Smoking, Shame and Gendered Surveillance

2026-02-23 - 08:44

Listen to the AI generated audio article. Your browser does not support the audio element. I had been standing in line for around six minutes. For the past three, my eyes followed the uncertain fidgeting of his fingers, that is, until I noticed the blood gathered around the cuticles of his ring finger. He was tall, much taller than me, but it was obvious to everyone why he was there and exactly how young he really was. No more than 15, I guessed. He hovered near the cashier, waiting for everyone to finish before making his purchase. Suddenly, the man at the front of the queue with two huge baskets gestured for him to go ahead. His neck retracted into his puffer jacket, his eyes wide as he asked in a shaky voice for a pack of blue Garni. The cashier told him in a cold voice to show his ID, trying to catch his gaze, which stayed fixed on his shoes. He clicked his tongue and rushed out of the store, followed by the scathing, at times sympathetic, gazes of the people. As I walked out of the store, a memory, perhaps altered by the time it had spent in oblivion, suddenly revived itself as I walked out into the cold air. A little more than a decade ago, I would walk into the same shop with my friend, who bought cigarettes for his grandfather. He was only nine or ten, and so was I. He would say they were for his grandfather, and I, as a witness, would stand there quietly. Times have changed, and so have attitudes toward smoking. The generation once sent to buy cigarettes for their elders now buys them for themselves. I had always been a quiet spectator, witnessing it all. The thought of ever purchasing or smoking a cigarette myself exhausted me. I would have needed a plan, routes to cover my tracks, perfume, gum and whatnot. It seemed wasteful to spend so much energy on something I wasn’t particularly drawn to, especially given that smell, which would cling to my hair whenever somebody smoked around me. Not to mention, it would have been quite “unseemly” (and still is to a degree) for a young woman to smoke. Many hide it from prying eyes. This may explain why the available data shows 48.2% of adult males in Armenia smoke, while only 1.5% of females have acquired the habit. This gap can be explained by social taboos or by people’s unwillingness to admit the habit exists, even for data collection. This reluctance is understandable. For many young women, hiding the habit requires elaborate planning. Even participating anonymously feels threatening. One young woman agreed to share her experience as a smoker, but only under the promise of anonymity. It started casually, the way many of these stories do. She was with friends when one of them stepped outside for a cigarette. Curious, she joined and asked to try one herself. “I was 18. I think I did it out of curiosity,” she says. “They gave me one, and I smoked it.” She chuckles as she shares how unusual it felt, she didn’t know how to smoke properly. This baffled me. The whole process had never seemed complicated, so I’d never considered there might be an improper way to smoke a cigarette. But I was told it’s quite common among first-timers. “Many people feel the same, I think,” she explains. “When you’re not used to smoking, you start coughing, you can’t inhale properly. So I was smoking it without inhaling.” She recalls that she neither liked nor disliked her first cigarette: “I just smoked, and that was it.” She has since quit smoking and admitted how hard it was at first. Still, maintaining the habit was mentally draining—she always had to look around, anxious about being seen by her parents or their acquaintances. It made me wonder whether smoking had been her way of challenging such norms. She says it wasn’t. The norms had little to do with why she started smoking. But the social pressures and expectations seem to have influenced her decision to quit. “Honestly, I’m not sure it was a way to challenge social expectations,” she says. “I think it was mostly a way to feel relieved when I was stressed. Then it became an addiction, and also a very pleasant ritual.” After our conversation ended, I felt a lingering bitterness. It seemed unreasonable that I couldn’t attach an adult’s name to their story without exposing them to unjustified reactions and judgment. I realized the bitterness came from the fact that smoking wasn’t the issue; the gender of the smoker was. Ani Ter Sahakyan, a smoker who is open about her habit, agrees with this sentiment. “Women are definitely judged more harshly, though I think it depends more on age,” Ani explains. “My theory is that it has to do with reproduction rather than women’s health in general, because if people see a woman in her mid-forties or older smoking, it’s not that big of an issue. But with younger women at ‘marriageable age,’ I think the judgment comes from the fact that it may harm their fertility.” Ani notes that there is also a common misconception that women who smoke are considered “easy” or sexually active. Despite living in a society quick to label women who smoke, I asked Ani whether she preferred to remain anonymous. She laughed it off; everyone already knew. Both of Ani’s parents are smokers. Even though she doesn’t believe this influenced her, she mentioned a statistic she had come across: children from families of smokers are more likely to become smokers themselves. Still, I wanted to know if there were other reasons she started smoking and whether her experience would overlap with that of the anonymous smoker, or if perhaps a rebellious spirit played a role in her taking up the habit. It turned out to be the latter. “I think I started smoking as a teen as an act of rebellion, because that’s what I thought made me cool,” she explains. “But it wasn’t cool because I was doing something wrong. I felt cool because I was defying an expectation I personally disliked.” These conversations highlight that certain expectations and unwritten rules exist around women who smoke. Their individual choices—even the harmful ones—were judged harshly only because they might someday harm the conception and health of a hypothetical child. The young woman’s health was disregarded, as were the reasons why she started smoking in the first place. She could do as she pleased after completing her main function, or after reaching a certain age when doing so was no longer biologically possible. Evidently, the warnings and dreadful images on every cigarette pack were meant for only one half of the population. The other half was given immunity by society on uncertain grounds. Having talked with young women, I thought it essential to include men in this conversation. Had they noticed any difference in how female and male smokers are treated or perceived? Norayr Gevorgyan tried smoking for the first time at 15 but had never stuck with the habit, eventually becoming something of an outspoken anti-smoking advocate among his closest friends. He assured me that he was strictly against smoking itself, regardless of gender. But when it came to perception, he saw a divide. “There is a noticeable difference, mostly driven by social stereotypes,” he says. “Certain well-known characters from movies and popular culture have shaped these perceptions.” He pointed to familiar portrayals: “A smoking man is often portrayed as cool and tough—someone to admire. In contrast, a smoking woman is judged more harshly or viewed negatively. It’s a clear double standard.” The consensus is clear: Armenian society treats female and male smokers differently. Aramayis Yeghiazaryan, a smoker who has female friends who smoke, said women fall into two categories: “Those who are not afraid of being found out, and those who must be careful, watching their surroundings and the people around them.” He notes that he and many other men he knows can comfortably smoke around their relatives, while for women, it’s far more difficult—often impossible. After several conversations on this topic, my thoughts returned to the boy I’d seen at the grocery store. After being caught, he left without a second thought, likely to try his luck elsewhere. Many who witnessed him probably forgot about it the moment they stepped out of the store. A girl his age, or even a young woman, would not have been granted this freedom to be quickly forgotten. If she had walked in and tried to buy cigarettes, it would have sparked an immediate conversation. Humiliating remarks and unpleasant labels would have followed her out the door. The gossip would have circulated for as long as people could milk the topic. Smoking comes with health risks. But for young women, those health risks are often overshadowed by unfair social repercussions and expectations. Concern is not the driving force here, it’s more about control, which creates space for judgment and allows for outdated labels to persist and circulate throughout society. Comment Cover photo by Roubina Margossian. LIFESTYLE Transitions February’s SALT issue explores the quiet and defiant shifts reshaping Armenian society, from gendered double standards around smoking and young women living independently, to reclaiming St. Sargis in the age of Valentine’s Day. With a profile featuring Armenian-American writer and illustrator Nonny Hogrogian and a photo story about women footballers breaking barriers, this issue is all about transitions.