The Slow Burn: Blending Ink and Tobacco

So… how do you come up with a blend?

Welp, I imagined it would be a lot like getting a tattoo…
At least getting one the right way.

See, what most people don’t realize about tattoos is that there’s a whole world of styles out there:
Black & grey. Traditional. Neo-traditional. Fineline. Trash-polka.

And here’s the thing: not every artist does every style well.
Sure, they can, but most of the really great ones?
They stick to what they feel.
What resonates with them.
What they love so much, they obsess over it…and it shows in the work.

I didn’t know any of this when I got my first tattoo at 18. All I knew was Tommy Lee had “Mayhem” across his stomach, and I thought:
“F’ yeah. Badass.”
(Shoutout to my inner drummer.)

A few bad tattoos and a little wisdom later, I learned:
You’ve got to do your homework.
Figure out the style you like.
Find the right artist who lives and breathes that style.

And when you do land that appointment, if you’re lucky enough, they don’t want your Pinterest sketch.
They want your idea.
They want guardrails, not blueprints.

If you walk in and ask them to trace something you found online, that’s not art.

That’s a copy machine.
It’s like asking Michelangelo to fill in a paint-by-numbers workbook.

Blending cigars is the same.

Over the years, I’ve smoked across the spectrum:
Factory Smokes. Wedding rolls. 25-year-old Cameroon wrappers full of cedar and cocoa and sourdough earth.
Infused cigars (not usually my thing, but I respect ‘em).
Dog walkers and Churchills.

Each has its place. Each has its fingerprint.

Cigars and tattoos are both crafts.
And just like you start to recognize tattoo styles, who does what, who nails portraits, who lives for traditional lines, you start to pick up on cigar styles, too.

Some brands try to be all things to all people.
But the best ones?
They lean in.
They know what they’re about.
And they double down on it.

When I started digging into my own blends, I didn’t come empty-handed.

I’ve kept a cigar journal for years.
Every stick.
Every note.
Flavor. Draw. Construction. Feel.
You could call it cigar smut at this point.

But it helped.

Because when I started comparing notes, themes started to emerge.
Turns out, I have a type.

Ecuadorian Habano wrappers.
Rich. Spicy. Oily.
Earthy with hits of leather and coffee.
Bold and intense.
A little like me. 😉

I love tobacco that’s sweet, smooth, and finishes fast.
That’s aged tobacco, well-handled, well-loved.

My draw preference?
Not Perdomo-tight, not milkshake-thick.
I want that smooth, open draw that hits like a cloud and burns like it’s got something to say.
That’s the pièce de résistance.

From there, I started Frankensteining ideas together.

But not in a lab-rat way.
More like storytelling in reverse.

I didn’t start with tobacco.
I started with story.
What do I want this cigar to say?

What feeling am I chasing?
What groove?
What does it taste like to sit on your front porch and feel the world slow down?
What does brotherhood and deep connection taste like?
What does it smell like when you light up nostalgia?

Some musicians are trained. Some just feel it.
Some sound like machines. Others groove with soul.

It’s not just talent.
It’s instinct.
Feel.
The difference between knowing the beat and living on the back of it.

I think cigars are the same way.
There’s nuance in the leaves.
And not everyone can feel it.

Thinking and knowing are not the same.

But I’m going to find out.

If all goes to plan, I’ll be smoking some initial blends in the next few weeks.
I chose to work with an artist whose work I admire…
Someone bold. Unique. Complex.

Unorthodox.

Just like Brolo.
Just like me. And hey, if it all goes to shit and this ends up being a pipe dream?
So be it.

I’ll keep grinding. Keep tasting.
Keep writing in my little cigar smut journal until the right door opens.

Because I believe:
The target attracts the arrow.
The teacher appears when the student is ready.

Am I ready?

We’re about to find out.