Student vaping in Malaysia is out of control—but the message isn’t reaching them

It starts with the scent. Not tobacco. Not even something synthetic. Think watermelon candy. Vanilla cola. Mango milkshake. That’s what’s wafting out of school restrooms, classrooms, even library corners across Malaysia. Vaping has infiltrated student life. And it’s not subtle anymore. The crisis is real. But the messaging? Still stuck in 2009.

Here’s the first problem: most adults don’t know what they’re looking at. Teachers mistake disposable vapes for highlighters or USB sticks. Parents aren’t sure if a cartridge contains nicotine—or something worse. Today’s vape designs are slick, disposable, and deeply camouflaged. They don’t scream danger. They whisper convenience. So when students pull one out during recess, it doesn’t feel like rebellion. It feels like normal. Because in many ways, it already is.

According to Taylor’s University public health researcher Wee Lei Hum, the number of Malaysian teenagers aged 13 to 17 who vape jumped from 9.8% in 2017 to 14.9% in 2022. That’s a 50% surge in five years. Among boys? Nearly one in four.

And yet, most schools don’t have full-time resources to address the trend. Pamphlets exist, sure. A poster here, a banner there. But as NV Subbarow from the Consumers’ Association of Penang points out, “Nobody reads them.” Students scroll TikTok. They see flavor reviews, vape hacks, and casual use presented with music, memes, and confidence. A tri-fold brochure doesn’t stand a chance.

Subbarow has spent decades educating schools about substance abuse. He’s trained teachers to recognize vapes. He’s even shown them what’s inside the colorful cartridges—ultra-high nicotine concentrations and sometimes even illicit drugs. But that’s not the part that hits students hardest.

It’s the photos of collapsed lungs. Oxygen tubes. Real teen faces in hospital beds. That’s what makes them stop. That’s when they hand over their vapes. Shock works—but only when it’s real. Not hypothetical. Not generic. Not buried in a bullet list of “side effects.”

If a 13-year-old boy sees his older cousin vaping, and nobody says anything, the message is clear: it’s not that serious. If he walks past a 7-Eleven and sees vape paraphernalia inches from the candy aisle, it’s hard to believe it’s dangerous. That’s the quiet normalization Malaysia is dealing with now. But the real edge isn’t in packaging or pricing—it’s in peer networks. Vaping has become a bonding ritual. Sharing a hit means sharing a moment. Telling someone to quit? That can feel like cutting off a friend. And no poster can outcompete peer acceptance.

There are some teacher trainings, mostly targeting discipline heads or school counselors. But they’re rare. And most teachers still lack basic knowledge about vape device types, flavors, and warning signs.

As for parents? They’re left out entirely.

Wee Lei Hum says families don’t have clear resources. There are no widely used screening tools, few digital support channels, and no formal education about how to talk to kids about vaping in the first place. Imagine trying to fight an epidemic with vibes and guesswork. That’s what families are doing.

Shock tactics work in moderation—but fear wears thin. What’s missing is relevance.

Students need to see themselves in the message. That means:

• Peer-created content that shows real quitting stories, not edited scripts
• Apps and gamified tools that track health wins or trigger reminders with humor
• Social media campaigns designed like meme culture, not medical ads
• Classroom visits from relatable role models, not just health officers

Subbarow has used one unexpected line to get attention: “Vaping can lead to impotence.” It might sound like a scare tactic, but the male students stop. They listen. Because suddenly, it’s personal.

That’s the strategy: make it land emotionally, not just scientifically.

But it’s not just about scaring students—it’s about understanding their mental models. Many of them believe vapes are “less harmful,” not realizing that high-concentration nicotine salts can cause faster addiction than cigarettes. They equate flavors with safety and disposable packaging with innocence.

To shift behavior, the narrative needs to evolve from prohibition to participation. Involve students in building anti-vape campaigns. Let them design the posters, vote on the messages, or create short films. If they help shape the warning, they’re more likely to believe it.

Right now, there is no comprehensive national digital quit tool for youth in Malaysia. No mobile app. No peer-led forum. No consistent counselor outreach across schools. The infrastructure simply doesn’t exist. Even well-meaning health ministry campaigns tend to be top-down and sporadic. A campaign runs for a week. Then it disappears. Students go back to swapping vapes in hallways.

What’s needed isn’t just more information. It’s presence. Sustained, creative, visible presence—in schools, online, in youth spaces. Wee Lei Hum argues that a multi-agency approach is critical, involving not just the Ministry of Health, but NGOs, digital content creators, educators, and even parents’ groups. Quit tools should be co-designed with youth. Think: WhatsApp chatbots, Instagram challenges, or TikTok recovery diaries that reward honesty over perfection.

More critically, parents and teachers need help too. Resource kits, visual identifiers, and short video explainers can equip adults to recognize what’s in their child’s pocket—not after it’s a problem, but while it’s still a conversation.

Because in this fight, awareness isn’t enough. Only systems can scale trust.This Isn’t Just a Teen Problem. It’s a System Problem.

When adults don’t know what to look for, teens hide in plain sight. When policies are vague, enforcement is inconsistent. When messaging is outdated, curiosity wins. The vaping crisis isn’t growing because teens are bad. It’s growing because the adult systems meant to protect them are late, scattered, and out of sync with teen reality. And the longer this gap lasts, the harder it is to close.

Vaping is no longer a side issue—it’s the new norm in many Malaysian schools. To shift the trend, we can’t rely on the same old tools. We need to update the message, modernize the methods, and most of all, respect that students aren’t passive—they’re watching, interpreting, and choosing. If we want them to choose differently, we have to speak their language first.