Rewriting the narrative around their communities' nicotine use.
Lee saw tobacco everywhere in the communities he loved. That made quitting even more important.
“It’s really hard to beat addiction by yourself. It’s so hard.”
Lee grew up in rural Weld County, surrounded by the rhythms of farming, ranching — and tobacco. “It’s just something that’s definitely in my blood and in my bones,” he says. In those spaces, brands like Marlboro and Copenhagen weren’t just products, they were identity markers. “The rural American man is very brand conscious.”
As an adult, Lee found belonging in punk, drag, and LGBTQ+ communities. But tobacco showed up there, too. “A lot of those are commodified with the picture of the punk smoking or the drag queen smoking,” he says. “We’ve got to stop doing that association, because what we’re doing is the work of Big Tobacco.”
That realization pushed Lee to make a change. Quitting wasn’t just about his health, it was about reclaiming his voice. “Addiction in the first place is a largely social phenomenon,” he says. “And it’s hard to nonsocially get out.”
Support made the difference. Tools like the QuitLine helped Lee reflect, reset, and start stepping away from something that was never really his. “The cigarette is a weapon against us,” he says. “Somewhere along the line, we forget that the cigarettes in the movies were paid product placement. You’ve got to be mindful of your history.”
