Death Cigarettes: How punk branding exposed corporate hypocrisy
The 1990s were definitely a time when the anti-smoking forces got the upper hand over the enemy for good. Airports became 95% no-smoking zones. In New York State, where I lived, Governor Mario Cuomo passed the New York Clean Indoor Air Act in 1990, which banned smoking in many environments, including stores, taxis, certain restaurants, schools, and most significantly, the majority of worksites.
Once a normal smoker working at a normal job couldn’t smoke in the office, the jig was pretty much up. Years later came the stringent requirements in New York for separate and ventilated smoking facilities.
The change was especially evident in music venues. A thing that would have been scarcely imaginable in the 1980s—smoke-free music shows—became commonplace. In the years to come, a single plume of smoke emanating from the middle of the hall would be noticed by every individual present.
With the arrival of no-smoking signs and cancer warnings plastered on cigarette packs, British entrepreneur BJ Cunningham saw a chance to turn a profit while having a bit of fun. In 1991, Cunningham founded the Enlightened Tobacco Company, a name that still raises a smirk, and launched Death Cigarettes. The packaging was stark: black with white lettering and a skull and crossbones. The black packs held the regulars, while the white ones carried Death Lights, jokingly called Slow Death. Even the cigarettes themselves had tiny skull and crossbones stamped on them.
In many ways, Death Cigarettes were the final, defiant middle finger from a generation that grew up watching James Dean flick his Zippo, Bogart exhale in the shadows, and punk rockers chain-smoke their way through entire sets. BJ Cunningham wasn’t just selling smokes; he was selling self-awareness. The Death brand stripped away the last vestiges of cigarette glamour and said what everyone already knew: this will kill you, but isn’t that sort of the point? In a way, it was punk distilled into consumer goods – an ironic purchase for a culture raised on nihilism, sarcasm, and a morbid sense of humour.
Far from flinching at the “required” health warnings, Death Cigarettes positively revelled in them, with mordantly amusing messages like “It’s your funeral” and “Too bad, you’re gonna die”. One of their slogans was “The Grim Reaper, don’t come cheaper”, and posters for Death Cigarettes boldly bore the messages “Serial Killer” and “Blow Yourself Away“.
For the budding goth scene, the cigarettes were all but irresistible. British artist and illustrator Matt Lyon put it succinctly when he said: “I’ve got fond memories of these from the early ’90s. They soon became the cigarette of choice for shoegazers, goths and students alike, not least because of the packaging, but also their use of hemp paper and additive-free tobacco.”
Hang on, so they were actually healthier?
According to Persuasion in Advertising by John and Nicholas O’Shaughnessy, there were rumours of coffin-shaped vending machines in certain clubs. It would be great to corroborate that one…does anyone remember that?
The post-Internet generation that was coming up was arguably more health-conscious—maybe all that legislation had a positive effect—and Death Cigarettes failed to make it past the year 1999.
In 2015, the Hinterland Gallery in Kent, England, hosted an interesting exhibition on the product, featuring original advertising posters for Death Cigarettes as well as a remarkable Death Cigarettes-themed piano with “DANGER OF DEATH” stamped on the front.
