Yesterday on my daily walk with my husband, we passed our local park and I caught a whiff of freshly cut grass, still sharp in the air. I smiled and felt a rush of warmth run through me - it’s one of my favorite smells in the world. We continued on, and then the smell of star jasmine hit my nose. I looked around, and in the distance spotted a house lined with the bush. I smiled again, quietly, to myself.

My husband never reacted. Why would he? It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t bright. It was just there, in the air, already gone.

We kept walking. But the smells stayed with me.

That’s the thing about being a smeller. We’re constantly receiving information that the world around us has collectively agreed not to register. We sense the approaching rain. We know someone’s been smoking even with no cigarette in hand. We recognize dinner is almost ready even before anyone calls us.

And we do nothing about it - because what would we do? There’s no place to put it. No feed to post it to, no playlist to add it to. So we just quietly keep it to ourselves and move on.

We talk a lot about what it means to have no sense of smell. The anosmia community has taught us, rightly, how difficult that absence can be. But there’s a quieter story that gets less attention: what it feels like to have it, fully, in a world that has almost entirely organized itself around two other senses.

We’re fluent in something the world has never quite built a home for.

Think about what society actually built around sight and sound.

Photography. Cinema. Art. Architecture. Fashion. Social media. The entire discipline of design. Billions of dollars. All for what the eye can see.

Then music. Concerts. Radio. Podcasts. Noise-canceling headphones so we can protect our carefully curated audio from the uncurated one outside. We have playlists for moods, for workouts, for breakups, and for long drives.

Now think about what got built for smell.

A fragrance industry, elitist and secretive by design. A candle aisle. The occasional article about how scent affects mood, usually buried in a wellness section between sleep tips and the benefits of cold-plunging.

That’s more or less it.

There’s no smell equivalent of Spotify. No accessible archive of significant smells like there are of films or books. No shared language, save fragrance industry speak, that most people actually use. When smell does get our attention - genuinely stop-in-your-tracks - the best most people can offer is “nice” or “yuck” or “what is that?”

I know you have more words for smells than that. You’ve been developing them quietly, mostly alone, for years.

Here’s what I think that actually requires, and why I think we underestimate this beautiful sense.

Staying loyal to smell in this sight-centric culture is a sort of act of resistance. Not a dramatic one. It won’t get written about, and we’re not going to be celebrated for it. But every time we stop to register what our nose is telling us - every time we don’t override it, dismiss it, or hurry past it because the visual world is demanding our attention, we’re choosing a different way of being present.

And that’s not easy.

We’ve built environments specifically designed to capture our eyes and ears. Screens are everywhere, optimized by entire teams of people whose sole job is to hold your gaze. Sound fills every waiting room, every elevator, every gym, every restaurant that’s decided that silence is bad for business. The sensory competition for our attention is relentless, and almost none of it is coming from smell.

So when we keep smelling - when we actually stay with it - we’re doing something that takes a kind of quiet stubbornness. We’re keeping a practice alive that the world around us has been slowly, persistently discouraging.

I don’t think most smellers think of it this way. It’s just who we are. But it’s also a choice we keep making, even when there’s no reward for it.

Today is Sense of Smell Day, which means well-meaning content will circulate about how underrated smell is, how it’s tied to memory, how we should “stop and smell the roses.” All true. None of it wrong.

But I want to say something slightly different to you today.

You don’t need to be reminded to smell. You already do. You’ve been doing it your whole life, quietly, without a designated day, without infrastructure, without a cultural moment that really makes room for what you experience. You’ve been showing up for this sense in a world that mostly hasn’t reciprocated.

That matters. Not because smell will suddenly get its Spotify or Instagram. I mean, maybe it will someday, in some form. That would be cool. But really it’s because the way you move through the world is richer for it. More textured. More honest. You’re getting information about people, places, and moments that are real, specific, and are yours. You’ve never stopped paying attention to smells even when everyone around you did.

Smell doesn’t need you to rescue it. It’s been here the whole time, just doing its thing. And so, quietly, stubbornly, have you. I thank you for that.

Happy Sense of Smell Day.

If you’re interested in learning about how to find pleasure, identity, and ritual in food and fragrance beyond smell - come join us on Monday. You can register here. It’s free!

Join STANA and WTSA for a thoughtful 80-minute online webinar exploring how people with anosmia and smell dysfunction can still experience meaning, pleasure, and connection through food and fragrance. This session will examine how eating, self-expression, ritual, and identity extend beyond scent alone.

Participants will hear from Joshna Maharaj, author of "Take Back the Tray" and a chef with smell dysfunction, on how taste, texture, temperature, trigeminal sensations, visual cues, and emotional connection can shape enjoyment of food even without smell. Frauke Galia, of An Aromatic Life, will then explore how fragrance can remain meaningful through ritual, memory, aesthetics, trust, and personal identity, while also highlighting what the fragrance industry could do better for anosmic consumers.

Through reflection and discussion, this webinar will invite attendees to reconsider smell loss not only as absence, but as a different form of sensory engagement. The session will conclude with audience Q&A, key takeaways, and opportunities for future collaboration, education, and research.

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In ancient China, the most skilled jade carvers had a practice that, to outsiders, looked like they were doing nothing. Every day the carver approached the jade, picked it up, held it up to the light, turned it every which way, then set it down and walked away. He did this for as long as it took.

He didn’t come with a design to impose on the jade. He simply observed, waiting for something in the jade to come out and reveal itself: a color that deepened in one corner, a vein that indicated movement, a curve that showed a softness.

It made me wonder, as it always does, why we don’t approach smelling this way.

Think about the last time you smelled something.

Take, for example, a perfume: your brain naturally starts evaluating what’s inside, looking for familiar notes that can be identified. Immediately you begin to intellectualize: you give the scent labels, you assign categories, and instantly judge.

If you’re confident, you’ll name it yourself: “it’s got lavender, a hint of citrus, with a touch of musk.” If you’re unsure, you’ll look at the pyramid-structured marketing description instead: “peach and red apple form a bright, mouthwatering opening while creamy frangipani adds warmth at the heart. In the dry down, comforting musk melts into the skin.”

It turns out we’re culturally conditioned to approach smelling the “Western” way, through creation. We smell as if we’re an artist painting on a blank canvas. We walk into a room and narrate it. We fill the space with meaning, deciding if it’s good or bad, safe or dangerous, inviting or unpleasant.

So much of how we experience the world is built on the Western philosophy of art, shaped by Greek thinkers Plato and Aristotle: we observe, we interpret, we impose meaning. It’s an individualistic approach that makes us the creator of the experience.

We’re used to projecting a story on the smell.

The jade carver would have us experience it first.

The Eastern philosophy of art, shaped by Taoism and Buddhist thought, takes the opposite approach: the artist doesn’t impose, they receive. For them the form already exists, the meaning is already there. Their role is simply to get out of the way and let it reveal itself.

What if we approached smelling in the “Eastern” way? What if we let the smell lead and we simply received? No judgement, just witnessing. A sort of olfactory carving.

We already have access to this way of smelling. We just rarely choose to use it.

Remember that smell is different from our other senses: it’s the only one that hits both the emotional and thinking parts of your brain at the same time. When you smell something, you feel it and interpret it simultaneously. Sight, sound, touch, and taste go through the thinking brain first, then arrive at feeling. Smell arrives everywhere at once, and that’s its advantage.

When we smell the “Western” way we’re focused more on the information than simply bathing in the experience. And in a time when we’re absolutely drowning in information, what an incredible opportunity we have to use our sense of smell in a different way.

With an “Eastern” smelling approach we listen to what the smell wants to tell us. We don’t judge it. We don’t name it. We let the smell simply reveal itself in all its facets: its tempo, weight, texture, lightness, depth. With patience and openness we close our eyes and pay attention. We bathe in the smell for some time, just like the jade carver approaches his stone.

AN INVITATION

Try this today. Find a smelling opportunity - a flower, a person, a space. Or simply lie down on the grass or sit under a tree if you can.

Close your eyes, open your nose, and for 30 seconds resist labeling what you smell. Now let the smell move through you without immediately deciding what it is.

The art is in staying inside without being drawn to direct. Try not to perform the experience by trying to evaluate what you’re feeling. Don’t lie on the grass thinking “am I feeling something profound yet?” That’s still “Western” smelling even though you’re not labeling it. You’re still performing. You’re still in your head.

Take this olfactory perspective instead: like the jade carver notices a color that’s deeper in one corner, notice where the smell is strongest. Just like he sees a vein that shows movement, notice the tempo and temperament of the smell. Just like he observes a curve that shows a softness, notice how the smell makes a particular part of your body respond.

There is, in fact, another way to smell. I hope you’ll try it.

What if we’ve been so focused on the screens that we’re missing the real culprit?

We talk about the loneliness epidemic as a social media problem, a phone problem, even “a Gen Z problem.” But what if it’s primarily a smell problem? What if the slow de-odorization of our world is quietly dissolving our ability to bond with each other at the most primal level?

In 2023, U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy declared loneliness a public health epidemic, warning that it poses health risks equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. The World Health Organization estimates that 1 in 6 people worldwide are experiencing it, most commonly adolescents and young people. These numbers are alarming. But the explanation we keep reaching for - screens, algorithms, the collapse of third places - may be treating the symptom rather than the cause.

You probably already know that within hours of being born - before you can even see clearly - you recognize your mother by smell alone. A landmark 1983 study out of Vanderbilt University found that 90% of mothers could identify their newborn by scent alone, many after just ten minutes of contact. More recent research shows that a mother’s body odor actually helps newborns recognize faces - smell is literally the first way we know another person exists. It’s not just a sense. It’s the foundation of human connection.

I felt this holding my own boys for the first time. As they were placed on my chest, there was an immediate instinct to nuzzle and breathe them in. While I can’t recall the smell exactly, I remember the feeling, the bond that the closeness brought. I didn’t know it at the time, but it turns out that it was biology doing exactly what it was designed to do.

But here’s the thing: human bonding didn’t start there. It turns out I’d been doing it my whole life and just didn’t know it.

Remember writing notes with wooden pencils on paper and passing them discreetly to your best friend in class? Playing tag and hide-n-seek at the local park? Hanging out at the mall, sharing fries in the food court, spraying every perfume tester at the department store counter?

These memories aren’t just visual. They’re olfactory. Back then, our noses were working hard: reading people, building trust, identifying who was safe, what felt good, where seemed like home. We just didn’t know it at the time. And this work is especially critical during the teenage years, when our sense of smell is supposed to be doing some of its most powerful bonding - guiding us toward friendships, dating, and community.

So why is it falling apart?

A 2023 study found that Gen Z adults (aged 18–26) are the loneliest generation, with 71% reporting loneliness. Over the past two decades, young adults have reduced in-person time with friends from 150 minutes per day to just 40, while time spent in isolation has increased by 24 hours per month.

It turns out that we handed young people devices that deliver everything except the one sense evolution designed specifically for human bonding and connection. While dating apps may appear to help young people look for a compatible mate, and FaceTime now lets you talk and see your friends, or online gaming lets you “hang out” and talk with people all over the world while you play, none of these “transactional” activities truly reveals a level of intimacy that helps give you clues about safety, compatibility, and closeness.

An invisible wall has been placed between us, and we built it ourselves.

The good news is that something is shifting. My 20-something boys tell me they’re sick of the dependence on their phones. They want IRL experiences. They want to meet a partner in person, not on an app. And they’re not alone: 78% of dating app users report burnout, 69% of apps downloaded in 2025 were deleted within a month, and 90% of Gen Zers say they’d prefer to meet someone offline.

They’re already finding their way back to physical presence. They just don’t have the language for why it matters so much.

Maybe it’s their nose talking. Maybe it’s been trying to get their attention all along.

Think about what it actually feels like to be at a basketball game - the smell of the gym, the sweat of the athletes, the cologne drifting up from two rows below. You can’t get that watching it on TV. How about going to a party, or a bar, where people are nestled close together. Without realizing it, your nose is busy doing the sleuthing: identifying compatible friendships, suitable partners, and safe spaces.

We yearn to be in rooms with each other not just out of nostalgia. There’s a deep-rooted knowing - biological, not sentimental - that we’re wired for real-life bonding and intimacy, through smell.

Reclaiming this doesn’t require an intervention. It requires one simple shift: put yourself back in the physical world and let your nose do what it was designed to do.

Choose the gathering over the group chat. Go to the concert, not just the playlist. Sit close to people. Let the room smell like connection. That slight discomfort of physical proximity? That’s your olfactory system waking back up.

And if you have young people in your life, bring them along. You don’t need to explain the science of olfactory bonding to a teenager. Just give their nose somewhere to go.

We were born knowing how to do this. We just need the reminder.

Over the years I’ve been reflecting a lot on how presumptuous it is to think we'll always be able to smell. We don’t really appreciate it fully, do we? We just take smelling for granted. Our sense of smell is there in the background doing its thing, and we rarely stop to think about how much it truly shapes our daily life.

Until it’s gone.

Today on Anosmia Awareness Day, I’m thinking about all the people who are missing this so-called “background sense”. They navigate their daily lives without the ability to smell.

Many people who lose their sense of smell do so as adults, after an illness, an injury, or, for countless others, during COVID-19. They once knew what coffee, their home, or someone they love smelled like. For them, when the ability to smell disappears, the shift can feel totally disorienting in ways that are hard to explain. Food becomes flatter, their appetite changes, and even familiar spaces feel hollow. There’s anxiety about staying safe and being embarrassed. And certainly there’s grief for a profound loss that seems trivial to those that haven’t experienced it.

I invite you to listen to this episode of my podcast An Aromatic Life to learn more about how it feels to lose your sense of smell.

Of course, some people are born without a sense of smell. They don’t have a dramatic “loss” story. There’s no before, just never. A lifetime of navigating a world that assumes everyone has this sense. People constantly referencing smells: good, bad, comforting, alarming. It means nothing to them. There’s no reference and they just can’t relate.

Listen to this fascinating episode to get insights on what it’s like to live life when you’ve never known smells.

When you live with anosmia, you learn to adapt. You rely on labels, use-by dates, visual cues, and other people’s reactions. It’s compensating for a missing sensory layer we smellers don’t even notice we’re using.

Which brings me to us, the ones who do have a functioning nose. I don’t think we really take the time to understand how much smell actually does for us.

It works quietly, under the radar, which makes it simple to dismiss. And it certainly doesn’t help that our culture devalues it so much.

So, when someone says “I can’t smell,” it’s easy to underestimate what that actually means. Not because we don’t care. But because we haven’t recognized the role the sense of smell is playing in our own daily lives.

I would argue that Anosmia Awareness Day isn’t just about recognizing that there are people who can’t smell (although mightily important!). Maybe it’s also about us smellers understanding a little more clearly what the sense of smell is truly doing in our lives, so that when someone tells us that they don’t have it, we don’t instinctively minimize it.

“If you get everyone to focus on their sense of smell we all win, but especially those with a smell dysfunction. Why? Because when you understand the value of something, you’re more likely to empathize with those who don’t have that thing.”

For millions of people not being able to smell isn’t theoretical. It’s a lived experience that shapes how they eat, how they stay safe, how they experience closeness.

That’s worth truly understanding, isn’t it?

Let me ask you: if you lost your sense of smell, what smell(s) would you miss most?

Leave a comment

For Further Understanding

If you want to dive deep to better understand everything related to anosmia, I’ve put together a playlist on Spotify with all my podcast conversations around the subject. It’s free and you can listen here or click below.

Or if you’re just curious about a specific area:

Reflecting on The State of Anosmia:

#140 The State of Anosmia 2025 w/ Katie Boateng & Dia Kline

Never Known Smells (congenital anosmia):

#2: A World With No Smells w/ Dia Kline

#46: Anosmia Awareness w/ Jacob LaMendola

#50: Making Sense of Smells w/ Charlie Atkins

Lost Sense of Smell (acquired anosmia):

#15: A Journey of Smell Loss w/ Fifth Sense Founder Duncan Boak

#92: Connecting with Everyday Smells When You Have Smell Loss w/ Katie Boateng

Support

#9: The New Smell & Taste Association of North America

#52: On Being a Designated Nose

#71: Holiday Strategies for Anosmia, Hyposmia, and Parosmia

#86: Creating a Smell Squad For Those Living With a Smell Dysfunction

#87: Elevating Smell & Taste with the World Taste & Smell Association

Science & Research

#35: Olfactory Health, Dysfunction, and Research w/ Dr. Zara Patel

#45: Testing & Diagnosing Olfactory Health w/ Valentina Parma, PhD

#83: The Importance of Smell Health

#118: Celebrating the New National Smell & Taste Center

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Most of us don’t think about the air we breathe unless it smells bad.

If it smells like smoke, we notice. If it smells chemical or plasticky, we start to get nervous. But if it “smells like nothing”, we think that everything is fine.

But the truth is, even when it smells like nothing, the air around us is full of choices humans make every day. What the air carries, what’s allowed to stay in it, all of it comes from politicians’ decisions about things like how we make electricity, run factories, or enforce car emissions.

This past weekend, President Trump reversed the federal “Endangerment Finding”, touting it (with his usual bravado) as the “biggest regulatory relief in history.” The 2009 EPA decision had made clear that greenhouse gases threaten public health, and enabled for regulating emissions of power plants and other big sources of pollution. This reversal threatens to roll back all of it (as of this posting it’s being contested in court).

I bring this up not because I want to talk about abstract climate politics or over-regulation. No, I want us to simply consider what decisions like this mean in terms of the air you breathe - especially what you smell - wherever you live.

You see, this environmental deregulation isn’t just a political move, it’s a sensory shift. It’ll change the air millions of people breathe. You could say that air policy shapes our lived sensory reality.

If you live near a highway, you know the smell of exhaust during rush hour. Near a refinery or plant? You likely experience the faint smell of plastic or sulfur-like odors. High-ozone day? There’s always a metallic whiff in the air. Millions of people live with these smells every day.

The key problem is that deregulation redistributes the sensory burden. Those living closest to factories, power plants, and congested cities will feel the effects, and suffer the health consequences, first.

We have to realize that air quality isn’t just a statistic, it’s an actual lived experience.

Take the example of the residents of Adrian, Michigan who live next to a factory that turns bad eggs into pet food. A persistent “rotten egg” stench has plagued their town for years. Neighbors tell stories of dashing from car to front door to escape the foul odor. One local described the stench as rotten eggs and sewage combined. It’s also been variously described as “dead chickens,” “organic death,” and “like a dead animal carcass.”

Or the example of residents in Wilmington, California, and near a Mississippi Chevron facility describe a life plagued by constant rotten egg smells and acid-like odors, causing nausea and eye irritation. Similar testimonies from El Paso, Texas, confirm that these odors and toxic fumes disrupt basic daily activities, including walking to the mailbox.

What’s clear to me is that because smell is culturally undervalued, it’s no wonder that systems ignore the consequences.

WHY THIS MATTERS NOW

I bring all this up because environmental regulation, and the air we breathe, is fragile. Climate fatigue is real, and most people are feeling numb.

But shouldn’t we care about the air entering our body? Even if you live in a place that isn’t polluted, isn’t it imperative for us to care about those who do?

We already de-value the sense that helps us detect environmental harm. Our sense of smell is foundational to keeping us safe.

Air policy is sensory policy. And we’re far less willing to fight for clean air for all than we should.

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Feeling frustrated? Here are 8 things you can do to help the Natural Resources Defense Council fight Trump’s agenda.

In the late 1970s, inside Northern Ireland’s Maze Prison (Long Kesh), prisoners were staging a protest like no other. They used smell.

It began in 1976, when the British government ended Special Category Status and treated Irish republican prisoners as ordinary criminals instead of political prisoners, prompting prisoners to refuse the prison uniform and wrapping themselves in blankets instead. It became known as the “Blanket Protest.”

But it didn’t move the needle much, so by 1978 they changed tactics. After the brutal beating of a prisoner by a prison officer, several prisoners decided to smash all the furniture in their cells. Prison authorities responded by removing the furniture, leaving the prisoners with only blankets and mattresses. When prisoners then refused to leave their cells, toilets couldn’t be emptied, and they began smearing their own waste on the walls, urinating on the floors, and hanging leftover food-soaked blankets on the walls. The stench that filled the corridors became unbearable.

The prison authorities attempted to keep the cells clean by spraying disinfectant and hosing down the walls. But the prisoners didn’t let up. This “Dirty Protest”, as it was known, went on for several years. Over 250 men took part. Guards, administrators, and even visiting clergy couldn’t escape the stench. In fact, they complained that it followed them home.

What this smelly form of protest did was allow political prisoners to assert their identity and resist being treated as ordinary criminals; an important distinction, as governments often blur this difference to make resistance look like simple criminal behavior.

Using smell in this way was an embodied strategy for resistance. The stench was emotionally destabilizing and physically uncomfortable. Think about how your own body responds when you smell something foul - it enters you deeply. It lingers inside as much as out. And precisely because of that, unlike a sign or shouts of protest, a smell is not quickly erased.

Power prefers what it can see, touch, and hear because it can be more easily removed. But smell gets through. It takes up space, creates a collective experience … all through an invisible cloak.

Smell is a powerful tool of resistance because it’s intimate (it enters your body), it’s collective (it fills shared spaces), and it’s unstable (can’t be easily contained).

But there are other forms of resistance using smell …

Smell as Purposeful Occupation of Space

During the Edo period (1603–1868), in tightly regulated cities like Edo (Tokyo) Japan, open protest was dangerous. But smells were harder to regulate and became a clever form of resistance for low-status workers. Fishmongers, tanners, and fermenters were known to purposefully intensify production smells during disputes with officials or landlords, allowing the strong odors to spread into upscale neighborhoods.

Authorities complained about “nuisance smells” that disrupted order and dignity, and made them incredibly uncomfortable. But the workers didn’t care. The smells were used to reassert the workers’ presence and agency in spaces that authorities tried to control, turning the air itself into a contested site of social power.

Smell as Environmental Resistance

In 17th- and 18th-century North America, some Indigenous groups used smell as a strategic form of environmental resistance. By spreading decaying animal matter, burning strong-smelling plants, and creating smoky environments, they made camps and paths difficult or unbearable for colonial soldiers and settlers. European accounts repeatedly described these odors as “unbearable,” framing them as barbaric, yet to Indigenous defenders, the smells were a way of asserting control over their land and driving out invaders. Smell was used as a nonviolent means of defense. Independence Lost by Kathleen DuVal

Smell as Diversion

In the Atlantic World of the 1600s–1800s, enslaved people sometimes used scent and odor strategically to resist capture and control. While white colonists and slaveholders often racialized Black bodies as inherently “foul” to justify domination, many enslaved people turned the logic of smell back on their oppressors in subtle ways.

For example, runaways and freedom seekers deliberately rubbed strong substances like red pepper or onions on their feet to confuse tracking dogs, knowing these strong odors would interfere with the animals’ sense of smell and throw pursuers off their trail. Others claimed to use mud or turpentine the same way to disguise their scent and make it harder for slaveholders to follow. This wasn’t anything dramatic, but rather quiet, clever ways to resist control, stay safe, and take back a little power in a system designed to erase their freedom. Andrew Kettler, Smell of Slavery interview

It turns out, across history, resistance hasn’t always looked like chants or marches. Sometimes it’s looked like refusing to wash, burning what stinks, filling space with odor until power is forced to confront what it would rather ignore.

You can outlaw speech.

You can regulate assembly.

But you still have to breathe. 😊

What kind of stink shall we make?

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I stepped out of the arrivals hall into the fresh air and boom - it hit me like a brick - a gust of wind so bone-chillingly cold it stopped me in my tracks. It felt like someone had slapped me in the face - hard. Oh, how my little California wimpy self had forgotten this typical winter Chicago greeting. I hadn’t prepared myself adequately (what was I thinking!) and realized my mistake when I looked around and saw only mummified heads, no facial features recognizable for miles around.

What you might not know is that I grew up in Chicago, I experienced the Blizzard of ‘78, and I should have known better. THIS is what winter is supposed to feel like, not the sunny 60F slumber that I’ve been lulled into over the past 20 years here in California.

It got me thinking about how different our smell experiences are in the winter vs. other times of the year. So much of what we’re able to smell around us is dependent on the temperature, the humidity, and airflow.

Have you noticed that it’s harder for us to smell things in the winter?

You see, cold temperatures means the air is more still, more dense, and so keeps all those beautiful aromatic volatile compounds from wanting to release from their source; they don’t lift as much. They’re not animated to jump out and hit the nose. Instead they rest like much of Nature.

I mean, you can feel the dormancy of Nature when you walk around: most plants are bare, turning inward to rest, and the soil has less microbial activity since even the tiniest creatures are in hibernation from the cold. The smellscape in winter feels muted.

But even indoors smells appear quieter to us, as the dry air becomes a hindrance for our senses. Our smelling instrument, the nose, isn’t as sharp because the dry air reduces our nasal mucosa production. The dryness makes odor detection less sensitive, even if there are smells present. Our sense of smell works best when the nose is moist.

What’s interesting is that in winter our breathing changes too. We tend to take shallower breaths, and even breathe through our mouth more. Both affect how much scent reaches the olfactory receptors in our nose.

I’m not saying we don’t smell anything in winter. We do, and can, if we pay attention. Smells can seem sharper, more singular, and isolated because there are fewer competing scents in the air. I find that delightful as I, too, try to find more rest this time of year.

In the end, there’s a season for everything and maybe winter is a good time to rest the nose a bit, too. A time to take in only the most subtlest of smells.

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So, let’s apply these concepts in this month’s Practices in Smelling. I invite you to exercise your smell muscle and deepen your understanding of smells. Here’s something to try out.

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I recently had the pleasure of interviewing award-winning natural perfumer, educator, and author Mandy Aftel about her new book Symbolorum: The Secret Wisdom of Emblems. It’s an incredibly personal and thought-provoking conversation that I hope you’ll check out. You can listen on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. Or go here.

This latest book of hers is unique in that it’s meant to read like a bibliomancy, meaning you can open the book to any page and read a particular passage, in this case an emblem. Each emblem consists of a title, a picture, and a saying.

I’ve really enjoyed doing this over the past month: I open up to one page and do a journal entry relating the meaning to the sense of smell. Today I wanted to share one of those entries with you. I thought it was a great way to start the new year.

January 3rd, 2026

I opened up the book to page 78 which said the following …

Diarii Omnes

Everything is of a day
“Think that every day might be the last; the daylily is a trusty reminder of this.”

As Mandy reflects in her notes on the page, “A daylily is the perfect symbol of fleeting beauty and the quick passing of time. The flower’s blossom is short-lived - only 24 hours. The drooping daylily reminds us to live each day like it’s your last.”

How can we connect this to our sense of smell?

The most obvious connection for me is that, like the lily, smell is ephemeral.

Its fleeting, momentary presence reminds of the importance of being present, in order to really experience the moment.

Just as quickly as a scent experience presents itself, no sooner has it passed.

Did you pay attention?
Did you take it in?
Did you make the most of the moment, so you can treasure the memory?

I think about what that can mean in daily life:

The smell of a loved one (even a pet) as you hug them before going out the door.
The smell of the first cup of coffee/tea in the morning, that sets you up for the day.
The familiar smell of your home which you enter after a long day away.
The smell of a favorite comfort food baking in the oven.

For me, it’s about seizing the moment to take in the daily smells that shape so much of how we experience the world.

The motto that “everything is of a day”, which reminds us to live each day as if it’s our last, is a great way to start the year. It’s a chance to live with more intention, to focus on the here and now; not dwelling on the past, or fearing the future.

What beautiful smells can you experience today? Make note of them - write them down at the end of the day even.

For the pleasure you feel when you smell something beautiful is worth taking in fully. That is the power of smell. While fleeting, it makes you feel alive.

And isn’t that something to look forward to every day?

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An Ode To The Nose

Here’s to the nose

that little protrusion between the eyes

that does so much.

-

The quiet multitasker

we rarely thank,

the quiet compass we seldom notice

that does more for us

than we’ll ever admit.

-

It contains our breath,

in and out,

filtering what could harm us,

warming each inhale so our internal organs

receive something gentler,

something prepared.

Even the sound of our voice,

the tone that people know us by,

is shaped by the air that passes through it.

-

But it offers more

a sharp instinct,

alerting us before we’re even aware

smoke, gas, sourness, rot,

the world’s invisible alarms.

-

It makes food come alive,

turning texture and temperature

into something layered,

something flavorful,

something to crave.

-

It provides connection,

a hidden thread tying us to others,

drawing us close,

magnetic attraction,

shaping intimacy in ways barely realized,

the newborn to its mother

the familiar comfort of home.

-

It guides us through space and time,

orienting, grounding,

letting us move with a deeper sense of presence,

aware of the world in ways our eyes alone can’t capture.

Like a slingshot

a single whiff can propel the past

back into the present,

a childhood kitchen,

a grandmother’s garden,

an old lover’s perfume,

a time-traveling instrument sitting on our face.

-

So here’s to the nose,

a constant companion that asks so little

yet gives so much.

May we be grateful for it,

now and every day.

You might enjoy this poem too - Be Glad Your Nose Is on Your Face by Jack Prelutsky (1940).

The other day I was on the phone with my health insurance for what seemed like hours. I was disputing a charge that was mistakenly not billed to my insurance (if you know U.S. health insurance maybe this sounds familiar 😊). Needless to say, when I hung up I was in a terrible mood.

I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, hoping it would help me unwind after the whole fiasco. But the first sip startled me a bit - it just didn’t taste right. Mind you, it was the same tea I always drink, yet somehow in that moment it tasted off.

It turns out it’s biology.

Science has long shown that our mood states can shift how pleasant or gross we perceive something to smell or taste, how sensitive our noses are to odors, and even what odors we pay attention to around us. In my case, I was completely aggravated after that call, so my mood state was negative. That caused my tea to taste off in that moment. Scientists call this a hedonic shift, the way emotion alters what we find pleasant or unpleasant.

I learned that when you’re sad, anxious, or tired, your brain and body slow down a little. And, interestingly, so does your sense of smell. Studies have found that when we’re in a negative mood, we have a harder time noticing faint smells. Our nose still works the same way, but our brain is less tuned in.

It can work the other way around, too. Sometimes, when you’re stressed or scared, your brain actually becomes more sensitive to smells, especially sharp, recognizably dangerous odors, like something burning or rotten. It’s an ancient survival mechanism, part of your body’s “stay alert” system. So there’s that.

Our brains are wired to notice what matches our mood. When we’re anxious, we might notice “bad” or threatening smells first, even if they’re faint. When we’re relaxed, we notice comforting or neutral smells more easily.

So, let’s apply these concepts in this month’s Practices in Smelling. I invite you to exercise your smell muscle and deepen your understanding of smells. Here are a few things to try out.

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In 1939, shortly after the outbreak of World War II, writer C.S. Lewis delivered a sermon titled “Learning in War-Time” at the University Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Oxford, England. He began with a provocative yet poignant question:

How can you be so frivolous and selfish as to think about anything but the war?

He was addressing the concern that most students listening must have felt at that moment: what’s the point of pursuing learning, art, or ordinary life, for that matter, during a time of such crisis?

As an empath, that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now: what’s the point of pursuing anything of joy when the world is falling apart?

I have incredible guilt writing about seemingly “frivolous” topics like our sense of smell, or having podcast conversations about aromatic pursuits - after all, look at what’s happening in Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan. Not to mention the crisis we’re facing here in the U.S. with the complete dismantling of our democracy.

Well, the point C.S. Lewis makes is a great reminder: life has never truly been “normal.” We only live under the illusion of normalcy. If we wait for the perfect moment to create, to explore, or simply to savor life’s small pleasures, it will never arrive.

The war creates no absolutely new situation: it simply aggravates the permanent human situation so that we can no longer ignore it. Human life has always been lived on the edge of a precipice. Human culture has always had to exist under the shadow of something infinitely more important than itself.
~ from C.S. Lewis’ sermon “Learning in War-Time”

His point being that war is a finite object, and so it can never truly occupy the full attention of a human soul. He argues that pursuing beauty, knowledge and creation, even in wartime, isn’t frivolous. It’s what makes life meaningful.

That stuck with me and has allowed me to take in the simple pleasures in life more freely - even amid everything happening. Now I’ll pause to smell my fingers after peeling an orange, inhale the bloom of spices in oil as I prepare a meal, and really notice how a blend of essential oils changes as I make a perfume to lift my spirits.

At first glance, these moments might seem trivial in a world that demands urgency, alertness, and action. But really they’re a reminder that life is still rich with texture, and that joy and pleasure are present all around us, even amid turmoil.

Sensory engagement - the act of noticing, tasting, smelling, and even creating - is really a quiet form of defiance. When I crush fresh rosemary between my fingers, or sniff a blooming flower, I’m affirming that the world is still alive with gifts, even amid fear and uncertainty. It’s precisely in these moments that we’re fully awake, fully human, and fully present.

Cooking, too, has become a form of meditation for me. Chopping herbs, simmering rice, tasting and adjusting as needed. It reminds me that care and attention aren’t luxuries but rather essentials. Every aroma and flavor quietly hints that life is still worth tuning into - and enjoying!

For me smell, the most intimate of our senses, is made for dark times. It wakes something deep inside of us, reminds us we’re alive, and keeps us grounded in the present moment.

When we find pleasure in smelling, we’re not ignoring the darkness; it’s just helping us move through it. And it helps remind us that some things do stay the same, even when the world feels uncertain.

So, I invite you to pause to smell a beautiful rose, lift your nose and inhale the autumn air, make a flavorful meal for yourself or loved ones, and engage in creation. Because it’s in these small acts that we actually live life instead of merely existing.

And since we’re getting closer to the holidays, I’ve got the perfect conversation to help you start putting these ideas into practice.

This week on my podcast An Aromatic Life:

In this episode, I sit down with Jeffrey Paul Ames, aka The Aromatic Gourmet, to explore the deep connection between fragrance, flavor, and beauty. Jeffrey shares how scent has guided his life, from his Italian family’s aromatic kitchen to teaching sensory classes at the Institute for Art and Olfaction.

You’ll hear how he merges gastronomy and perfumery, creating “edible perfumes” through salts, syrups, and spices, and how sensory awareness can bring color, joy, and mindfulness back into our daily lives. Jeffrey also offers simple ways to make your meals, or any moment, more aromatic, which is perfect as we head into the holidays.

If you’ve ever wanted to cook like a perfumer, or use scent to anchor memories, this episode is a feast for your senses.

You can hear this conversation, and many more, on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Every once in a while I need a change of scenery when I do my writing. So this week I headed to my local library for the first time in a long time, and something struck me that I wanted to share.

The smell was different. Noticeably different.

Mind you, I visit my local library often, to pop in and check out a favorite read. But this time I stayed for a while - I actually sat down and experienced a library for the first time since I was in college.

What struck me most was how clean and sanitized the place smells today. There’s actually a lack of rich, organic odors, if that makes sense. The feel is more cool and stand-offish, as if wanting to keep me at a distance, rather than giving me a welcoming hug.

I proceeded to make myself comfortable at one of several long wooden tables, in a room surrounded by bookshelves and magazine racks. Only a few people were scattered throughout the room, perhaps a sign of the times now that so much can be accessed online from home.

I took a moment to close my eyes and focus on the smellscape around me: the almost scentless air was barely broken by the faint current of coffee and pastries drifting from the little café just up ahead, along with a hint of plasticky, metallic, electronic smells from the computer room around the corner. The odor of the books and magazines along the walls was noticeably muted by their plastic covers, and so left no recognizable mark.

Altogether, the impression in my head took on the look of a Jackson Pollock: white canvas with splashes of creamy brown, muted yellow, and light grey. It was abstract and jagged, leaving an artificial and distant feel.

I decided to walk around a bit, and see if I could find some old books to stick my nose in. I longed for the smells of libraries long ago. To my delight, there was a small shelf in the corner of an adjacent room that had a few “antiques” nestled between modern, plastic-covered volumes.

With the first whiff of those worn pages I was immediately transported back in time. A wave of familiarity, comfort, and connection washed over me, like the warm hug I’d been longing for.

Back then, when you walked into a library, there was a detectable smell of aging paper: sweet vanillin, woody notes, and that dry, slightly musty undertone. Shelves were packed floor-to-ceiling with lots of old, well-worn books, which made the scent feel thicker, almost as if it was holding up the walls.

And do you remember the card catalogs? Those wooden drawers filled with index cards referencing each book in the library? Just thinking about them reminds me of a dry, woody, yet somewhat resinous smell from the thousands of fingerprints left on the paper cards.

I also remember the carpets being thicker than today. They were well-trafficked because everyone went to the library back then. The dirty, musty smell gave an added human presence to the smellscape - a sort of lived-in quality, if you will.

As far as electronic smells, there were few back then. You might find rows of typewriters in study rooms, microfiche readers, and basic photocopiers - each giving off metallic, heated plastic, and sharp ozonic odors. The old relics - a microfiche reader, copy machine - are still found in libraries today, but they seem more like museum artifacts than actual breathing additions to the smellscape.

Back then, the smellscape felt heavier, richer, and full of texture. Today it feels lighter, smoother, mostly scrubbed clean. The smells have shifted because the role of the library has shifted: less a place to escape into and more a place to gather around.

I suppose I’ll have to keep seeking out those antique books tucked away in the back, just to breathe in those beautiful scent memories again.

I’m curious, how has your library experience been lately?

This week on my podcast An Aromatic Life:

Speaking of old, ancestral smells… in the latest episode we’re talking about oud!

In this week’s whiff of wisdom, the Oud Artisan Rahel Ali helps us understand the different grades of oud on the market so you know what to look for when buying. To listen to the original full episode “Exploring Oud” go to episode #94.

You can hear this conversation, and many more, on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

If you have a botanical garden near you, I hope this inspires you to visit and engage with the plants in new ways - not just by looking, but by connecting with them more deeply through smelling. Even if you can’t get to a garden, maybe stroll through your neighborhood and let your nose lead the way. It’s magical!

The Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis is doing something truly special, inviting visitors to connect smelling with a deeper appreciation for aromatic plants. Their exhibition, Smelling the Bouquet: Plants & Scents in the Garden, runs through March 31, 2026. And since most of us (sadly) can’t experience it in person, I wanted to bring a bit of it to you here today. But do go if you have the chance!

Following is an interview with Nezka Pfeifer, the curator of the exhibition, who generously shared her vision and hopes for visitors near and far. Enjoy!

Frauke: What inspired you to create the Smelling the Bouquet exhibition in this moment?

Nezka: The opportunity to open the exhibition was the culmination of several years of planning and development - and a wish many years in the making - that beautifully coincided with the growing interest and expertise in the use of scent in museum spaces, and the interpretation of fragrance for many kinds of experiences. Originally, I was inspired by a very unique art exhibition in 2012 curated at the Museum of Arts and Design in NYC called The Art of Scent. Then when I became Curator of the Sachs Museum at the Missouri Botanical Garden, I realized I was in the ideal setting to create an exhibition exploring the incredible diversity of plant scents and the many ways humans use them.

F: The exhibit explores the spectrum of scents plants create, inspired by the diverse live and scientific collections at the Missouri Botanical Garden. With so many plants and scent stories to choose from, how did you decide which ones to highlight?

N: Great question! That was one of the biggest challenges in curating the exhibition. I wanted to include scents familiar to most visitors - those central to perfumery’s long history, like rose, jasmine, bitter orange, bergamot, cistus, oakmoss, and orris root - alongside plants used in incense and others with unique stories from our live collections at the Garden. To explore the latter, I collaborated with two St. Louis-based perfumers, Shawn Maher and Weston Adam. Over several months, we held after-hours sniffing sessions around the Garden and in the conservatories, identifying blooming plants that could inspire new fragrance interpretations. Some were classics like tuberose and gardenia, while others - water lily, ixora, and campanita - offered rarer scent experiences for inspiration. We even included a carrion flower from our Shoenberg Arid House, which Weston translated into an unsettlingly meaty scent! Aside from that one, the eight fragrances created for the show are available through the perfumers’ sites - so visitors can quite literally experience the scents of the Garden at home.

F: Most of us won’t be able to visit the exhibit in person, but you offer a wonderful virtual tour for us to explore. I’m delighted to see that you offer so many opportunities to smell! Why was it important for you to include active smelling, and what does scent add that simply viewing can’t?

N: Thank you for mentioning the virtual tour! I’m so glad our Garden’s Digital Interpretation team made it possible for anyone to access the exhibit online, though I do wish we’d figured out how to let visitors smell virtually! In curating Smelling the Bouquet, I wanted scent to be central, not secondary. The idea of a ‘spectrum’ of smells became a kind of mandate: I wanted to include sweet, spicy, and complex aromas that reveal the incredible range of volatile organic compounds plants produce. Limiting it to just a few wouldn’t have captured that diversity, or sparked curiosity. With nearly three dozen scents, visitors can explore as much or as little as they like. Ultimately, my goal was to help people build confidence and curiosity around their sense of smell: to engage their noses, share impressions, and expand their own olfactory vocabulary.

F: The exhibit shows how plants use volatile organic compounds to communicate. Could you share a favorite example of this plant “language” in action?

N: Yes! Even though humans have learned to harness plant fragrances, the VOCs plants create were never meant for us. One of my favorite parts of the exhibition is the research and information shared by two members of the Ramirez Lab at UC Davis, which studies the function and evolution of chemical signaling in orchid bees (and other organisms) and plants. Jasen Liu studies orchid floral scent and functional morphology, and Marissa Sandoval investigates the chemical ecology of an orchid bee mating system across different levels of biological organization. You can learn more about their work in this great video. At our ‘sniffing table,’ visitors can smell six VOCs most prized by male orchid bees (Euglossa dilemma), who collect and blend these compounds - like eugenol, p-dimethoxybenzene, myrcene, beta-pinene, limonene, and cineole (eucalyptol) - to create their own perfumes for attracting mates! Each species has its own unique perfume, which may even drive their evolution. To human noses, these scents are sharp and spicy rather than delicate, but it’s fascinating to think how irresistible they are to the bees.

F: Your gardens offer fragrant plants that have been part of human culture for thousands of years. Is there an ancient practice in the exhibit that still feels alive today?

N: One of the most historic scent practices featured in the exhibition is the smell of incense, or the use of different plant materials that are burned for different cultural practices. The word perfume itself comes from the Latin per fumum, meaning ‘through smoke,’ and the craft of perfumery is thought to have begun in ancient Mesopotamia around 7,000 years ago. Incense remains central to many religious and cultural traditions to this day. In the exhibition, I highlight classic materials like oud and frankincense, as well as resinous plants from Central and South America - such as palo santo and copal - used in both Indigenous ceremonies and Catholic rituals. Together, they show how the ancient act of scenting through smoke continues to connect people across time and cultures.

F: Are there any scents in the exhibit that you think will transport people somewhere unexpected? Can you describe one?

N: Such a good question! Many of the scents I chose were ones I felt could instantly transport visitors to a specific memory or place - especially Madagascar vanilla. It’s one of the most recognizable and beloved scents worldwide, and I expect many people will associate it with something or someone meaningful. Other fragrances, like rose, jasmine, and the spicy eugenol compound that gives cloves their distinctive aroma, also tend to evoke strong personal memories. I love the idea that a single sniff can open a doorway to those moments.

F: What’s one way children, and adults, can turn smelling plants into a playful discovery?

N: One fun way to get everyone sniffing is simply to slow down and smell the plants around you. Notice what makes each scent unique - especially if it’s new to you - and then return a few days later to see how it’s changed or how your memory of it has evolved. Ask yourself: does this scent remind you of someone or something, and why? You can also turn it into a game: close your eyes and have someone offer you a scent to identify. These simple activities strengthen the connection between smell and memory while exercising a very special part of our brain in a fun way.

F: How do you think plant scents connect us across cultures, even if we’ve never visited the same places?

N: I think plant scents connect us across cultures in several ways. Many plants - like roses, vanilla, and incense - have traveled the globe for thousands of years, so people from different regions share experiences of their aromas. Even unfamiliar plants often contain VOCs similar to ones we already know, creating links to our memories and experiences.

F: Artisan perfumers Shawn Maher and Weston Adam created interpretive fragrances for the exhibit. Why was this important to include in the exhibit?

N: Truly, Shawn and Weston’s work in the exhibition was crucial to realizing the main scent experiences of the exhibition. They provided all the perfumery absolutes and used their expertise to interpret the incredible botanical scents from the Garden’s living collections. Shawn created scents for water lily, ixora (an endangered Madagascan plant), woolly lavender, and witch hazel; Weston created scents for baobab, campanita (which blooms and gives off scent in the evening), tuberose, gardenia, and carrion flower. These are plants whose flowers are not always well known to the general public, or which prove to be elusive in perfumery. I feel very lucky that I was able to work with them both on this project; they are such talented perfumers and their abilities are absolutely extraordinary when it comes to interpreting these live botanical scents into perfumes.

F: The exhibit also features Gayil Nalls’ botanical scent artwork World Sensorium. How does her artwork change or deepen how people think about botanical scents?

N: The 2025 edition of World Sensorium, which I commissioned Gayil to create for the exhibition, features aromatic plants from 195 countries. Visitors are often left speechless by the sheer scope and diversity it represents, showcasing the global importance of aromatic plants. I think they are also very taken with the actual scent of the piece; it’s floral and woody and sweet in a way that is so complex, that they can almost sense the multitude of plants included.

F: What do you hope visitors feel, or notice differently, after going through the exhibit? What impressions do you hope people leave with?

N: I hope visitors leave the exhibition truly impacted by the scents! At a basic level, I want them to appreciate the role of scent in their lives and pay more attention to the smells around them. I hope that visitors start appreciating the varied scents that are out there to experience, and not be so concerned about whether or not the smells are “good” or “bad” - or even whether or not they like them - but in fact I hope that they just want to exercise their sniffers as often as they can and then want to learn more about olfaction. For me, scent is such an important sense, and I derive much meaning and joy from the scents I experience - regardless of whether or not they are pleasant to me - that I would like to see more of that dialogue out in the world.

F: Lastly, how might someone transform a simple walk through their local botanical or community garden into a more sensory experience with plants, drawing on what this exhibit reveals about scent?

N: I’m always thinking of ways I can add scent into my daily experiences, especially now that I have curated this exhibition. One simple approach is interacting with plants you already enjoy - rosemary is a favorite of mine. I brush it with my hands whenever I pass by, letting its powerful aroma linger on my skin and in the air. Of course, it’s important to stick to plants you know well (there are some prickly and allergenic plants out there!), but herbs like oregano, marjoram, lavender, and sage are great for this. Even on neighborhood walks, I take the time to smell flowers along the sidewalk - like irises, hostas, and others - which may not hit like a rose, but their scent is unique nonetheless, and I enjoy adding more smells to my olfactory memory when I can.

Nezka Pfeifer is an interdisciplinary museum curator who develops botanically-themed exhibitions at the Stephen and Peter Sachs Museum at the Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis, a world-renowned research and horticultural organization. She focuses on projects where botany, culture, and art are intertwined through exhibition narratives and multicultural experiences.

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This week on my podcast An Aromatic Life:

In this week’s episode, I sit down with aromatherapist, herbalist, and botanical perfumer Sharon Falsetto Chapman to explore how plants and scent can be powerful partners in healing and self-discovery.

Sharon shares her deeply personal journey, from leaving an abusive marriage and facing chronic illness, to rebuilding her life through gardening, aromatherapy, and the art of natural perfumery.

She reflects on how tending to plants and creating with scent helped her reconnect to nature, emotion, and creativity after years of suppression. We discuss how connecting with plants can ground and heal us through difficult transitions, the importance of building a healing relationship with plants instead of simply using them, what perfumery has taught Sharon most, and how scent can express who we are and help us grow into who we want to be.

Sharon also introduces her new line of botanical perfumes inspired by classic Hollywood women like Audrey Hepburn and Louise Brooks.

This episode is a gentle reminder that healing can begin with something as simple as a single potted plant, a walk through a garden, or the scent that brings you back to yourself.

You can listen to this episode and many more on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

TOP NOTES - UPLIFTING NEWS

Transforming Reclaimed Coal Mine Land Into Thriving Lavender Fields

I’ll begin with something that isn’t so much in the news, but certainly is uplifting! I recently sat down with Jocelyn Sheppard, founder of the Appalachian Botanical Company, on my podcast An Aromatic Life to talk about how she helped transform reclaimed coal mine land in West Virginia into thriving lavender fields. It’s an incredibly inspiring story about second chances for both land and people. Jocelyn shares the challenges of starting an agricultural business in Appalachia, the reward of creating job opportunities for people in the region, the joy in working with local communities, the importance of zero-waste practices, and the future of Appalachian lavender in both regional and national markets. Have a listen to take a break from the regular doomsday news out there. Go to Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. And then go to her website and try out some of her products. Use the code AROMATIC15 for 15% off your total purchase (valid through 11/30/2025).

Helping Prisoners Connect With Scent Memories

In Liverpool, lecturer Michael O’Shaughnessy has been running workshops called Perfume Stories inside local prisons, using scent as a bridge to memory. Participants are given small vials of fragrance and asked to write or draw the memories those smells unlock. For many, it’s the first time they’ve reflected on their past in years. The project aims to take prisoners back to happier times.

HEART NOTES - DEFINING NEWS

The Future of Medicine? An E-Nose That Can Detect Disease

Scientists are actively building “electronic noses” that can sniff out diseases from the chemicals our bodies naturally give off. Using lab-grown human smell sensors and AI, these devices can detect illnesses like Parkinson’s, cancer, diabetes, and brain injuries, sometimes years before symptoms appear. Specially trained dogs can already do this with amazing accuracy, but having machines could be game-changing. It’s possible that one day a quick breath or skin swab might replace needles, hospital visits, and even catch diseases before you feel sick.

Can GLP-1 Drugs Change Our Sense of Smell?

I came across this article, My GLP-1 Medication Changed the Way Perfume Smells to Me, in April and I found it so intriguing. The author noticed a significant change in her sense of smell, for the worse: vanilla scents made her nauseous, musky scents smelled metallic, floral notes felt heavy and sticky. On Reddit forums, too, people were reporting phantom smells, greater disgust for particular foods they were eating, and terrible body odors. Even the NY Times’ The Daily Podcast recently had an episode about how those on the drug have seen a change in their mood and interest in sex. So far these are all anecdotal accounts - no scientific studies have been done yet - so we can’t be sure there’s a link to the sense of smell. But it sure seems intriguing, and is something I’ll continue to monitor. I still might write a separate article about it in the future.

BASE NOTES - LASTING NEWS

Smell Loss May Be More Widespread Than We Think

A systemic review (July 2025) pooled data from more than 175,000 people and found that about 29% of them showed measurable smell dysfunction, yet only 9.5% self-reported any problem! That’s a huge gap between how many people actually have smell loss and how few realize it. This suggests that millions may be living with reduced sensory awareness, which of course affects their nutrition, mood, and safety, without connecting those changes to their sense of smell. The authors point to this discrepancy as one of the biggest barriers to diagnosis and treatment, and as a sign of how underappreciated smell still is in both medicine and everyday life.

Shalimar by Guerlain Celebrates Its 100 Year Anniversary

Speaking of lasting, the iconic perfume Shalimar celebrates its 100th birthday this year. Launched in 1925 and inspired by the love story of Emperor Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, it was one of the first perfumes to fully embrace the “amber” style, blending rich vanilla, smoky incense, and delicate floral notes into a sensual, enduring composition.

Renowned Master Perfumer Alberto Morillas of Calvin Klein CK One, Giorgio Armani Acqua di Giò and Marc Jacobs Daisy fame once said, “If you ask me what is the greatest fragrance ever created, I’d say Guerlain Shalimar.”

The fragrance was famously ador(n)ed by the likes of Rita Hayworth, Frida Kahlo, Louise Brooks, Brigitte Bardot, and Bianca Jagger, and helped define modern perfumery by setting a standard for elegance, mystery, and romance that still resonates today. Proof that true classics never fade!

I’ll leave you with a funny cartoon that’s in the spirit of the season:

I feel lucky because my husband loves to paint with oil on canvas, and our walls are filled with his creations (ie. above).

So the other day I was sitting admiring the painting, when I got this idea to experiment with smelling. I went to the kitchen and grabbed some of my herbs and spices, brought them back, and began, one by one, lifting them up to my nose while I viewed the composition.

It was fascinating.

As I smelled dried rosemary, the green elements became more vivid. Then I scratched the peel of a lemon and smelled - the yellow suddenly popped from the canvas. Even when I smelled whole black peppercorns, the subtle dark nuances began to emerge. It turns out that smelling can enhance color perception.

There are all kinds of studies out there evaluating how smells can influence what we see. Here just a few, if you’re the curious type and like to go down rabbit holes like I do:

Scents can influence our perception of color

Scents can influence visual perception of movement

Scents can influence visual perception by affecting how visual scenes are analyzed and processed

Speaking Of Which …

In this week’s episode of An Aromatic Life, In-Glorious Smell-O-Vision co-director and producer Tammy Burnstock, and historical scent technology aficionado Jas Brooks, share how bringing scent into movie theaters deepens our connection to the story on screen.
Listen here, or wherever you get your podcasts.

But then I thought, what if I look at an old photo and just try to conjure the smell in my head. I try to imagine what the olfactory experience might have been like. Will that work?

I stared at the photo for a few minutes and imagined bringing the memory to life through smell. The sharp, fresh green notes of the grass, the floral, sweet whiffs of the apple blossoms on the trees, the subtle hint of earthiness from the dirt beneath my feet.

It turns out even this has been studied: Imagining a smell while looking at an image can make the memory feel sharper and more emotional, showing how scents can bring visuals to life in our mind.

There are so many creative ways we can bring our dominantly visual world to life more - make it more vivid, more emotional, and deeply engaging simply by connecting smelling.

So, in this month’s Practices in Smelling, I invite you to exercise your smell muscle and deepen your engagement with your visual world. Here are a few simple exercises you can try out.

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The Oxford dictionary defines literacy as the ability to read and write.

To read is to understand what is said, to interpret what is meant, and to construct personal meaning.

To write is to create ideas, to communicate meaning, and to shape personal thoughts.

Of course, literacy isn’t just about physical books anymore since we’ve moved into the digital realm, but it’s still a mostly visual skill.

Which got me thinking: Why hasn’t smelling been given the same attention?

Should we be literate in smelling?

What if we thought of smelling as a skill, just like reading and writing?

It could look something like this…

At its foundation, smelling is the basic ability to notice an odor, identify it, and tell it apart from other smells (the pillars of smell health). This would be like learning your ABCs, or recognizing shapes on a page before you can read a book.

But what if you went further?

If literacy is about understanding, interpreting, and communicating, then being literate in smelling could mean recognizing nuances through felt emotions (reading): training your attention to subtle differences in smells in everyday life.

Or building specific vocabulary for smell experiences (writing): expanding your descriptive language to accurately convey scents in words.

And, ultimately, expressing and communicating ideas through scent/aroma creation (writing): creating a more flavorful meal or scented ambiance.

Why does it even matter?

Being literate in smelling gives you richer sensory awareness: your world becomes further dimensionalized and connected beyond the default sights and sounds we so heavily rely upon.

It deepens emotional understanding: you become more sensitive to the invisible cues that affect your feelings and the environments you move in. After all smelling is, first and foremost, emotional.

It helps you express experiences that might otherwise be overlooked: you recognize deeper meaning for yourself, and are able to more easily share it with others.

It deepens connection to place and people: smells tell stories about culture, history, and the environment, and smelling creates more meaningful bonds with places and people around us.

What if we tried it? What might it open up - for experience, memory, creativity, connection - if we actually practiced it?

What do you think?

Leave a comment

If you’re still curious, I had a wonderful philosophical discussion about this topic with a librarian and fragrance enthusiast - it’s this week’s episode on my podcast. See below.

This week on my podcast An Aromatic Life:

In this latest episode, I sit down with librarian, fragrance enthusiast, and Paperback Perfumes podcaster Clare Presser to unpack the emerging idea of olfactive literacy: what it means to understand, communicate, and create using our sense of smell.

Together we discuss: Can we read scents the way we read words? How do memory, culture, and emotion shape the way we smell? And what shifts when we begin to develop a deeper awareness and vocabulary around scent?

From the foundational elements of smell health to the parallels with visual and digital literacy, and from perfumers crafting scent narratives to wearers interpreting them through lived experience, this episode is full of scent-loving curiosity.

If you’re fascinated by the language of smell and the many ways it connects us to ourselves and the world around us, this is an episode for you.

You can listen to this episode and many more on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I grew up in the suburbs of London, in a town called Sidcup, with my parents and a tortoiseshell cat named Candy. The neighborhood was a typical middle-class 1930s housing estate with roads lined with trees and semi-detached houses, each house with a long driveway, a garage and large garden.

My mum was a housewife who managed everything in our home; always making sure things were in good order. Mondays were wash day: the laundry would be done, the bathrooms scrubbed, and maybe once a month the floors would get a proper cleaning. She always had the radio on, and would often be singing along as she worked.

My mum was always happy and positive, full of energy, and the life of the house. She was also quietly confident. She had a strong personality, and whatever she said felt like gospel as a kid. Even when she may not have been right, she always spoke with such conviction that you believed her.

She was also very practical, more likely to be in her gardening clothes than dressed up in a glamorous dress and heels. She usually had on an apron and her yellow Marigold rubber gloves. Her hair was always the same: short, permed, and curly.

One of the routines my mum had during the warm summer days, while I was at school, was airing out the house. She’d usually have a window or two open while doing her ironing or polishing the silver. And as the warm, stagnant summer air built up throughout the day, she’d open the french doors in the dining room to create a through-breeze between the front and back of the house.

I remember coming home from school, opening the front door against the pressure of the breeze moving through the house. An interior door usually slammed shut from the force of it and the floor-to-ceiling sheer white linen curtains in the dining room would billow in the breeze. Sometimes they’d catch on the arm of the big leather chair by the door, then slip free again with a whoosh.

But it was the smell that really hit me: smooth and airy, like a whisper moving through the house. It made me feel secure, but also free. It’s clean, warm, a little floral from the garden flowers and slightly green from the cut grass. A comforting smell that feels like a snug blanket, or a joyful, quietly confident person greeting me at the door.

There’s also a soundtrack that accompanies the smell: lawnmowers in the distance, dogs barking, children playing, the clinking of plates as neighbors prepared dinner with their kitchen doors open.

To me the smell is the sense of anticipation and excitement. If my mum was getting to the point where she’s opening everything up that means there's only so much more time until school holidays. But it’s also the simple joy of being home. I’d drop my schoolbag by the front door, take off my shoes, and then there was always tea and a biscuit waiting. That was part of the routine too.

The smell makes me feel secure because I’m home. I’ve made it to the end of the day, and that smell means safety. Every time I think of it, it’s that feeling of security, even though all the doors and windows are wide open. That’s the paradox: the openness is the security.

But it’s more than just safety, it’s liberation. The smell makes me feel light, like I’m walking on air, because it’s summertime. Even though it’s just an ordinary weekday, the light and the smell lift the day. They lift the weight of whatever worries I had.

Now I live in North Carolina, where summers are hot and heavy with humidity, and everything has to stay shut tight with the air conditioning on. The only times I can open the doors and windows are in spring, before the heat settles in, or sometimes in autumn before the bitter cold arrives. But it’s not the same. Autumn here doesn’t feel fresh; it still carries the weight of summer. Spring is fresh, yes, but it doesn’t have the warmth of the sun and real breezes are rare.

Unfortunately, I can’t truly recreate the smell, but when I do manage to catch a cross-breeze in the house, the feeling of home immediately comes back.

If the scent had a sound, what would it be? A whisper.

If the scent had a color, what would it be? Light grey.

If the scent had a texture, what would it be? Smooth.

If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? To be happy. To embrace what you have, to be grateful for it, and to make the most of what’s right in front of you. It’s not about material things at all. It's about love, freedom, and creating a safe space.

SHARE YOUR SCENT MEMORY

Write me and bring your scent memory to the project.

This summer a study from the MIT Media Lab made news for its alarming findings on what ChatGPT might be doing to our mental sharpness.

Participants were put into 3 groups: ChatGPT, Google, and “Brain-only”, and over 3 sessions were asked to write essays from prompts like “Does true loyalty require unconditional support?”, “Should we always think before we speak?”, and “Is a perfect society possible or even desirable?”.

Then in the 4th session the ChatGPT group was asked to write the same essay using only their brain, and the “Brain-only” group was asked to use ChatGPT.

The aim of the study was to get a better understanding of the neural activations during the essay-writing process, and to assess the cognitive engagement and load used.

What they discovered was fascinating.

Those that were using ChatGPT first, and then had to switch and use just their brain, showed weaker neural connectivity and cognitive engagement.

The “Brain-only” group, on the other hand, showed the strongest, widest neural connectivity when first writing the essay on their own and then switching to ChatGPT. In fact, rewriting an essay using ChatGPT engaged more extensive brain network interactions.

The “Brain-only” group also had higher memory recall, unlike the ChatGPT group which wasn’t easily able to quote from the essays they wrote just minutes before.

While the study hasn’t yet been peer-reviewed, and there were several limitations, like low sample size and sample diversity, it’s a glimpse into learning how our brain might evolve as we start to use large-language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT more.

The study got me thinking: is the temptation to use ChatGPT too great? Is it the junk food of our time? Cheap, accessible, convenient, and satisfying?

The lure of not having to put effort into problem-solving or idea-creation might help us in the short-term (saves time), but what does using the tool day after day, week after week, year after year, do to our ability to critically think in the long term?

Case in point - the tools are so good that you don’t need to think about what something smells like, or figure out what words to use. Just this year the descriptors have gotten increasingly more nuanced and rich.

Well, I’d like to suggest that using your nose might be the perfect antidote. Why?

Direct Experience

Smelling is one of the most intimate experiences we can have because you’re literally drawing odor molecules into your nose. Experiencing it firsthand is a physical, embodied act that no AI description can replace.

Personal Meaning

When you describe a smell, you’re using the thinking parts of your brain, and building your own odor vocabulary. These words are personal and become anchors to memories, associations, and emotions that are unique to you. If AI gives you a description, you’re just borrowing language, not deepening your own - no thinking required.

Sharper Perception

Like tasting wine or listening to music, active smelling sharpens perception. By sniffing and describing, you train your brain to notice subtleties you’d otherwise miss. If AI describes it for you, no mental effort is required - just empty calories: fast food served on a platter.

So, unlike digital shortcuts, that nose right in front of you, that you always carry around, is a really powerful tool for mental training and curiosity.

Did you know that it’s World Alzheimer's Month? I want to let you know about a fascinating conversation this week on my podcast An Aromatic Life, with neuropsychologist Alex Bahar-Fuchs, PhD which explores the connection between smell and dementia. He offers some great tips for keeping your mind sharp through smelling.

But here too, in this month’s Practices in Smelling, I invite you to exercise your smell muscle and sharpen your mind. Here’s an exercise to try which is inspired by the study.

Read more

Whenever I go to a friend’s house for dinner, we invariably end up in the kitchen munching away on snacks, a glass of wine in hand, while they put the finishing touches on the meal. Without even thinking, my eyes will drift to their cookbook shelf. I can’t resist grabbing one and thumbing through it while we chat.

I’ll confess, I love cookbooks. There’s nothing I enjoy more than leafing through the pages, reading the background stories, taking in the stunning photography, and scanning through the recipes for creative inspiration. Maybe the physical cookbook, like all books, are becoming a relic of a bygone age, but to me they’re magical.

Why am I so drawn to them? After all, most people pull recipes straight from the internet for free. Heck, ChatGPT can whip up a custom recipe based on the ingredients I have on hand.

So what is it about a heavy, physical cookbook that feels so good?

The Sensory Experience

Turning the pages of a well-worn cookbook sets off a sensory experience that digital screens just can’t match. It’s an intimate, emotional bond. The dog-eared pages, with their slightly rough feel and a faint, sweet-musty smell mixed with hints of spilled oils and spices, remind me of all the meals cooked and shared over the years. These books become like personal artifacts. There’s something nostalgic about leafing through, even when I don’t plan to cook.

The Story

The best cookbooks take me somewhere new, and teach me about the culinary history of a place. They showcase local ingredients and include spices that have particular meaning for a community. Then when I make the recipe, I’m connected to that part of the world in some small way - I love how recipes can do that. I’ll often create “country theme nights” for my family, whether that’s Mexican, Japanese, Indian, etc. so we can fully immerse ourselves in a culture. Honestly, it feels like going on a vacation.

The Comfort

This is hard to put into words because it's just a feeling I have when I sit with a cookbook. It feels safe and warm - comforting. There’s a familiarity to them that you can’t get from a digital recipe. Maybe it’s the sensory experience that I mentioned before - the tactile and olfactory proximity. But it’s more than that. They give me a sense of connection and place. The reminder of simpler times when people shared family recipes out of love, and for inclusion.

The Inspiration

I get to go into the mind of a Creative. Someone has taken the time to curate a whole collection of cohesive recipes based on a given theme. That brings me so much inspiration to try new ingredients, combine them in different ways, and experience flavors I didn’t even know existed. To me good cookbooks are an art form, often oozing with innovation.

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I’m curious if you enjoy cookbooks? And, if so, what is it about them that draws you in? Leave me a comment and let me know.

This week on my podcast An Aromatic Life:

In honor of World Taste & Smell Day, in this week's whiff of wisdom, photographer, food writer, and cookbook author Saghar Setareh shares how the food of her adopted country Italy became a lantern and a mirror for her to more deeply explore the cuisine of her homeland Iran. To listen to the original full episode go to episode #88.

You can hear this conversation, and many more, on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Every once in a while a novel comes along that feels like it was written just for us scent lovers. New York Times best-selling author Francesca Serritella’s Full Bloom is one of those books that I want to share with you today (note: this is not a paid endorsement, just my humble recommendation 😊).

I was lucky enough to get an advanced copy this summer ahead of my podcast interview with the author, and I devoured the story. It’s juicy, captivating, and infused with scent at every turn - it’s that good. In fact, I’m not the only one who thinks so. Shortly after its release on August 5th, it’s already become a national bestseller here in the U.S..

THE STORY

The novel follows Iris Sogrin, a 35-year-old woman living in New York City who finds herself stuck: her long-term relationship has ended, her career feels stalled, and she’s going through the motions, waiting for something to go her way.

Then her neighbor, Madame Rapacine, a former Master Perfumer, gifts her a bespoke fragrance for her birthday and everything changes: men notice her, work colleagues finally listen to her ideas, and she discovers a confidence she didn’t even know she had.

The clever part is that the story is even structured like a perfume: the top notes are all about Iris’s first exciting encounters with her new scent, the heart notes are when things start getting intense, and the base notes then dig into the deeper themes like shame, desire, and transformation.

MAKES YOU THINK

While the story centers around a perfume, what I loved was how it also tackles the “ethical” questions around wearing it - which really made me think. When Iris wears the perfume to work and suddenly her voice is heard, is that manipulation or justice? When attraction begins with scent but turns into something deeper, does it matter how it started?

The author also addresses scent’s role in evoking memory and shaping identity. For the main character, Iris, the smell of smoke reminds her of the childhood trauma of losing her parents in a house fire, and that sets her on a journey of figuring out who she really is (no spoiler alerts).

I invite you to listen to my podcast conversation with Francesca because we discuss some really interesting topics around scent’s role in female power, desire, and confidence - and the shame that often holds us back from claiming them.

I think this is a thought-provoking conversation you’ll really enjoy. You can listen on Apple podcast, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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And if you love fragrance, if you’re curious about the power of scent in shaping our lives, or if you simply want to enjoy a beautifully written page-turner, I think Full Bloom is worth checking out.