I finally saw Tom Ford’s A Single Man last night. Colin Firth and Julianne Moore spent a pivotal scene smoking Nat Sherman Fantasias in a lush, 1960’s era Los Angeles bungalow. Fucking delicious.
I used to smoke these things back in the day. Not only could I have a cigarette that matched my outfit, but if a guy ever asked to bum one of my smokes, I could offer him up a pink one and laugh to myself as nine times out of ten he’d change his mind.
I used to wait tables with a chick who smoked these things. When we’d go out for a few drinks after work on a Friday or Saturday at like 2am, she would gladly let me bum a rainbow hued, gold foiled cigarette. I blame these beauties for that destructive feeling of glamour that accompanies a post-gin-and-tonic smoke. To this day, I’m still trying to shake the lingering desire for a cigarette after a few drinks.