They say that human beings are capable of smelling more than 10,000 scents. Why is it then that one singular odor can leave us scarred and wanting to take a toothbrush to our nostrils?
For me, it wasn’t just any scent. It was her perfume — a heavy musk that seemed to live in her hair, on her clothes, in her skin. It was both alluring and off-putting, just like her. I should have known then that we were destined for failure.
My sense of smell is my strongest — and the only memory trigger lucky enough to have survived years of bong hits. I smell Cool Water, and I’m immediately back in 2000 wondering why my girlfriend smells like a man. I get a whiff of Curve, and I’m pursuing a cute poet in Ptown in 2002. Patchouli has its place in my olfactory annals, as does CK Be, along with the “natural” odor of a mate who shunned deodorant.
According to the Discovery Channel’s Anatomy of Sex program, every one of our other senses gets filtered through the cortex. Not smell. Smells bypass that logical part of our brains and race directly to the limbic system, nestling into our long-term memories. Essentially, we can’t fend them off with logic. Smells just invade, a quality that is especially alarming if the smells trigger unpleasant memories.
Hence the reason why that malicious musk has become a constant reminder that both it and the woman who wore it were too strong for me to handle. What’s more, her unwillingness to alter it proved that she was either unaware of my sensitivities or simply didn’t care.
To me, perfume and personality have a direct correlation. People who wear floral scents are trying to say, “Look at me! I’m sweet!” People who wear musks want to say, “I’m edgy and slightly dirty.” People who wear anything by Calvin Klein
are saying, “I am susceptible to homoerotic advertising.” And those who wear enough of something to overpower a room
are saying, “I’m an inconsiderate asshole completely devoid of selfawareness.”
Asked about the effect of scents in her relationship, one friend had this to say: “She never smelled bad, but she never
smelled good.” Unfortunately, the relationship was characterized by emotions that were equally lukewarm, and it suffered a quick demise.
Another friend recalled the unpleasant experience of kissing her girlfriend’s neck and getting a mouthful of what tasted like white lilies. “I felt like I ate a funeral bouquet,” she said. “It’s no surprise that our relationship died.”
There is a reason why certain olfactory expressions, such as “sniff it out,” “something doesn’t smell right,” “I smell a rat,” “pass the smell test,” and so on, exist in our vernacular. They are meant to remind us that when our eyes betray us, our nose knows. You might see wine slide nicely down the side of a glass, but if your first whiff of it smells like trash, you probably shouldn’t swallow. Applying this logic to your relationships might help.
And so I’m hoping that someday soon, the pungent aroma of that woman’s signature scent will stop reminding me of how much the relationship stunk.
Jeannie Greeley is a freelance writer who wants to know what your perfume says about your personality. She can be reached at jeannieg@comcast.net.
