Cigar Lounge & Bar Etiquette: How Not To Be ‘‘That Guy’’

There’s a special kind of energy in a good cigar lounge. It’s not a bar, not a café, not a club—it’s a third space where people come to unwind, talk, think, or simply disappear into their own smoke for a while. But just like any shared environment with rituals and unspoken rules, one person behaving badly can ruin the whole mood. And every lounge has that one story: the loud phone-call guy, the ash-spreader, the cutter-borrower who bites into cigars, the BYO freeloaders, the “expert” correcting everyone within a five-meter radius.

If you walk into a lounge for the first time, or even if you’ve been around cigars for years, there’s a kind of etiquette that keeps everything flowing smoothly. It's not about being stiff or formal; it's about respect—for the space, the staff, and the people around you. And honestly, once you get the rhythm, it makes the whole experience better.

Understanding the Space You’re Entering

A cigar lounge isn’t like a pub where you grab a drink and vanish into the noise. Lounges are curated environments, and most of them are basically living rooms you’re borrowing for a few hours. That means the tone is set by the lounge, not the customer. Some places lean quiet and relaxed, with soft jazz and people reading newspapers. Others are livelier, more social, full of conversation. Before you plop yourself down and start treating the place like your house, take 20 seconds and read the room.

Dress code? Not always strict anymore, but use common sense. If everyone else is looking smart-casual and you walk in wearing gym shorts and flip-flops, you’re technically allowed—but you’ve changed the atmosphere instantly. I’m not talking suits and ties; just put a little respect into your appearance. You’re sharing a room with people who are probably unwinding from work, business, or travel.

The first real rule most lounges have—spoken or not—is to buy something. If you’re sitting in someone else’s establishment, using their ventilation, ashtrays, cutters, seats, wifi and air-conditioned comfort, don’t walk in with your own cigar, sit down for three hours and spend nothing. Some lounges allow BYO cigars, but even then, you should still order drinks or pay a cutting fee. Lounges survive on sales and service. If nobody supports the business, the lounge closes—simple as that.

If you do buy a cigar from the humidor, treat the humidor like a boutique, not a rummage bin. Don’t squeeze every cigar like you’re inspecting fruit. Don’t peel labels to “check authenticity.” Don’t re-organize boxes. Ask staff if you want a recommendation, and if you’re not sure whether touching is allowed, just ask. A good lounge employee will always guide you.

Then comes the big one: space awareness. Smoke drifts. Personal conversations carry. People come to lounges for different reasons—some to talk, some to think, some to decompress alone. Don’t plop yourself two inches away from a stranger in an empty room. Don’t blow smoke directly toward someone. Don’t broadcast your phone call across the lounge. In most places, taking a call means stepping outside or into a designated booth. A cigar lounge is not your home office or your Bluetooth headset arena.

And please—please—don’t be the guy watching TikToks or sports recaps loudly on his phone. Every lounge has one. Nobody likes him. Not even his friends.

The Things People Don’t Say Out Loud (But Everyone Notices)

There are certain behaviours that instantly flag someone as inexperienced or simply inconsiderate. None of them require money or status to correct—just awareness.

Cutting and lighting:
If you bring your own cutter and lighter, great. If not, most lounges will lend you theirs—but use them properly. Don’t chew the cap before cutting. Don’t burn half the wrapper because you’re blasting the cigar with a torch from two inches away. And for the love of sanity, don’t ash on the floor. Every lounge owner has a horror story of someone who thought it was “fine because it’s just ash.”

Tipping:
You don’t need to throw money around, but if someone guides you through the humidor, recommends a cigar, brings drinks to your table or cleans up after you, tip something. It doesn’t need to be dramatic—a simple percentage works. This is hospitality, not retail.

Talking cigars:
There’s a difference between sharing enthusiasm and being the resident professor who corrects everyone. A lounge is not a debate club, and not every conversation needs your input. If someone is new and asks for advice, help them out. If someone is a collector and loves talking blends, share notes. But don’t go lecturing strangers about wrapper fermentation, Cuban vs. non-Cuban superiority, or why ash length “proves construction” (it doesn’t, by the way).

Borrowing tools:
Borrow once, return immediately. Don’t pocket the lighter accidentally. Don’t walk off with the house cutter. And don’t act confused when someone gets irritated—you’d be surprised how many expensive cutters disappear in lounges every week because customers “forgot.”

Bringing guests:
If you bring a friend who doesn’t smoke, tell them the rules. Nobody wants a guest who complains about smoke in a cigar lounge. Same with groups: keep the volume respectful. It’s a lounge, not a bachelor party.

Food and smells:
Some lounges have kitchens or snacks. Others don’t allow food at all. Respect that. And don’t drown yourself in cologne before arriving. Strong perfumes + cigar smoke = a cocktail of suffering that ruins the experience for everyone around you.

The Unspoken Social Contract of a Good Lounge

A cigar lounge, when it works, becomes a kind of club without the paperwork. You walk in and instantly feel the vibe: warm lighting, humidor glow, people leaning back in leather chairs, a softness in the room that only burning leaf can create. But that only survives if everyone plays their part.

You respect the business by supporting it.
You respect the staff by acknowledging their work.
You respect other smokers by giving them space.
You respect yourself by acting like you belong.

People notice the good guests immediately—the ones who buy a cigar, sit comfortably without bothering anyone, ask questions when needed, offer a nod or a friendly greeting without forcing conversation, and know when to disappear back into their own smoke. These are the people lounges want back. They create the atmosphere that keeps a lounge alive.

Then there are the ones everyone remembers for the wrong reasons: the loud talkers, the cutters-and-lighters thieves, the braggers, the guy FaceTiming his cousin in full voice while everyone else just wants to relax. Don’t be that guy.

If there’s one piece of advice I’d give above all others, it’s this:

A cigar lounge works because everyone agrees to treat it as a shared sanctuary.

Do that—and you’ll never feel out of place, whether you’re walking into a five-star members’ club or a tiny local spot with five chairs and a mini-fridge.