoking in his films. Whether it's an issue of realism or not is beside the point; to me, smoking, if I may wax philosophic, is a token of the smoker's Dionysian acceptance of their own mortality. If that's too Romantic for you, the urge to smoke is antithetical to the urge to remain alive. It concerns quality over quantity, how one lives as opposed to how long. In a sense, every person that smokes a cigarette is performing their very own miniature crucifixion.

Every morning I scale 6 flights of stairs in a grimy building occupied mostly by hardworking immigrants. On the second floor, I always pass two older Eastern European men sitting on a bench, smoking and chatting in their native language. I at first tried smiling and nodding at them, but they would just scowl (understandably), and I would move on. Smoking, though it's often associated with rebellion, is also an expression of solidarity. Who huddles outside bars when it's 2 degrees outside? Smokers. Who's "Gotta die somehow"? Smokers. Am I a smoker?*

*OK, this piece has two endings. Here's your chance to fill in the blanks. You can choose the one you like the best:
1.) Doubtful, but I do enjoying smoking.
2.) Sure, aren't you?