Eleanore began with a rather simple frustration.
We wanted a drink.
Not alcohol. Not juice. Not another sparkling something pretending to be a cocktail.
We wanted something beautiful. Something complex. Something worth pouring into a proper glass and taking our time with.
We wanted the pleasure of an aperitif without the alcohol. The anticipation, the conversation, the ritual of having a drink together.
And we wanted something else.
We missed the cigarette.
Not the tobacco, necessarily, but the gesture. The slender silhouette. The excuse to step away from a crowded room. The conversations that happened over a smoke, when the evening briefly became something more intimate.
We wondered why cannabis couldn’t occupy those spaces with the same sophistication.
Why had an entire industry devoted to pleasure become so visually ordinary?
Why couldn’t getting high be beautiful?