Let me be perfectly clear with you. I have never in my life smoked a cigarette. I do not endorse smoking or vaping. But I do have an addiction to cigarettes.

 

Not with smoking them, mind you, but with the entire cultural artifact they’ve become. I just adore the mood, the mystique, and the aesthetic. Cigarettes hold a special power as objects. 

 

They have the ability to set a scene, taking you back to a time and place. In old Hollywood movies, they convey a sense of glamour and a hint of rebellion. In real life, they carry fond memories, but also immense pain. For me, cigarettes aren’t about rebellion or addiction. They’re about my memories. 

 

The cigarettecore design aesthetic allows me to chainsmoke my memories (without the nicotine). 

My Dad Was a Smoker

When I was a kid, my dad was my primary caregiver. He was already 55 when I was born. He had retired from the Air Force as a colonel and was a member of The Greatest Generation. And he fit the profile: his hair was always closely cut and greased, he wore a tie every day, he only ate meat and potatoes, and he was followed by a near-constant stream of menthol smoke wherever he went. 

 

What made him unusual (at least by traditional standards) was his role at home. He did all the cleaning, most of the cooking, and more than 80% of the childcare. My mother had already raised six kids before my sister and I came along, and by then, she was done with diapers and discipline. The heavy lifting of our little world fell to my dad.

 

I almost never saw my dad without a cigarette. Our house had ashtrays in every room. He smoked in the car on the drive to school. I hated it as a kid because I knew it was bad for him, even then, and I loved him wildly.

 

Then one day, he dropped me off at school, went home to get dressed for work, and had a massive heart attack. I was twelve. I was devastated. For years, I blamed the cigarettes. I despised the smell, the sight, and the memory of them. 

 

But time has a way of softening what once felt sharp. These days, I’m happily reminded of him when I see a cigarette, an amber ashtray, or a lighter with some weight to it. They no longer signal loss. They conjure comforting memories of my time with my dad. 

 

What is Cigarettecore? 

So what is cigarettecore, exactly? It’s not about smoking. It’s about nostalgia. While all of us can agree that smoking is bad for you and should be avoided, many of us who grew up around it still have a fond connection to the practice. And many of the accessories that accompanied the nasty habit are quite beautiful. 

There are collectors of ashtrays, musical cigarette boxes, lighters, and more. In cigarettecore, these objects are accessories rather than items of practical purpose. They light up a room, not a smoke.

 

Taking a Drag of Memories

Recently, I bought a set of beaded cigarettes off Etsy. Yes, beaded cigarettes! And they are absolutely stunning. There are six in total: two unlit (one menthol, one regular), two elegantly lit with little beaded embers, and two perfectly crushed stubs. I’ve arranged them just so in a darling little ashtray I picked up at a junk shop in Cape Cod, one of many that now live in my Workshop. Ashtrays are having a moment in design, even for the nonsmokers. 

The fake cigarette purchase wasn’t just a whim. It was part of a party we threw to make a French antiques dealer feel at home when he came to visit The Workshop. We printed custom matches with our logo (naturally) and dressed the place with cigarette displays, complete with bubblegum cigs for guests to “smoke” if they felt cheeky. It was irreverent, theatrical, and surprisingly charming. The whole thing turned into a conversation starter about style, memory, and the absurdity of the social smoking era.

Why Are We Pretending to Smoke Now? 

What’s interesting is that this little cigarette obsession is not just mine. I think because so few people actually smoke anymore (at least not like they did in the 70s and 80s), cigarette paraphernalia has started to feel like a novelty. It’s kitsch even. We’ve become so detached from the dangers that now it’s just another collectible. A relic of a glamorized vice, now safe to admire from a stylish, smoke-free distance.

 

Nostalgia Over Nicotine 

Now, let me be clear. I’m certainly not promoting smoking. I realize how strange it may sound to wax nostalgic about something so dangerous, especially when it likely contributed to my own father’s death. But nostalgia isn’t always rational. Sometimes, it’s visceral. Cigarettes and all their paraphernalia pull at something in me I can’t quite explain. They remind me of my father: his routines, his presence, the comfort of knowing he was always there, cigarette in hand. They also conjure a time that felt more innocent, or maybe just more naive—a time before warning labels and cultural reckonings, when people smoked on airplanes and no one blinked. 

There’s something bittersweet in that contradiction. The same object that once filled me with dread now feels oddly tender. It’s complicated. 

 

But then again, the best design stories always are.