To some of you, this may have come as a painfully apparent "DOOOI" moment, but to others, this might be a shock. Brace yourself.
I was kind of a loser in high school. I know this is somewhat shocking being that I've presented myself as an awesome person on the internet. Shocker! You must think I'm like currency- legal
and tender. But in reality, that's a little far from the truth.
This anxious undercurrent of a subject matter may spring from the fact that I'm going home in a few days after defriending over 300 assholes on my Facebook and, due to Murphy's Law, will inevitably encounter at least eight of them while getting coffee and will have to endure awkward conversation and remind myself that I did what I did because I hated them.
I wish I had had Le Whif in high school. At least then I could have pretended to be edgy.
It's the perfect amount of sleek, oily pretension combined with the allure of snortable drugs but- psyche! It's really chocolate. If I'd had asthma as a child, the irony of having this match my inhaler yet also be off-limits because of its powdery properties would not have escaped me. Le Whif is so impossibly vapid that even I, Lord of the Guise, must avert my eyes to its monochromatic color scheme and stupid "eating by breathing" mission statement.
Seriously, Le Whif, you look like a tampon. You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.
While I can't honestly say this is the most embarrassing thing I've crammed in my mouth (that honor wholeheartedly goes to Kush Cakes) it's certainly the most awkward.
It's a cross between a cigarillo and a plastic party noisemaker. And worse yet, you're supposed to smoke it as though you were smoking a hand-rolled clove cigarette- gingerly, with a slight air of disgust.
Below are a few recent installments I like to call "Faces of Le Whif." They should give you a pretty good idea as to how we liked this.
I feel like a thirteen year old sneaking a smoke behind the bleachers for the first time, except this isn't a Virginia Slim and I don't feel cool at all.
Despite the reassurance that the chocolate particles were too large to enter my lungs at 80 to 300 microns, I still feel like this crappy chocolate is bouncing around my respiratory system. After hacking up a Hershey's bar, I tasted it. It has the unmistakable flavor of crappy, unsweetened baking chocolate and granulated sugar- grainy, with a bitter and undersweetened flavor, a predominantly fake molasses and brown sugar taste.
It's like eating cocoa powder and Splenda, but with the added humiliation of sucking it through a patented device. Ick. It had a harsh, burning texture and left my throat feeling raw. All the thrill of a real cigarette with none of the Bond-level suavity or satisfaction.
Also, it leaves a dirty, brown residue on the mouth of the depositor, a fine dust which inevitably gets all over your clothes and then melts for real. 
There are absolutely no redeeming qualities to this product. Chocolatiers have scaled down their regular bars to make 100-calorie bars for the calorie conscious, and as far as I can tell, nobody has explicitly expressed a desire to breathe in their food.
Perhaps this is a good chocolate "hit" for the stereotypical Hollywood female workaholic, but Jesus, so is a Tootsie Roll. Leave Le Whif in Le Trash and go drink some chocolate soy milk.
I wish I had had Le Whif in high school. At least then I could have pretended to be edgy. It's the perfect amount of sleek, oily pretension combined with the allure of snortable drugs but- psyche! It's really chocolate. If I'd had asthma as a child, the irony of having this match my inhaler yet also be off-limits because of its powdery properties would not have escaped me. Le Whif is so impossibly vapid that even I, Lord of the Guise, must avert my eyes to its monochromatic color scheme and stupid "eating by breathing" mission statement. Seriously, Le Whif, you look like a tampon. You need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.
While I can't honestly say this is the most embarrassing thing I've crammed in my mouth (that honor wholeheartedly goes to Kush Cakes) it's certainly the most awkward. It's a cross between a cigarillo and a plastic party noisemaker. And worse yet, you're supposed to smoke it as though you were smoking a hand-rolled clove cigarette- gingerly, with a slight air of disgust. Below are a few recent installments I like to call "Faces of Le Whif." They should give you a pretty good idea as to how we liked this.
I feel like a thirteen year old sneaking a smoke behind the bleachers for the first time, except this isn't a Virginia Slim and I don't feel cool at all. Despite the reassurance that the chocolate particles were too large to enter my lungs at 80 to 300 microns, I still feel like this crappy chocolate is bouncing around my respiratory system. After hacking up a Hershey's bar, I tasted it. It has the unmistakable flavor of crappy, unsweetened baking chocolate and granulated sugar- grainy, with a bitter and undersweetened flavor, a predominantly fake molasses and brown sugar taste.
It's like eating cocoa powder and Splenda, but with the added humiliation of sucking it through a patented device. Ick. It had a harsh, burning texture and left my throat feeling raw. All the thrill of a real cigarette with none of the Bond-level suavity or satisfaction. Also, it leaves a dirty, brown residue on the mouth of the depositor, a fine dust which inevitably gets all over your clothes and then melts for real. 
There are absolutely no redeeming qualities to this product. Chocolatiers have scaled down their regular bars to make 100-calorie bars for the calorie conscious, and as far as I can tell, nobody has explicitly expressed a desire to breathe in their food. Perhaps this is a good chocolate "hit" for the stereotypical Hollywood female workaholic, but Jesus, so is a Tootsie Roll. Leave Le Whif in Le Trash and go drink some chocolate soy milk.
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