Milan isn’t burning

The world is on fire and everything’s absolutely dreadful, but Milan just banned smoking in public and I’m as happy about that news as I would have been if the light aircraft that crashed with Nigel Farage in it back in 2010 had met the earth with greater velocity.

Nicotine has had a glow up in recent years, thanks to the nihilism-as-much-as-hedonism of Brat Summer, and anecdotal stories that simply EVERYONE in fashion is smoking again. “Oh my god, how can you be in the industry and NOT!?” laughed a friend when I was at one of the otherwise fabulous Sunday evening parties at El Fenn in Marrakech recently, after I complained that I wanted to hurl everyone around me holding a lit cigarette over the balcony. “Very easily,” I replied. “It’s vile and will kill you.”

They still have smoking sections in bars and restaurants, which is like having a pissing section in a swimming pool

Cigarette smoke had, when it was legal, been a single skid mark on my favourite years of clubbing in London. Every night at The Wag in the 1990s was paid for with a dry-cleaning bill for rancid smelling clothes, and hair that I just couldn’t shampoo enough to get fragrance free. From my pre-teen years onward, I told my father repeatedly he would die because of his chain smoking. As a child, I found the habit so vile, I would steal and destroy his cigarettes. He stubbornly persisted. Finally, when diagnosed with terminal cancer in his early 70s, and after the doctor had told him they could verify that the tumour was from smoking because of its location and type, I felt that my endless complaining was justified. *Extremely Fucking Lilith in Frasier voice*—“Well, there you go, I TOLD YOU!”

The news from Italy has led to a generous amount of self-generating content on social media in fashion circles, kicked off by Diet Prada, which ran a slide on Instagram at the start of the year showing Kate and Naomi fagging away, with the headline “Fashion’s Favourite Hobby is Now Banned in Milan”. It’s been liked over 52,000 times at the time of writing. Plenty of comments suggested it was an infringement on civil liberties, and “we have so much more to worry about”, but many applauded it, with some pointing out that Sweden instigated the same law in 2019 and now just 6% of the population say they smoke “occasionally”.

In New York you can’t smoke in parks or on beaches, and it’s glorious. In Japan most public areas are no smoking, but perversely they still have smoking sections in bars and restaurants, which is like having a pissing section in a swimming pool. In 10 years or so, this will all look as ridiculous as those early episodes of Sex and the City where Carrie is lighting up every few minutes, superseded by the third-to-last episode of the show, “Splat!” in which Kristen Johnston plays faded, jaded It girl Lexi Featherston who tries to smoke at a party in a penthouse apartment, is reprimanded by the host, and shouts “When did everybody stop smoking…? This used to be the most exciting city in the world, and now it’s nothing but smoking near a fucking open window… Whatever happened to fun? I’m so bored I could die,” then accidentally falls out of the window, and does.

I’ve always detested cigarette smoke, and the fact that anyone under 30 smokes now is a madness. I’ve taken just about every drug you can think of, and loved most of them, but I’ve never fostered a smoking habit because it makes you smell, it’s violently expensive, and as narcotics go, it’s the dumbest—it’s all gain for the tobacco company, none for you. It’s an addiction without an upside. I know people who gave up over 20 years ago and still crave it. Every time I see a photograph of John Galliano or Kate Moss smoking, I cringe, and the photo reminds me how bad for the skin it is. When Ohad Seroya showed models at Retrofête smoking at New York Fashion last year, he said the habit played a “big part” in his designs crafted for the “alpha woman.” Fun fact: For decades, cigarette companies have specifically targeted women with “light” cigarettes, with more deadly chemicals than the norm in them, which are inhaled more deeply into the lungs and subsequently create a less treatable cancer.

There’s no denying that in monochrome Hollywood movies from a century ago, the halo of cigarette smoke around a glorious backlit femme fatale is a beautiful thing. See also the iconic image of Susie Bick smoking, shot by Nick Knight for the seminal 1988 Yohji Yamamoto catalogue. The colour, light, and silhouette—most notably the position of the arm with the lit cigarette (mercifully far from Bick’s lips)—create something haunting and masterful. There’s also a feeling of the past mixed with the future (much like Japan itself), and a frisson from the juxtaposition of something tacky and undisciplined with such beautiful clothing and grooming. But the reality of it is ghastly. And despite whatever fashion blogs will have you think, it’s not “in”. 11.9% of people smoke in the UK, and the number continues to fall rapidly. A pack of 20 is over £15 right now. Pack a day? That’s £5,569.90. You can buy a whole outfit at The Row for that. Which would be just as stupid, but less harmful to your health.

One of my best friends is as anti-smoking as I am. She was at a show at Webster Hall in the East Village a few years ago, and a girl behind her was being Brat before Brat existed, flagrantly smoking. My friend complained, and the girl blew smoke back in her face. Retaliating, my friend grabbed the cigarette from the girl and stubbed it out on her arm. She realised, as the scream was audible over the band on stage, that of the smoking violation and the assault, she had probably committed the bigger crime, so high-tailed it out of the venue. But whenever I think about that moment, it fills my heart with joy. And I’m sure that girl looks at the scar on her arm whenever she thinks about lighting up again. C

Mark C. O’Flaherty is the author of Narrative Thread: Conversations on Fashion Collections (Bloomsbury)