I was 14 when I first held a copy of High Times in my hands. I didn’t just flip through it; I studied it. Absorbed it. Let it rearrange the way I saw the world.
This wasn’t a magazine. It was a passport. A mirror. A manifesto.
And now, somehow, it’s back. Not as a brand play or investor flip, but as a cultural revival, led by people shaped by its pages, like I was.
No other magazine has done what High Times has. Full stop.
Fifty years of rolling joints, rolling presses, rolling out truths the world wasn’t ready for.
This wasn’t a cannabis magazine. It was the magazine. A sacred object passed hand to hand, from dorm rooms to remote fields.
It smelled like weed, ink and revolution. It found its way into record stores, reggae shops, grow ops, tattoo parlors, border crossings.
I’ve met 70-year-old cultivators in the Andes who learned to grow flipping through High Times. Talked to stoners in Barcelona, Berlin, Belgrade, Bangkok, Bucaramanga and Boston who wrote letters to the editor just to feel less alone.
It was global before the Internet. Community before social media. A guidebook for the weird and the wonderful. The gospel of the green.
And now, after years of silence, dilution and strange detours, it’s back. For real. In the right hands. With a middle finger to the corporate cannibalism that nearly gutted it.
Because High Times was never meant to be polite.
It was meant to burn.
The Pages That Raised Us
Flipping through High Times felt like finding your people.
Suddenly, you weren’t a freak. You were home.
You cracked it open and you weren’t alone. Not in your room. Not in your town. Not in your little indoor …
Read More
Author: Javier Hasse / High Times