There’s a certain combination of hedonism and delusion that the disposable vape smoker knows well. You don’t vape, not really, and you can stop at any time. You only vape because it’s a nice treat, a treat. You say this to yourself as you go to the store to buy another one, mentally noting, “This will be the last.” But once the vapor is dissipated, you’re back.
I loved being trapped in this cycle of self-deception. On the outside it may have seemed like I was trapped, but inside there was the freedom to put aside all my other obsessions and psychological compulsions to focus solely on my next hit. Better yet, this desire was so socially acceptable that I could satisfy it anywhere, anytime. I quickly reached a point where I was using at least one disposable vape a day. To someone who’s never vaped, that might sound like the equivalent of smoking one cigarette a day. But it’s not the same at all: a disposable vape can contain as much nicotine as one or two packs of cigarettes. With my consumption, this little treat cost around £150 a month, and the habit only got worse after I worked from home with no colleagues to witness my habit (or shame). I indulged more than ever, the rhythm of my day interrupted only by a few seconds between vape inhalations.
Now it has been so has announced that single-use vapes will be banned in England and Wales next summer. It’s a smart proactive move by the Labor government. The official reasoning points to reducing youth use and reducing damage to the environment (I can almost see a mountain of the hundreds of vapes I’ve thrown away alone piling up in front of me). According to DefraLast year, nearly 5 million single-use vapes were thrown away every week, often ending up in landfills. The picture is bleak, unnecessary and inescapably grim. So goodbye to disposable vapes, one of the most embarrassing trends that defined the early 1920s era.
Defenders of vaping will argue that it is better than smoking, which is only true in a limited sense; we don’t actually know the long-term effects of vaping yet. One thing I do know is that nothing in life has a price, and no cycle of dopamine highs and lows is good in the long run. In addition to the physical health, the hedonistic cloud of vape smoke seemed to numb my mind. Lost in the blurry loop of pleasure and relaxation, I made worse decisions, which likely derailed any progress toward my real goals, and was certainly more self-destructive in small ways. Pediatricians have warned of the consequences for young vapers, who report suffering from disturbed sleep and concentration problems. A few years after these devices became popular, it’s clear that disposable vapes have contributed to a culture of self-gratification that feeds into our addiction to social media and digital devices. Together, these habits have created an epidemic of constant pleasure seeking.
In our post-pandemic world, disposable vapes, which especially took off around 2022, offered the ultimate easy “little treat”: a quick, legal, and socially sanctioned hit. Although I was a smoker years ago, I had long since quit and not looked back. Then I was introduced to Elf Bars – the monarch of disposable vapes – by a friend who loves nothing more than earthly luxury. She would later feel guilty for introducing me to them. The nicotine concentration was high, the flavors delicious, the combination so convincing that it seemed like anyone could become addicted to it. For the masses, disposable vapes led to an unwanted crash course in addiction — especially cruel because the habit seemed so harmless, so easy to rationalize and indulge in publicly. Many young users had never dealt with an addiction before; many adults were also naive about their own sensitivity.
When I decided to quit in the summer of 2023, my behavior was so erratic that you might have thought I was withdrawing from something much more difficult. I threw a vape in the trash only to pull it out from under the trash can less than an hour later. I couldn’t work, couldn’t sleep; the headache was brutal. My whole body screamed for a vape. I walked to the corner store, bought one out of self-loathing, and stood outside until I threw it in the trash bin across from the store again, convinced that this time it really was the end. Without the vape, I was gripped by exhaustion and the belief that life was meaningless.
Due to sheer discipline and shame about the number of mini-relapses along the way, at the end of last year I only swallowed one delicious piece of nicotine gum per day. Soon, after a week away on a work retreat, I entered a second phase of quitting, where the idea of vaping would cross my mind about every half hour or so, but I could swat it away. Today, I still can’t pass by someone vaping or think about it without feeling something that sounds suspiciously like sadness. Meanwhile, my desire to shop, scroll, and find other, more nefarious ways of stimulation hums along in the background.
When we experience our vape-free summer next year, this could be an opportunity to rethink what we call “pleasure” and consider more intentional ways to treat ourselves. I wonder if it is even possible for someone to bring their relationship with vaping back to a moderate level – to be a “normal vaper”, if such a thing exists. Disposable fumes demanded total surrender, and they got it. That is precisely why anyone who has been in my position knows that in order to regain control, they must be completely rejected.