The uncomfortable truth stoners hate most is this, weed does not make you interesting. It makes you high. Sometimes it also makes you think you’re interesting, which is where the trouble starts.
I say this as someone who has spent enough evenings lovingly explaining the universe to a coffee table to know the smell of my own bullshit. I’ve been high. I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve also watched the exact moment when a perfectly decent human being takes a hit, pauses, and decides they’ve cracked consciousness like a glow stick. That pause is the danger zone. That’s where weed stops being a substance and starts being a credential.
The modern stoner doesn’t just get high. They arrive. They don’t say “I’m baked,” they say “I’m really present right now.” They don’t forget what they were talking about, they’re “letting the conversation unfold organically.” They are not zoning out, they are “observing the space between thoughts,” which just happens to look exactly like staring at a wall while everyone else wonders if they should order pizza without you.
Somewhere along the way, being high got confused with being deep. The stoner clears their throat, lowers their voice, and announces, “You know what’s wild?” Nothing that follows is ever wild. It is usually something like, time feels weird, society is kind of fake, or love is important. These are not insights. These are the mental equivalent of finding a fortune cookie profound because you’re hungry.
Weed didn’t give you that thought. That thought has been available since the invention of thinking. You just noticed it because you’re stoned and your brain is playing everything in slow motion like a nature documentary narrated by your own ego.
The real magic trick is how confidently this gets reframed as growth. Forget doing the work, therapy, discipline, reading a goddamn book. No, you are “doing inner exploration.” Your apartment is still a mess, your inbox is a crime scene, and you haven’t followed through on a plan since 2019, but spiritually, you are thriving. The weed told you so. Or rather, you told you so, while the weed nodded politely.
There’s a particular flavor of this that uses wellness language like body armor. You’re not procrastinating, you’re “honoring your energy.” You’re not avoiding conflict, you’re “protecting your peace.” You’re not high at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday, you’re “microdosing intentionality,” which is a sentence that should get your lighter confiscated.
And God help anyone who questions this sacred state. Criticism bounces right off because the stoner is chill. They demand to be seen as chill. Point out that they’ve been “processing” the same idea for six months and they look at you like you just kicked a singing bowl. You’re the problem. You’re negative. You’re too trapped in linear thinking to understand the wisdom that comes from reorganizing the same three thoughts in different fonts.
This is where the superiority creeps in, quiet and smug. Drinkers are “checked out.” Sober people are “asleep.” Meanwhile, the enlightened one is so awake they forgot to text you back for three days and then blamed Mercury retrograde. Weed becomes proof of gentleness, empathy, moral advancement. Never mind the irritability when they run out. Never mind the way “I’m just being honest” somehow always shows up when they’re high and annoyed. The myth of chill demands obedience.
The funniest part is the addiction math. “I’m not addicted,” they say, while planning their entire evening around whether they have enough left. “I just need it to think clearly.” That’s not clarity, that’s dependency with a reusable water bottle. If a substance is required for you to access your true self, your true self might be a little underdeveloped, my guy.
Again, I’ve been there. I have absolutely convinced myself that a half-formed thought was a breakthrough because it felt warm and important at the time. Weed is excellent at that. It wraps your ideas in a blanket and whispers, “This matters.” Sometimes it does. Often it’s just comfortable nonsense, like a TED Talk delivered by a couch cushion.
What makes it insufferable isn’t the high, it’s the performance. The way every feeling gets inflated into a revelation. The way ordinary inertia gets baptized as intention. The way being pleasantly detached turns into a belief system. At some point, the stoner stops laughing at themselves and starts auditioning for a documentary called People Who Really Get It.
And look, I’m not saying don’t smoke. Smoke if you want. Enjoy it. Get weird. Get quiet. Get silly. But maybe don’t act like the universe slid into your DMs just because you noticed your hands look kind of alien right now. Maybe don’t treat mild dissociation as enlightenment or call it “shadow work” when you’re just avoiding a difficult email.
Weed doesn’t make you profound. It makes you feel profound, which is a very different drug. One wears off. The other lingers, quietly convincing you that you’re evolving while nothing in your life actually changes. That’s the scam. Not legalization, not THC percentages, just the belief that feeling thoughtful is the same as being thoughtful.
So if you’re reading this a little defensive, a little baked, telling yourself this is about other people, take a breath. You’re probably fine. Or maybe you’re just high. Hard to say.