The Slow Burn: In The Arena

I’ll probably catch a lot of flak for this, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about being even mildly visible online, it’s this:

People can be insufferable.

A few weeks back, I shared how my life had been made better, genuinely better, by something as simple as a Camacho Corojo. Not because it’s rare. Not because it’s hyped. But because it showed up for me in a season where brotherhood mattered more than brand pedigree.

You would’ve thought I declared war.

The vitriol.
The snark.
The armchair experts with “Twitter fingers” and nothing to lose.

Here’s the thing, though: online comments don’t bother me.

They never have.

They remind me of something Theodore Roosevelt said long before social media gave everyone a megaphone:


“It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena…”


That’s always resonated with me. Because critics don’t bleed. They don’t risk. They don’t build. They don’t lose sleep over logistics, payroll, permits, production timelines, crop failures, shipping delays, or the weight of putting your name on something that could fail publicly.

They comment.

I didn’t start Brolo to win internet points.
I didn’t start it to chase luxury signaling, cocktail pairings, or velvet ropes.

Those things have their place….but they aren’t the point.

I started Brolo because I believe there’s something better than exclusivity masquerading as culture. Something better than pretending cigars are only for tailored suits, private clubs, and curated feeds.

I believe cigars can be excellent without being inaccessible.
Premium without being pretentious.
Intentional without being exclusionary.

Not overpriced.
Not hyped to death.
Just damn good cigars that move themselves…because they’re that good.

But let’s be honest about the cigar world for a moment.

Everyone’s an armchair quarterback.
Almost no one understands what it actually takes to bring cigars from the fields of Nicaragua to the hands of everyday people.

The farming.
The fermentation.
The aging.
The blending.
The rolling.
The QC.
The taxes.
The licensing.
The logistics.
The capital at risk.

Think you can do better?
Be my guest.

But beyond the tobacco itself, there’s something even harder to build:

Belonging.

Brands spend generations cultivating an “inner circle.”
A sense of you’re either in, or you’re out.

Brolo isn’t an inner circle.

Brolo is the table.

An invitation for trolls, the haters, the pessimists…the ones who think everything sucks and everyone’s wrong.


All are welcome.

Because there is something better than burning one alone in your grandma’s basement.
There is something better than cursing the dark because you can’t find your lighter.
There is something better than investing your energy in online vitriol.

Brolo is for the lonely.
Brolo is for the wanting.

Brolo is a warm embrace on a cold night.

We don’t care where you came from.
We don’t care how much you make.
Sure, it’s cool if you crushed stock options.
Drive an exotic? Rad.

But what’s cooler?

Sitting at the same table.
Breaking bread.
Building each other up.
Reaching out when the world already kicked someone down.

Don’t get me wrong…cigars are a luxury.

But those of us with time in the leaf?
We know the truth.

Cigars aren’t about status.
They’re about shared experience.

Janitor to CEO.
Blue collar to boardroom.

Under sun-grown shade, we’re equals.

Same fire.
Same smoke.
Same humanity.

I wrote this because Reddit made me “famous” for five minutes.
And Reddit also dragged me through the mud.

This is my response….not to convince the critics, but to find the people who already feel this in their bones.

I’m creating my own lane because I believe there are others out there who believe in what I do.

Good smokes.
Real community.
And the lifeline that is the fellowship of the leaf.

I’ll stay in the arena.

You’re welcome at the table.