David’s grandfather slant-drilled offshore of Cuba, drank with Hemingway, and was often chastised by US Customs for flying his plane back to New Orleans with thousands of Romeo y Julieta Churchills (obviously only for personal consumption). David carries a deep and abiding appreciation for tobacco plants, finding them to be a lovely impetus for gathering friends together. He rarely smoked cigarettes because he simply abhorred the taste. While working for a multinational commodity house, he lamented the dwindling tobacco acres, and believed there must be a way to preserve the uniquely American art of pure tobacco. Your Hestias were born of these efforts.
April. The apotheosis of blossoming life and ebullient joy. The finder of all the good, and editor extraordinaire — is a multidisciplinary stylist, curator, producer and photographer. She has more sunglasses than shoes, more style than Di, and cooks a chicken broth that can probably cure Covid. She and David met on Dec 4, 2012 when he tossed her a few pre-market Hestias across the bar. Impressed but not persuaded, she exhorted him to make his early branding iterations infinitely “more fuckable.” Six years later they married in Chicago’s Millennium Park. And for one sole night the Second City did not sleep, either. They now share two adorable sons and one insolent standard poodle.
Sley la vie.