In their article titled “10 Predictions for Life in 2026,” the staff of the New York Times have slipped in a tobacco-related forecast bold enough to cause a fainting spell in polite, smoke-free society.
Wedged neatly between “No Longer Cool to Be Cold” and “Gambling on ‘The Real Housewives,’” wellness reporter Dani Blum suggests that the future may not belong to vapes and cigarettes after all, but to the humble tobacco pipe. This is the sort of statement that makes a man pause, reread, and check the date to be sure no one has tampered with the calendar.
Blum writes that “everyone’s hungry for a little gasp of Dickensian glamour, for someone to drop the word ‘dapper’ in a conversation crammed with acronyms and algorithms.” One can hardly argue with that. A society drowning in updates, alerts, and devices that need charging is bound to reach for something that does not beep.
The same longing that has made rye whiskey fashionable again and rescued Pabst Blue Ribbon from the dusty shelf of memory now casts a warm eye toward the pipe. The so-called “good old days,” though, which were never as good as advertised, possess one undeniable virtue. They moved at a pace a human nervous system could survive.
Pipe smoking has long been a refuge for those who wish to sit still long enough to think. It does not reward haste. Unlike cigarettes or modern contraptions designed for quick consumption and quicker disposal, the pipe insists upon attention. There is a difference, as pipe smokers like to say, between something you have to do and something you want to do. The pipe belongs firmly in the latter category.
There is art in it, and ceremony. One chooses a pipe not unlike one chooses a companion. One selects a tobacco that seems agreeable to the mood or the hour. Then comes the packing, the lighting, the tamping. A careful draw brings the ember to life, warming the leaf below just enough to coax out flavor and aroma. Rush the process and the pipe will punish you, much as life does.
In a world devoted to speed, the pipe functions like a well-placed speed bump. It demands that you slow down, sit quietly, and leave your troubles at the curb. For a few moments at least, the race pauses, the noise softens, and a man is allowed to think his own thoughts.
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