The Slow Burn: A Gringo with a Dream

So, how do you start a cigar brand?

Well, first things first:

I’ve never farmed a day in my life.

Over the years, I’ve read more about tobacco cultivation than any reasonable person probably should. I’ve dug into the variables that shape a quality priming: climate, sun, rain, humidity, soil, elevation, shade, curing, fermentation, aging…the list goes on. And on. And on. I’ve learned about how even the angle of shade cloth can make or break a harvest, the delicate balance between tradition and innovation, and the endless debate about how long tobacco should rest before it’s rolled.

The truth is, generations of families have devoted their entire lineage to getting it right. Every crop is another chance to fine-tune the process…one season, one leaf, one priming at a time.

Me?

I’m just some gringo with a dream.

I’ve heard more cautionary tales than I can count; stories of people burning through mountains of cash chasing the smoke. Some started with the best of intentions. Others saw dollar signs. Most never made it past the first few production runs.

Why? Because the cigar business is, in a word, unforgiving.

Consumer preferences shift. A blend that’s hot today is forgotten tomorrow. Crops get lost to hurricanes, fires, disease, or mold. Even the most seasoned industry veterans aren’t immune to the random hand of fate or the slow creep of bad luck. Production strategies shift. Distribution deals fall apart. Costs skyrocket.

You don’t have to look far to see how quickly it can all go sideways.

Yet, here I am.

Not because I think I’m smarter or luckier than those who came before me. But because I believe there’s still room in this industry for something honest, something built on respect for the craft and the people who keep it alive.

Like many cigar aficionados, I spent years as an armchair quarterback. I was quick to pass judgment on a blend or a brand without any idea what actually went into it. That’s how it goes in this world: everybody’s got an opinion, and opinions shape perception.

If I tried something new and it burned sideways, even if the flavor was fantastic, strike.

If the burn was razor thin and stacked dimes but the draw felt like sucking a milkshake through a coffee straw, strike.

If the wrapper color looked “off” to my eye, pass. Strike.

But unlike baseball, cigar smokers don’t usually give you three pitches to hit a home run. They give you one proverbial swing. Maybe you connect, maybe you don’t.

And here’s the kicker; it might not even be the brand’s fault if the experience disappoints. Cigars are subjective by nature. Maybe the retailer’s humidor was out of balance. Maybe the consumer didn’t store the stick right after they bought it. Either way, brands can’t control those variables but those variables still break consumer confidence.

Side note: If your local tobacconist ever hosts a Humidor Discovery Night, do yourself a favor and go. It’s the purest way to experience a cigar. They’ll take two cigars that look similar, remove the bands, and have you smoke them back to back. No preconceived notions. No brand legacy to lean on. Just you and the tobacco. You might be surprised how often you’ll love something you never would’ve picked for yourself. If your in DFW, check out Viso Cigars on Tuesday nights from 6pm-9pm. Great staff. Great people. Unique experiences.

Anyway, back to the gringo with a dream.

Considering everything I’ve just laid out, you’d think I’d have tucked this idea away in the “nice thought, never gonna happen” category. But at some point, you’ve got to put legs on your dream. Carpe Diem.

After months of research, I narrowed my search down to a handful of factories that seemed like the right fit. How did I choose? I wanted something different but familiar. Cutting edge but rooted in tradition. A little unorthodox. A little Brolo.

And yeah, there’s always the question: What if consumers don’t have a good association with that factory? Maybe they don’t like a certain brand that comes out of the same production floor.

This is the part where I channel my inner Steve Saka and say:

STFU and try the cigars.

Then… it happened. I shot my shot.

I sent the email.

And I got this back:

“Hi Joshua,
Thanks for reaching out. Your approach seems intriguing and interesting (in a good way)….”

Could an outsider like me actually get a foot in the door?

The door creaked open.

So no, I’ve never farmed a day in my life. But I’m here. Listening. Learning. And taking the slow burn one leaf at a time.