I don't know when it happened, exactly. But sometime in the decade since I took my first puff, the act of lighting up - once the signifier of youthful rebellion and effortless chic - became seriously uncool.
Maybe I notice it more now that I've quit - who's smoking, and who's not. Take a walk down Queen St, and the smokers aren't the trendy millennials with their eclectic fashion, severe haircuts and endless tattoos; they're far too absorbed in their smartphones. No, the smokers are mostly people like me - anachronistic hangovers from a more hedonistic, permissive age; those who missed the wave when the endless churn of culture came crashing past.
People in their 30s or older, in other words.