Smoking weed is, by nature, a decidedly languid activity, inviting you to curl up into your own desires for utter selfish introspection, or a total lack of thought at all. Considering how tame and accessible this drug has become, it is appropriate that the Williamsburg “man” would seek this outlet as a means to justify the improvement of his “art.”
Whatever that “art” may be, from painting to graphic design to, oof, writing, the real reason a “man” smokes weed is pure and simple: to escape the reality of his dicklessness and the oppression of living in a condo that he knows he doesn’t deserve to live in. Ergo, sobriety is not conducive to marring the guilt and self-loathing that creeps in on a daily basis. “Art” is not the reason. “Art” is always shittier when coming from a drug-addled place. But it’s a pretty excuse, isn’t it?