The Vape Problem

What are “Vapes” ?

If you’ve seen teenagers walking around with small, colorful devices that look like USB sticks or candy bars — and puffing on them like cigarettes, but with no smoke — those are vapes, also called e-cigarettes or disposable vapes. They’re not new — e-cigarettes have been around since the 2000s — but what they’ve become today is something entirely different. They’re no longer just tools to help adults quit smoking. They’ve turned into high-tech nicotine gadgets designed to hook kids.

Here’s how they work: Inside each device is a battery, a small coil, and a pod filled with e-liquid — a mix of propylene glycol, flavorings, and nicotine, often at extremely high levels (up to 50 milligrams per milliliter — that’s one of the strongest legal nicotine doses in the world). When you inhale, the battery heats the liquid, turning it into a vapor you breathe in. There’s no smoke, no ash, no smell — just a puff of mist.  That’s why they’re so popular with teens: they’re easy to hide, they fit in a palm, and many look exactly like everyday items — a phone charger, a lipstick, even a key fob. Some even have LED lights and built-in counters that track how many puffs you’ve taken.

But the real hook? The flavors. Think: mango ice, bubblegum crush, blue razz lemonade, cotton candy, unicorn dream. Over 15,000 flavors exist — and almost all are designed to appeal to young people, not adult smokers. You don’t need to be a marketing genius to see that “unicorn dream” isn’t targeting 50-year-old chain smokers. And the result?

A youth addiction crisis. In the Netherlands, 1 in 3 high school students now vapes regularly. Many started just for fun, or to fit in — but nicotine is one of the most addictive substances known to science, especially in the still-developing brains of kids under 21. Once hooked, it’s incredibly hard to quit. These devices deliver nicotine faster and more efficiently than traditional cigarettes. Some teens are taking 50 to 100 puffs a day — constantly stimulating their brains, impairing focus, increasing anxiety, and setting the stage for lifelong addiction. 

And here’s the kicker: most of these kids never smoked a cigarette in their life. Vapes aren’t replacing cigarettes — they’re creating a new generation of nicotine addicts. 

They’re sold online, shipped from China, marketed on TikTok and Instagram, and delivered straight to teenagers’ doorsteps — often with fake age checks or none at all. No store needed. No ID required. Just a credit card and a social media ad. So when someone says “vapes help people quit smoking,” that may have been true 15 years ago. But today? For most young users, vapes are not a health tool — they’re a gateway to addiction, sold by a global industry that profits while Dutch kids get sicker, more anxious, and harder to reach. 

This isn’t the future.
It’s already here.
And if you’re just waking up to it — you’re not late.
But the time to act is now.

The (Alleged) Utility of Vapes for Long-Time Smokers — And Why This Argument Is Clearly Bullshit

The original premise behind e-cigarettes was legitimate: provide a less harmful alternative for adult smokers — particularly those over 35 — struggling to quit a deadly habit. For some, it worked. A subset of long-term smokers transitioned fully from combustible tobacco to vaping, reduced their exposure to tar and carbon monoxide, and improved their respiratory health. This narrow, medically grounded rationale formed the ethical backbone of early vape advocacy.

But that justification has long since been hijacked, distorted, and rendered obsolete by the reality of the modern market. What began as a harm reduction tool has evolved into a mass youth addiction engine, and the demographic using vapes today bears little resemblance to the middle-aged smoker trying to quit. Instead, we now see a fragmented landscape of users, many of whom were never smokers at all. Among them are the so-called “hipster vapers” — adults in their 30s and 40s with curated beards, artisanal coffee habits, and a penchant for lifestyle aesthetics. They puff on sleek, high-end mods not out of medical necessity, but as a performative gesture — a digital-age accessory, as much a part of their identity as vinyl records or vintage denim. Their use is not driven by desperation to quit, but by social signaling, often masked as rebellion or sophistication. 

Meanwhile, the argument that vaping helps people quit smoking is increasingly undermined by evidence. Studies show that dual use — smoking and vaping simultaneously — is the norm, not the exception. Rather than quitting, many smokers simply add vaping to their nicotine intake, increasing overall dependence. The high bioavailability of nicotine in modern vapes, often delivered at concentrations up to 50 mg/mL, ensures rapid and potent brain exposure, reinforcing addiction rather than alleviating it. Worse, the industry has introduced cost-cutting additives — such as benzaldehyde (artificial cherry flavor), diacetyl (linked to “popcorn lung”), and unknown chemical carriers — many of which pose long-term respiratory risks that may, over time, make vaping more harmful per puff than traditional smoking in certain health domains.

Moreover, the economic model has shifted. Vapes are no longer cheaper than cigarettes — for regular users, the monthly cost of disposables, pods, and devices often exceeds that of a pack-a-day smoking habit. The promise of savings has collapsed under the weight of planned obsolescence and brand loyalty engineering.

Most critically, the epidemiological impact has flipped the script: vaping is no longer a solution to a public health crisis — it is the crisis itself. With over 30% of Dutch adolescents regular users, and nicotine rewiring still-developing brains, we are creating a new generation of addicts who may never have touched a cigarette. The original utility — helping adult smokers — has been drowned out by an avalanche of youth initiation, corporate profiteering, and regulatory failure. Any remaining benefit for a narrow adult group cannot justify the systemic damage being done to the young. The time has come to acknowledge that in its current form, vaping is not a lesser evil — it is a greater one.

How damaging are “Vapes”, in tangible terms?

The damage caused by vapes is no longer hidden in labs or delayed for decades — it’s unfolding now, in classrooms, emergency rooms, and homes across the Netherlands. Teenagers are walking into hospitals with irreversible lung damage, diagnosed with conditions like bronchiolitis obliterans — once known as “popcorn lung” — after months, not years, of regular use. These are not isolated cases. They are the visible edge of a much larger crisis, where young lungs are being scarred, mental health is deteriorating, and attention spans are collapsing under the weight of nicotine dependency. Doctors report seeing adolescents struggling to breathe after minimal exertion, some requiring oxygen support, all because they started vaping for fun, for flavor, or because everyone else was doing it.

Beyond the body, the mind is under siege. The adolescent brain, still forming critical pathways for decision-making and emotional control, is being hijacked by high-dose nicotine delivered with surgical precision. Anxiety, depression, and insomnia are spiking among teen users, not as coincidences, but as direct neurological consequences. Schools are becoming battlegrounds of distraction and withdrawal, where teachers can spot vapers by their constant fidgeting, irritability, and need to slip away between classes for a puff. This isn’t rebellion — it’s addiction in plain sight, dismissed as harmless because there’s no smoke, no ash, no smell.

And then there’s the trash — the silent testament to scale. Sidewalks, parks, bike paths: littered with thousands of discarded vapes, each a toxic cocktail of lithium, plastic, and nicotine. These devices don’t just vanish. They leak hazardous chemicals into the soil, spark fires in garbage trucks, and wash into waterways. The environmental toll is mounting, but so is the human one. This isn’t a phase. It’s a full-scale assault on a generation, disguised as innovation, sold as freedom, and enabled by silence.

How much do these things cost dutch society?

For every euro spent on vapes in the Netherlands, society is on the hook for a far greater cost — one that will be paid not in the moment of purchase, but over decades in lost potential, strained healthcare, and diminished lives. The immediate transaction — a teenager buying a €12 disposable from an online seller — appears small. But the long-term burden it triggers is anything but. This is not just a public health issue; it is a structural economic liability, quietly accumulating like a debt that future generations will be forced to repay.

Consider the healthcare toll. A single case of severe vaping-related lung injury can require weeks in hospital, specialist care, long-term pulmonary monitoring, and mental health support. Conservative estimates place the average cost of such an intervention at €30,000–€50,000 per patient. With thousands of young people now regular vapers, and a growing number presenting with chronic bronchitis, asthma exacerbations, and irreversible lung damage, the system is absorbing a wave of demand that didn’t exist ten years ago. These are not one-time costs. They are recurring, compounding, and largely preventable.

Then there is lost productivity. Adolescents addicted to nicotine show measurable declines in concentration, academic performance, and emotional regulation. Many will carry this impairment into adulthood — entering the workforce with compromised focus, higher absenteeism, and increased risk of depression and burnout. Studies suggest that chronic nicotine use during adolescence reduces lifetime earning potential by up to 10–15% due to lower educational attainment and reduced work capacity. For a country that depends on a skilled, healthy workforce, this is not marginal — it is systemic erosion.

We are already seeing the ripple effects in schools, where teachers report spending hours managing distracted, anxious, or withdrawn students. The cost of this lost educational time, special support, and classroom disruption is rarely quantified — but it is real. So is the environmental damage: millions of discarded vapes, each containing lithium, plastic, and toxic residue, are clogging waste streams and causing fires in trash facilities. Municipalities are now spending millions annually on cleanup and fire prevention — another hidden tax on the vape economy.

Even the tax revenue from legal sales — minimal as it is — does not come close to offsetting these costs. For every euro spent on vapes today, Dutch society is likely looking at €3 to €5 in long-term damage — in healthcare, lost labor, environmental cleanup, and social support. And that doesn’t account for the immeasurable cost of personal suffering: the teen who can no longer run, the parent who watches their child deteriorate, the life derailed before it begins.

This is not speculation. It is trajectory. And the longer we delay action, the heavier the burden becomes.

How hard do we want to see these things purged out of Dutch society?

How hard do we want to see vapes purged from Dutch society? The answer, at this point, should be obvious: completely. Utterly. Without compromise. And yet, year after year, we watch as the response from those in power amounts to little more than a shrug — a cycle of commissions, consultations, and cautious statements that lead nowhere. We are not lacking in evidence, nor in public concern. What we are lacking is the political will to act.

The reality is that decision-makers are not paralyzed by uncertainty. They are immobilized by distraction — by the quiet pressure of lobbyists who frame regulation as “market interference,” by the fear of being labeled paternalistic, by the ever-present shadow of the next election. They hide behind the phrase “we don’t want a nanny state” as if protecting children from predatory, high-nicotine devices marketed with flavors like “unicorn dream” and “blue razz” is somehow an overreach. But let us be clear: refusing to act is not neutrality. It is complicity. It is choosing the comfort of inaction over the courage of intervention — while teenagers sit in classrooms struggling to focus, in hospitals struggling to breathe.

These are not minor policy delays. This is a systemic failure of duty. Politicians debate, draft reports, and convene panels, while the crisis deepens. They grandstand on family values and public order, yet ignore the most pervasive form of youth addiction in a generation. They accept campaign support from industries with vested interests, then claim their hands are tied. They talk about innovation and freedom, but never ask: freedom for whom? For the Chinese exporter flooding our schools with disposable vapes? Or for the 15-year-old who started with one puff and now can’t go an hour without another?

We do not need permission to protect our children. We do not need endless studies to know that a device designed to deliver 50mg/mL of nicotine to a developing brain is a threat. What we need is leadership — the kind that doesn’t wait for catastrophe to act, but prevents it. The kind that understands that real freedom isn’t the ability to buy a flavored vape online at midnight — it’s the freedom to grow up without being chemically hooked before you’ve even finished high school.

So let’s stop pretending this is about overreach. The true overreach is allowing corporate interests and political convenience to dictate the health of an entire generation. The time for half-measures and hollow debates is over. If we say we care about our youth, about public health, about the future of this country, then we must prove it — not with words, but with action. And if our leaders won’t act, then they must answer: why are they still here?

Could legal bans or legislation against Vapes be impeded by certain lobbies or political parties?

Could legal bans or legislation against vapes be impeded by certain lobbies or political parties? The answer is not speculation — it is already happening. Behind the scenes of every stalled bill, every watered-down regulation, and every “further study needed” verdict lies a network of influence that benefits from the status quo. These are not shadowy conspirators. They are well-funded, well-connected, and often perfectly legal actors — lobbyists — who ensure that action on youth vaping remains just out of reach.

At the core is what can only be called the Nicotine Lobby: a loose but powerful alliance of vaping industry representatives, e-commerce platforms, tobacco-linked corporations, and trade groups that frame regulation as an attack on innovation, personal freedom, or small business. They don’t march in the streets. They sit in meeting rooms. They provide “expert testimony.” They fund think tanks. They sponsor events. And they make sure their voices are louder than those of doctors, teachers, and parents.

Then there are the digital platforms — social media companies and online marketplaces — that profit from the ecosystem. TikTok, Instagram, and third-party vendors host thousands of ads targeting minors, using influencers, hashtags, and algorithmic amplification to push flavored vapes directly into the feeds of Dutch teenagers. When regulators move to restrict this, the response is immediate: “You’re threatening free speech,” or “This will hurt small sellers.” But the real threat isn’t to free expression — it’s to revenue.

Political parties, particularly those with strong libertarian or pro-market leanings, often echo these talking points. The rhetoric is familiar: “We don’t want a nanny state.” “People should be free to choose.” But this principle mysteriously vanishes when it comes to alcohol, gambling, or drugs — all of which are regulated to protect public health. Why, then, is nicotine — one of the most addictive substances known — suddenly a matter of “freedom” when it’s delivered in a glowing USB stick?

The truth is, these parties are not just philosophically opposed. They are strategically aligned. Campaign donors, industry consultants, and revolving-door lobbyists ensure that the political cost of real action outweighs the perceived benefit. Why risk backlash from a well-funded lobby when you can instead issue a press release about “monitoring the situation”?

And so, the cycle continues: A hospital reports a spike in teen lung injuries;  A school bans vapes; A journalist exposes TikTok ads selling to minors; And then — silence from The Hague.

Not because the problem is unsolvable. But because for some, the current system works just fine. The lobby isn’t winning because their arguments are strong. They’re winning because they’re the only ones showing up. Until politicians prioritize children over convenience, this crisis will not end. And the lobbyists? They’ll keep smiling — all the way to the bank.

The role of the Nicotine Mafia.

In a high-rise office in Shenzhen, the air is still. The windows are tinted. The lights are calibrated. A presentation glows on the wall: “NovaPuff – Global Youth Market Expansion: Q4 2024.” A man in a tailored suit clicks forward. The first slide shows a sleek, candy-colored disposable vape. The next: a split screen of TikTok influencers, Dutch teenagers, shopping data, flavor preferences. “Blue Razz Elf,” “Mango Slush,” “Unicorn Dream” — all spiking in engagement.

“Penetration in secondary markets exceeds projections,” he says, voice flat, confident. “The Netherlands, Germany, Canada — all showing strong uptake in the 13–18 demographic. Social media virality is organic, low-cost, high-impact.”

Around the table, executives nod. Not one of them has visited the countries on the map. None have spoken to a single user. But they know the data. They know the margins. They know that a device costing €1.80 to produce sells for €12 online — and that regulation is slow, fragmented, easily bypassed. A junior analyst hesitates. “There are reports. Hospitalizations. Lung injuries. In the Netherlands. Some media calling for bans.”

Silence. Then a laugh — dry, practiced.

“If we don’t sell it, ”says a woman in the back, sipping tea, “someone else will. That’s not ethics. That’s capitalism.”

Another click. A new slide: “Regulatory Risk Assessment – Negligible. And if one politician doesn’t play ball, another will. There’s always someone at the table willing to close a deal. ” … No local presence. No direct sales. Warehouses in Poland, distribution through shell companies, payments routed via third-party processors. The brand has no address, no phone number, no face. Just a logo. Just a flavor. Just a stream of orders flooding into European homes.  “We design for loopholes,” the presenter continues. “Age verification? A checkbox. Delivery? Unmarked packages. Marketing? Influencers, not us. We are not responsible. We are efficient.”

No one mentions children. No one says addiction. No one asks what happens when a 15-year-old vapes between classes, can’t focus, starts missing school, ends up on oxygen. That’s not their problem. Their KPI is growth. Their mission is scale. Their morality is shareholder return.  This is not evil. It is worse. It is normal.  It is late-stage capitalism: a machine that no longer needs malice to cause harm — only indifference, optimization, and profit. A boardroom in Asia, designing a product to exploit the neurological vulnerability of adolescents in a country they will never visit, for a company they will never name, all because the numbers say yes. And when the crisis hits — when the hospitals fill, when the schools revolt, when the public finally demands action — the response will be the same:

“We followed the law. We gave people what they wanted. If it’s profitable, it’s sustainable.”

But sustainability is not measured in quarterly returns. It is measured in lives. And by that standard, this system is already bankrupt.

Why rightwing parties like FVD, PVV, JA21, VVD don’t give a damn about these Vapes or your kids.
Why do parties that claim to defend Dutch values, family, and public order ignore the largest youth addiction crisis in decades?

It’s a question that cuts deep — not just at policy failure, but at a profound moral contradiction. Parties like the VVD, PVV, FVD, and JA21 build their identity on the defense of heimat: the home, the family, the nation’s moral fabric. They speak passionately about protecting Dutch culture, restoring authority, and shielding children from societal decay. Yet when it comes to the most pervasive, visible, and damaging threat to youth well-being in a generation — mass nicotine addiction through flavored vapes — they are silent. Passive. Absent. This isn’t oversight. It’s a pattern — and within the VVD, it borders on institutional denial. 

The party that claims to champion verantwoordelijkheid (responsibility) looks away while teenagers vape in schoolyards, classrooms, and restrooms. The party that demands fiscal discipline ignores the billions in future healthcare and lost productivity this crisis will cost. The party that once led public health initiatives — from anti-smoking campaigns to drug prevention — now treats youth vaping as a minor nuisance, not a national emergency. Why?

Because their version of “order” often stops at the visible: crime, immigration, cultural symbols. But when the threat is invisible vapor, delivered through sleek tech gadgets, marketed on TikTok, and paid for with crypto-friendly apps, it doesn’t fit their mental model of danger. It doesn’t come from the “wrong” neighborhoods. It isn’t tied to the “usual suspects.” It’s not something they see in their own children or constituencies. So it gets ignored. And beneath that, there’s ideology: a deep-seated libertarian streak, especially in the VVD, that equates regulation with “nanny statism.” They’ll regulate small businesses, but not multinational nicotine syndicates. They’ll enforce school attendance, but not protect kids from addiction. They’ll demand personal responsibility — from the poor, from youth, from immigrants — but not from corporations flooding the market with 50mg/mL nicotine devices in “unicorn dream” flavor.

It’s easier to talk about “freedom” than to admit that freedom cannot exist when a child is chemically hooked before adulthood. This silence is not neutral. It is complicity. It tells parents: Your fears don’t matter. It tells teens: Your addiction is not a priority. It tells the Nicotine Lobby: Keep going. No one here will stop you.

But this crisis doesn’t care about party lines. It doesn’t respect ideology. It only spreads — into schools, homes, lungs, minds. And when a generation emerges with compromised cognition, chronic health issues, and stunted potential, no one will remember the speeches about “Dutch values.” They’ll remember who failed to act. So yes — the consistency of inaction, especially in the VVD, is not accidental. It is the cost of prioritizing rhetoric over reality, freedom for the few over protection for the many. And it must be called out — not as partisan attack, but as a betrayal of the very values they claim to defend.

The problem of Vape trash.

The environmental toll of disposable vapes is no longer a background issue — it is a full-blown crisis unfolding in plain sight. In the Netherlands alone, over 10 million disposable vapes are discarded every year — and that number is rising fast. These are not ordinary trash. They are toxic, non-recyclable, fire-prone devices that are flooding streets, parks, schoolyards, and waterways, leaving behind a legacy of pollution and danger.

Each device contains lithium-ion batteries, often between 300 and 500 mAh — small in size, but highly reactive. When crushed in garbage trucks or compacted in landfills, these batteries can short-circuit, ignite, and cause violent fires. In 2023, waste management companies reported over 200 fires in refuse vehicles and recycling centers across the country — a 300% increase from five years prior. The Association of Netherlands Municipalities (VNG) estimates that €15 million per year is now spent on fire prevention, specialized disposal, and vehicle repairs directly linked to vape waste. But the damage doesn’t stop there. The plastic casing of most disposables is a multi-layered composite — often containing glue, metal contacts, and circuitry — making it impossible to recycle through standard systems. Less than 1% of used vapes are properly collected through official channels. The rest end up in regular trash, where they leach heavy metals and residual nicotine into soil and groundwater. Cadmium, lead, and nickel — all found in vape circuitry and batteries — are confirmed environmental toxins with long-term bioaccumulative effects.

Even more alarming: each disposable vape contains approximately 2 milliliters of e-liquid, a mix that includes nicotine, propylene glycol, flavoring agents, and unknown additives. When discarded, this fluid can leak out — posing risks to wildlife, pets, and children. A single device contains enough nicotine to be lethal to a small animal. There have already been documented cases of dogs collapsing after chewing on discarded vapes.

And unlike cigarette butts — which at least break down over time — vape devices are engineered for durability, not disposal. They persist in the environment for decades, breaking into microplastics while continuing to release toxins.

This is not litter. It is hazardous waste — disguised as a consumer product. And every year, Dutch municipalities are forced to clean up thousands of kilos of this material — paid for by taxpayers, caused by a global industry that takes zero responsibility.

The math is undeniable: For every disposable vape tossed into a bin, there is a hidden cost — in safety, in health, in money, in time. And if we do not act, our cities will not just be dirtier. They will become more dangerous — one glowing USB stick at a time.

A Case Example – Someone Uses Vapie Batteries To Recharge His Phone/Laptop

Can we fine social media who are complicit in this kind of long term harm?

Social media platforms are not passive bystanders in the youth vaping crisis — they are active enablers, and they are profiting from it. Every day, Dutch teenagers scroll through TikTok, Instagram, and Snapchat, where they are bombarded with content designed to normalize and glamorize vaping. Influencers — often young, attractive, and styled like celebrities — puff on colorful disposable vapes, perform “cloud tricks,” and promote flavors like “Blue Razz Elf” or “Unicorn Dream” in videos that rack up millions of views. These are not personal vlogs. They are advertisements — carefully curated, algorithmically amplified, and financially backed by the vape industry.

The business model is simple: engagement equals profit. The more shocking, addictive, or trend-driven the content, the more it spreads. Platforms like TikTok reward viral behavior — and nothing spreads faster than a teen doing a “puff challenge” or showing off their latest “limited edition” device. The algorithms don’t distinguish between harmless fun and harmful behavior. They only see clicks, watch time, and shares. And so, they push it — into the feeds of ever-younger users.

But this isn’t accidental. Behind the scenes, vape brands pay influencers — directly or through third-party marketing agencies — to promote their products. Some campaigns are so well-coordinated they resemble traditional advertising, yet they bypass all regulatory safeguards. No health warnings. No age gates. No oversight. Just a 19-year-old with 500,000 followers saying, “This new flavor is fire — link in bio.” And the link? Often leads to an online store that ships directly to minors — with nothing more than a checkbox saying “I am 18+.”

Platforms claim they have policies against promoting illegal substances. Yet enforcement is weak, inconsistent, and easily circumvented. Hashtags like #vapelife, #nicotine, or #disposablevape are still active, hosting billions of views. When one account is removed, ten more appear. The system is designed to be untraceable, unaccountable, and unstoppable. This is not free speech. This is commercial exploitation — hosted, amplified, and monetized by billion-euro tech companies. And Dutch society is paying the price.

Every hospitalization, every case of “popcorn lung,” every child who can’t focus in class — these are externalized costs, dumped onto public health and education systems, while social media giants collect ad revenue from the very content fueling the crisis. Enough. It’s time to hold them accountable. Under the EU’s Digital Services Act (DSA), platforms have a legal duty to mitigate systemic risks — including the spread of harmful content to minors. Promoting highly addictive nicotine products to children meets that threshold. The Netherlands must demand that TikTok, Meta, and Snapchat: 

• Remove all vape promotion content — not just banned brands, but all youth-targeted marketing.
• Deactivate accounts of influencers who profit from promoting nicotine to minors.
• Disclose all paid partnerships with vape brands.
• Implement real age verification, not just a fake checkbox.

And if they refuse? Then fines must follow — not symbolic penalties, but proportionate sanctions under GDPR-level enforcement: up to 6% of global revenue for systemic failure to protect minors.  Because this is not just about vaping. It’s about whether we allow foreign tech companies to turn our children into data points and dopamine loops — all while they profit, and we pay the cost.

The Gateway Effect: From Vapes to Smoking, Drugs, or Mental Health Collapse

Imagine a company launching a new line of disposable vapes under a sleek, minimalist brand—“Nebula Mist”—marketed as a “premium relaxation experience” with flavors like “Midnight Pulse,” “Zero Point,” and “Synapse Flow.” Sold online with no age verification beyond a checkbox, shipped in unmarked envelopes through remailing hubs in Eastern Europe, the devices look identical to thousands of others flooding the market. But inside, beyond the nicotine, they contain trace amounts of synthetic stimulants—undetectable by customs, unlisted on packaging, just enough to heighten euphoria and deepen dependency. The company doesn’t mention the additives. It doesn’t need to. Influencers rave about the “intense buzz” and “next-level high.” Teens report feeling “wired for hours” after just a few puffs. By the time hospitals start seeing cases of psychosis, seizures, and cardiac irregularities, the brand has already rebranded, moved servers, and vanished—leaving behind a trail of damaged lives and a system that was too slow, too permissive, to stop it. This isn’t science fiction. It’s what happens when we allow an entire industry to operate in the shadows, normalizing the idea that any substance can be sold to anyone, as long as it fits in a USB-shaped case and glows blue.

Comparing the effects of Vapes to (for example) Long Covid?

We were blindsided by Long Covid. And now, we are being blindsided again — this time by the silent, addictive creep of youth vaping. Today, parents across the Netherlands are fighting not for cures, but for recognition. One mother I know personally — a strong, capable woman — spends her days battling bureaucracy to have her son’s condition classified as a disability. He once played football, walked to school, climbed stairs without stopping. Now, some days, he can’t make it from the living room to his bedroom. The diagnosis? Long Covid. The damage? Real. The system’s response? Delay, doubt, denial.

And she is not alone. Hundreds of thousands of Dutch adults and children are now living with severe, long-term symptoms: crushing fatigue, heart palpitations, cognitive collapse — brain fog so thick it erases futures. Studies suggest over 200,000 adults and tens of thousands of children in the Netherlands suffer from persistent post-COVID conditions. Yet the state drags its feet, because recognition means responsibility — and responsibility means care, support, and cost to the taxpayer.

This pattern is not new. It is predictable. And it is now repeating — in front of our eyes — with vaping.  We already see the signs: teenagers admitted to hospitals with irreversible lung damage, diagnosed with bronchiolitis obliterans. Teens who can’t concentrate, who suffer panic attacks, who are failing in school not from laziness, but from neurological disruption caused by chronic nicotine exposure. Doctors are reporting cases of early-onset cardiovascular strain, impaired lung development, and mental health collapse — not in isolated incidents, but in clusters, in classrooms, in clinics. And yet, the response is the same: silence. Hesitation. Denial. Because deep down, we all know the next phase — the one we’re barreling toward. A generation will emerge in five, ten, fifteen years with chronic respiratory disease, accelerated cognitive decline, mental health burdens, and physical limitations — not from a virus, but from a product we allowed to flood their schools, their feeds, their lives.

And when that day comes — when the ER visits become routine, when disability claims surge, when parents demand answers — who will we hold accountable? The Chinese exporter who shipped millions of “Lost Mary” vapes to Dutch teens? The social media platform that amplified the ads? The payment processor that cleared the transactions? The politician who blocked regulation to avoid being called a “nanny”? Or will we, once again, look away — and tell the victims:

“You should’ve known better.”

This is not just about health. It’s about justice. About whether a society protects its young — or abandons them when the cost of care becomes too high to ignore. We failed to act fast enough with Long Covid. Let us not repeat that failure with vaping. Because the next wave of disabled youth is not a possibility.  It is already here.

Disguised Packaging & Remailing Hubs

The practice of re-mailing is one of the key mechanisms allowing illegal and youth-targeted vapes to flood the Netherlands — despite national regulations, age checks, and border controls. It is a deliberate, scalable evasion tactic that turns the global shipping system into a blind spot for enforcement. Here’s how it works: A teenager in Amsterdam orders a pack of flavored disposable vapes online — perhaps from a website registered in China, Shenzhen, or Hong Kong. The site appears to comply with Dutch law: no physical storefront, no local warehouse, just a slick interface and a promise of fast delivery. The buyer enters a fake date of birth, clicks “I am 18+,” pays via PayPal or iDeal, and waits.

The package is shipped — not directly to the Netherlands, but to a “re-mailing hub” in a third country: often Turkey, the UAE, Poland, or Serbia. These hubs are not neutral logistics centers. They are specialized operations — sometimes dozens of them in one industrial zone — whose sole business is receiving international parcels, repackaging them in unmarked envelopes, and forwarding them to final destinations across the EU. Once re-packed, the vape is stripped of any identifying labels, sender information, or country of origin. It now looks like a generic personal package — perhaps a gift, perhaps documents. It bears no warning labels, no health messages, no traceability. It is shipped again — this time to the Dutch teenager’s home, school, or mailbox — and arrives within days, completely under the radar.

Customs authorities in the Netherlands never see the original shipment. By the time it enters the country, it’s a second-hand domestic-style parcel, often from another EU country or a non-scrutinized route. Age verification? Nonexistent. Tracking? Impossible. Accountability? Nowhere to be found. And the best part — from the seller’s perspective — is that no EU presence is required. The original company never touches Dutch soil. It has no legal entity in the Netherlands. It pays no taxes. It answers to no regulator. When authorities try to shut it down, the website vanishes — only to reappear days later under a new domain, new name, same product. This system thrives because:

• EU single market rules allow free movement of goods between member states — so a package from Poland to the Netherlands isn’t inspected like an import from China.
• Private courier networks (DHL, PostNL, FedEx) don’t open or inspect every package.
• Re-mailing hubs operate in legal gray zones, often with local complicity or minimal oversight.
• Payment processors and domain registrars enable anonymity and rapid rebranding.

The result? A fully automated pipeline from factory to child — designed to bypass every safeguard.  And it’s not rare. It’s the dominant model. Every “Lost Mary” or “Elf Bar” sold to a Dutch minor without  an ID check likely passed through this shadow network. It is not a loophole. To stop it, we must treat re-mailing hubs not as logistics firms, but as enablers of youth endangerment — and cut them off at the financial, digital, and physical level. Because as long as they exist, no ban will ever reach the front door.

A personal example – “Lost Mary” Vapes.

In 2024, my friend Alex returned from Las Vegas buzzing with excitement about something he’d discovered in the U.S.: a new kind of vape that, in his words, “tastes like nothing you’ve ever had here.” He pulled out a small, colorful device — a Lost Mary — and handed it over. One puff, and it hit like a blast of liquid nitrogen — not just cool, but ice, deep in the lungs, smooth and intense. It was unlike anything available in the Netherlands. And that’s because it isn’t supposed to be.

Here, under EU law, the maximum legal nicotine concentration in e-liquids is 20 milligrams per milliliter — a limit set to reduce addiction risk and protect public health. But the device my friend brought back? It contained 50 mg/mL of nicotine — more than double the legal limit. And he hadn’t broken any rules to get it. In the United States, while regulations exist on paper, enforcement is patchy, and high-nicotine disposables flood convenience stores, gas stations, and online shops. Brands like Lost Mary, Elf Bar, and Puff Bar dominate the market, designed with sweet flavors, sleek looks, and one overriding purpose: to deliver a powerful, fast-acting nicotine hit that hooks users quickly.

Even more alarming? I ordered a bunch of them for him. I occasionally go to techno parties and I loved using a vape there. I could order 15 of them online and have them shipped straight to my door — no age verification, no customs check, no consequence. They arrive in plain packaging, and I didnt even need to route them.  That “pure ice” sensation wasn’t just flavor. It was 50 mg/mL of nicotine slamming into the nervous system, masked by cooling agents like WS-23 to make high-dose inhalation feel harmless — even refreshing. For an adult, it’s overwhelming. For a teenager, it’s instant addiction. I used these a few times of parties and I experienced lung problems for months. 

This isn’t a rare exception. It’s the new normal. And while the Netherlands clings to a 20 mg/mL limit, the reality on the ground is that the law is being bypassed every day — not by smugglers in the dark, but by teenagers clicking “buy now” on websites that look perfectly legal, perfectly safe, and perfectly Dutch — even though they’re run from overseas, beyond reach, beyond regulation. The gap between what’s legal and what’s actually available has become a chasm.

Merely ‘Outlawing’ them won’t do much.

The fundamental challenge in regulating disposable vapes — particularly those targeted at youth — is not a lack of intent, but the structural limitations of national legislation in a globalized, digital marketplace. While the Netherlands and the European Union have implemented legal frameworks intended to limit nicotine content, flavor variety, and marketing practices, these measures are systematically undermined by cross-border commerce, weak enforcement, and the rapid adaptability of an international supply chain designed to circumvent regulation.

The EU Tobacco Products Directive (TPD), which caps nicotine concentration at 20 mg/mL and restricts tank sizes and advertising, was established with public health in mind. However, its effectiveness hinges on compliance and enforcement — both of which are severely compromised in practice. The directive applies only to products legally placed on the market within the EU. It does not govern goods imported from outside the bloc, especially those shipped directly to consumers via e-commerce platforms. As a result, millions of non-compliant vapes — containing up to 50 mg/mL of nicotine, available in thousands of youth-appealing flavors, and lacking health warnings — enter the Netherlands annually through postal and courier services, bypassing customs screening due to their small size, low declared value, and lack of centralized oversight.

This is not a failure of policy design alone, but of jurisdictional reach. The manufacturers of these products — primarily based in China — operate beyond the enforcement capacity of Dutch or EU authorities. There is no legal mechanism to compel a factory in Shenzhen to adhere to EU nicotine limits unless the product is being sold through an EU-based entity. Even when such links exist, they are often obscured through shell companies registered in low-regulation jurisdictions or EU member states with lax oversight. The result is a de facto legal vacuum: products that violate EU law are not only available but dominant in the youth market.

Moreover, attempts to strengthen domestic regulation face resistance not only from industry actors but from international trade norms. The World Trade Organization (WTO) enforces rules that prohibit member states from imposing discriminatory barriers on imported goods without scientific justification. While public health exceptions exist — as seen in plain packaging laws for tobacco — they require robust, peer-reviewed evidence and due process. Any Dutch or EU measure perceived as overly restrictive — such as a total ban on flavored disposables or stringent age-verification mandates for online sales — could be challenged as a non-tariff barrier to trade, particularly by exporting countries with vested interests in the vape industry.

This is not hypothetical. Past regulatory actions in other sectors — such as bans on hormone-treated beef or genetically modified crops — have triggered formal disputes and retaliatory tariffs. While vapes may not carry the same economic weight as agricultural exports, the precedent remains: any national effort to restrict market access on public health grounds must withstand intense legal scrutiny and potential diplomatic or economic pushback. The risk of such conflict often leads to regulatory caution, even in the face of clear harm.

Compounding this are the limitations of digital enforcement. Social media platforms and online marketplaces — the primary channels through which illegal vapes are advertised and sold — are governed by a patchwork of national and international laws. The EU’s Digital Services Act (DSA) imposes obligations on platforms to address illegal content, including the sale of prohibited goods. However, enforcement is reactive, not preventive. Platforms are required to act when notified of violations, but they are not obligated to proactively monitor all listings — a task made nearly impossible by the volume and obfuscation techniques used by sellers (e.g., coded language, private groups, encrypted messaging).

Furthermore, the global nature of these platforms means that content hosted on U.S.-based servers, governed by Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, enjoys broad immunity from liability for third-party content. This creates a jurisdictional mismatch: Dutch regulators may demand action, but the companies responsible — such as TikTok, Meta, or independent e-commerce hosts — can cite legal constraints in their home jurisdictions to delay or limit compliance.

Even when laws exist, enforcement is hampered by resource constraints. The Dutch Fiscal Information and Investigation Service (FIOD), customs authorities, and municipal inspectors lack the personnel and technical capacity to systematically track, intercept, and prosecute the thousands of illegal shipments and online vendors operating across the country. Unlike traditional smuggling, which involves bulk shipments and organized crime networks, the current model is decentralized: small parcels, low individual value, high volume. This makes it invisible to conventional interdiction methods.

Finally, there is the political economy of regulation. Any attempt to impose stricter controls — especially those that disrupt e-commerce, digital advertising, or consumer choice — is met with resistance under the broader ideology of market liberalization. In both EU and national policymaking, there is a strong presumption against measures perceived as infringing on capitalist freedoms, particularly when they impact innovation, small businesses, or consumer access. The term “nanny state” is frequently deployed to delegitimize public health interventions, framing them as paternalistic overreach rather than necessary protection.

This ideological resistance is amplified by lobbying from industries with indirect stakes in the vape ecosystem: e-commerce platforms, payment processors, logistics firms, and digital advertisers. While they may not produce vapes, they profit from the transactions and engagement they generate. As a result, regulatory efforts are often diluted, delayed, or blocked entirely.

In sum, outlawing flavored, high-nicotine disposable vapes will not work — not because the goal is unwise, but because national legislation alone cannot contain a transnational, digitally enabled, and economically incentivized supply chain. The tools of domestic law are too slow, too narrow, and too vulnerable to legal and political counterpressure. Effective action will require a coordinated international strategy: harmonized nicotine standards, binding rules on digital marketplaces, cross-border enforcement mechanisms, and a willingness to prioritize public health over unfettered market access. Without such a shift, every ban, every fine, every warning will be circumvented — not by accident, but by design.

The implications

The enforcement strategy outlined represents a paradigm shift in how the Netherlands could confront the transnational, predatory market in youth-targeted vaping products. Rather than relying solely on traditional regulatory measures — which have proven ineffective against a decentralized, digitally enabled, and globally distributed supply chain — this approach leverages criminal liability, civil litigation, and long-term financial consequences to create a self-sustaining system of accountability. The core innovation lies in its extraterritorial reach and personal culpability: any individual or entity, regardless of location, who facilitates the sale of high-nicotine, flavored disposable vapes to minors within the EU, becomes personally liable under Dutch child endangerment law.

This model is not merely punitive; it is strategically self-funding. The fines, penalties, and damages collected through criminal convictions and civil lawsuits can be funneled into a dedicated enforcement body — a specialized public agency or independent authority — tasked with investigating, prosecuting, and collecting on these cases. This organization would operate with a dual mandate: to uphold Dutch and EU public health law, and to serve as a legal conduit for victims seeking compensation. By enabling individuals harmed by early-life vaping — including those suffering from chronic lung disease, cognitive impairment, or mental health disorders — to file civil suits for damages, the system transforms victimhood into legal leverage. These claims, even if originating from a single disabled adult, can target manufacturers, distributors, marketers, and enablers across the globe, demanding compensation for medical costs, lost income, and lifelong care.

The financial implications are profound. A successful civil judgment, even if initially uncollectable, becomes a permanent, accruing liability. It can include compound interest, inflation adjustments, and penalties for non-compliance. More importantly, it becomes enforceable across jurisdictions through international legal cooperation. When a Dutch court awards a multi-million-euro judgment against a company in Shenzhen or a marketer in Las Vegas, that judgment can be registered in commercial courts worldwide, triggering asset freezes, bank seizures, and wage garnishments wherever the defendant holds property or income. The mere existence of such a judgment acts as a poison pill — deterring investment, partnerships, and banking relationships, as no institution wants to be entangled in a liability that could surface years later.

This long-tail consequence extends beyond the direct actors. Consider a scenario where a former marketing executive, now living comfortably abroad, is named in an investigation for their role in a campaign that deliberately targeted Dutch minors a decade earlier. Even if they claim ignorance or delegation of responsibility, the summons to testify — and the threat of criminal conviction and financial ruin — can dismantle their sense of security. Worse, if they used illicit profits to purchase assets — a house for their parents, a luxury car, a lump-sum investment — those assets become vulnerable. Dutch authorities could pursue clawback mechanisms under unjust enrichment or money laundering statutes, arguing that the wealth was derived from illegal activity. The parents who receive a home from their “successful” son may suddenly find themselves served with legal notices: Did this gift come from profits earned by endangering children? If so, the property could be seized, not as punishment for them, but as tainted proceeds.

This creates a network of deterrence that radiates far beyond the original offender. Family members, financial advisors, and business partners become risk-averse. The stigma of association grows. The cost of participation — legal, financial, reputational — outweighs the profit. And because the enforcement body is funded by the very penalties it collects, the system becomes self-reinforcing: the more cases it pursues, the more resources it gains, the more credible the threat becomes.

In essence, this is not just a legal strategy. It is a systemic recalibration of risk. It signals that profiting from the addiction of children is not a low-stakes, high-reward enterprise. It is a lifelong liability, one that can resurface at any time, in any jurisdiction, with devastating consequences. The goal is not to win every case, but to make the act of selling or enabling such sales so perilous that the market collapses under its own risk. And in doing so, it offers justice — not just to the state, but to the individuals whose lives were altered before they had the power to say no.

Parting Statement

This article is part of the “Lateral Solutions Consultancy” framework, developed by me, Khannea Sun’Tzu. It represents a strategic approach to systemic problems — one that bypasses conventional limitations, reframes narratives, and deploys legal, financial, and psychological pressure where traditional regulation fails. If you are confronting a complex, entrenched issue — whether it’s corporate predation, transnational exploitation, regulatory inertia, or public health failure — and you need a thinker who operates outside the box, I offer research, strategic analysis, and hard-hitting exposés designed to shift the balance of power. 

I do not work for predatory actors. I do not provide services to those who exploit the vulnerable. This is not mercenary work for the highest bidder. It is principled escalation for causes that demand it.  If you want an article like this one — one that names names, maps networks, and proposes actionable, enforceable consequences — or if you need new frameworks to overcome roadblocks, stigmatize harmful behavior, or hold the untouchable accountable, I invite you to reach out.

I don’t do “politically correct.”
I don’t self-censor.
I don’t mince words.

I deliver clarity, precision, and impact. For inquiries regarding research, strategic consulting, or commissioned articles, please email: Khannea.SunTzu@gmail.com