Today is the start of the men’s soccer World Cup, which takes place every four years and, in this go-around, is being hosted by Canada, USA, and Mexico. The sporting event is arguably the largest in the world, with a projected 6 billion global engagements across TV, streaming, and digital platforms. For reference and scale, the last final held in Qatar drew 1.42 billion viewers (that’s more than three Super Bowls combined!). So, it’s a big deal and, for the first time, there are going to be over 48 countries represented. Chances are you’ll experience the hype whether you like it or not.

Now, why would someone who writes about the sense of smell even care about this? It’s a sporting event, big deal. There’s already enough being written about the subject. (incl. the rampant corruption surrounding FIFA and U.S. politics) so what could I possibly add?

Well, for me it’s personal. I’m a huge soccer fan. I’ve been engrossed in the game for years now, firstly through my husband’s deep devotion to Manchester United (which rubbed off on the rest of the family), but also because both of our boys played competitively for years. Soccer has been a constant in my life and I truly believe it’s the beautiful game.

Not for the usual reasons, but for something that has nothing to do with how it’s played: it’s the community, connection, and belonging it creates across language, culture, and borders. Wherever we traveled, the boys kicked a ball with the local kids and it didn’t matter that they spoke a different language because soccer was the language - they always felt a connection.

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what nobody else is writing about: the smell of the game.

Soccer is saturated with smells - some deliberate, most invisible. The sport has an entire sensory dimension that nobody talks about because we don’t have the language or the cultural habit of noticing smells. But it’s there, so let’s sniff around.

THE SMELL OF PREPARATION

Let’s begin with the pitch (that’s a field for those not familiar) because without it there is no game. FIFA mandates natural grass for all World Cup matches, and interestingly the type used is quite nuanced across the 16 stadiums depending on climate. In cooler cities like Toronto and Seattle they use Kentucky bluegrass and perennial ryegrass, while in hotter cities like Miami and Guadalajara they use Bermuda grass. With the anticipation of play, you can detect the most subtle scent of cis-3-hexenal (crushed leaf smell) hovering in the air as the grounds crew readies for the game. That’s because we humans are incredibly sensitive to this compound, and are able to detect it at a concentration of just 0.25 parts per billion.

Then there’s the players’ pregame ritual of using Vicks VapoRub ™ on their chest or shirt. Famously popularized by Patrick Vieira (France), it’s now ritualistically applied by many present-day players, including Vinícius Júnior (Brazil). While science says the benefits are largely placebo, the strong camphorous, menthol, eucalyptus scent does help clear nasal congestion and stimulate sensory receptors which tricks the brain into feeling like breathing is easier and deeper during high-intensity running.

And let’s not forget the smelling salts. Inhaling this strong, sharp, pungent ammonia odor is becoming very popular among soccer players before the game (you can spot players taking a big whiff in the tunnel before they walk out). Sniffing triggers an involuntary reflex that spikes adrenaline, and your heart rate, with the benefit of instantly giving a short-lived burst of mental sharpness and focus.

THE SMELL OF PLAY

Once the whistle blows, the pitch comes alive with a crescendo of distress signals - every step, every slide tackle, every sprint releases shouts of green leaf volatiles. But depending on where you are, the olfactory impressions can vary: in cooler places Kentucky bluegrass and perennial ryegrass release a sweet, traditional, cleanly “green” scent, while in warmer places Bermuda grass produces a pungent, sharp, earthy, and distinctly herbal scent.

Up in the stands, crowds of tightly packed bodies release their own collective stress signal: the unified groan when a shot goes wide, the held breath before a penalty, the eruption when a goal goes in. Imagine 80,000+ people on their feet, arms up, mouths open, screaming. What a cacophony of smells! Clearly we’re not just watching the game, but we’re also breathing it in.

The exact smell is hard to describe. It’s more of a feeling in your body. Even if you’ve never been to a soccer game, I would compare it to going to a concert. That “collective effervescence”, the emotional energy that emerges when people have a shared experience. THAT has a unique smell that’s hard to pinpoint, but you know it when you’re in it because your senses are totally alive.

Maybe the most olfactory dense moment is at halftime in the locker room, when smells are particularly “ripe”. 15-20 bodies in a humid space that quickly fills with the odors of sweat-soaked synthetic uniforms and foam shin guards, grass-stained cleats, and lots of heavy breathing. While I couldn’t find an exact quote, several sources described the smell as “overwhelming.” Seems about right.

THE SMELL OF VICTORY AND DEFEAT

Having gone to enough games now, I feel there’s also an olfactory experience at the final whistle. To me, winning smells loud, bright, deep, wide, and strong: armpits raised, mouths open, bodies turned inside out with pure elation. It’s totally visceral. And losing has another smell. It’s not the absence of smell so much as it’s a sudden softness. The adrenaline drops, the salty tears come out, only to be buried in shirts and scarves.

As the stadium empties and the energy drops, what’s left behind is the smell of spilled beer and discarded food. The stadium quiets and the air becomes stale. What we take with us are memories, including olfactory memories.

Soccer creates a shared sensory experience. You step into a stadium anywhere in the world and it smells more or less the same. The grass releases the same signature green, crushed leaf scent. The exuberant crowd smells the same. The menthol cloud in the tunnel before kickoff is the same.

It turns out that these aren’t just soccer smells. They’re a shared human olfactory language that doesn’t require translation. The collective sensory experience speaks for itself, and is stored in the body and mind.

That’s the beautiful game - smells have been there the whole time. We just forget to notice.

References:

FIFA projects 6 billion viewers for the 2026 World Cup: it will be the most-watched event in history. https://www.merca20.com/fifa-projects-6-billion-viewers-for-the-2026-world-cup-it-will-be-the-most-watched-event-in-history/

What Kind of Grass Do I Have? Complete Visual Identification Guide (2026)

https://whatgrassisthis.com/blog/what-kind-of-grass-do-i-have-visual-identification-guide

Wikipedia: Smell of Freshly Cut Grass. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smell_of_freshly_cut_grass

Eccles, Ronald. (2003). Menthol: Effects on nasal sensation of airflow and the drive to breathe. Current allergy and asthma reports. 3. 210-4. 10.1007/s11882-003-0041-6.

Do smelling salts help Everton players breathe or is it just the latest fad? https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/2503374/2021/04/08/do-smelling-salts-help-everton-players-breathe-or-is-it-just-the-latest-fad/

The Smell of the Game: Lukas Podolski on Fragrance, Football, and the Thrill of Victory, https://2787perfumes.com/blogs/in-the-know/in-conversation-with-world-champion-and-fragrance-enthusiast-lukas-podolski

Pizarro, José J et al. “Emotional processes, collective behavior, and social movements: A meta-analytic review of collective effervescence outcomes during collective gatherings and demonstrations.” Frontiers in psychology vol. 13 974683. 31 Aug. 2022, doi:10.3389/fpsyg.2022.974683

Rohto Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd. / BÉLAIR LAB × Iwaki FC. (August 2020). New green scent effective at reducing mental fatigue and anxiety, latest soccer game study shows. Press release.

Last winter I went to Japan, my favorite place in the world. If you’ve been there, you know it’s one of the most visually intoxicating places you can experience. Everywhere you look there’s beauty to behold. The perfectly symmetrical temples and shrines, the colorful and impeccably packaged foods and confections, the splendor of nature’s colors and coherence.

The country is truly a feast for the eyes. So much so that every evening my eyes stung as much as my feet ached from all the walking.

But what deeper layers of experience did I miss traveling sight-first?

That’s what I began asking myself after listening to a fascinating episode from the NY Times podcast The Daily last Sunday. The topic was about a NY Times photographer who toured India through the travel agency TravelEyes, which pairs visually impaired travelers with sighted travelers, as equal travelers. The aim of the match-up is to engage all of your available senses, share what you find, and have a truly multi-sensory travel experience. You can listen to the full episode here, but I wanted to share some of the insights that caught my attention.

On one excursion through Delhi, the photographer was paired with a blind man who asked to have everything they came across be described to them in detail: the black and white painted curbs, the roadside vendors displaying potato chip bags over the front of their stands like colored beads, the neat car lane lines that were universally ignored.

While being challenged to give descriptive details, and slow down accordingly, the sighted photographer realized that he was invited to focus on the ordinary elements that quietly defined a place. He was being led to see the unremarkable things that he’d normally pass over, which was sharpening his attention to detail, and giving him a more vivid impression of the place. For the blind traveler who was focused on what he was hearing, feeling, and smelling, the added visual descriptors gave him a more complete understanding of what was in front of him.

On another excursion, the photographer was paired with a blind woman who wanted to better understand the reality of everyday life for the people of India. The photographer pointed out the grittier aspects of the country: the laundry hanging out the window of apartment buildings, men threading marigold garlands for temples, men selling mangoes from their modified rickshaws. He also described the emotions on people’s faces. The blind woman, in turn, shared how a little child patted her leg, which made her reach out to feel their hand, only to discover how rough the hand felt. She wondered what the child might have been through? How do they live? Together they were discovering the true humanity of the place.

I have to say, I was really happy to hear an episode about the senses from a prominent media outlet - here’s to more where that came from! There’s so little focus on multi-sensory experiences that even the slightest mention gets me excited, and makes my mind churn with ideas … more on that in a minute.

But I was also sad, and disappointed …

What struck me, sitting with the episode, was what none of the travelers mentioned once: the smells. India specifically is known for its riches of smells! No mention of the scent of the marigold garlands, or the sweet smell of the ripe mangoes in the Delhi heat. Surely there must have been even the slightest whiff of incense moving through every temple district they passed. Not a single mention. None. Imagine that, a podcast about the limits of sight-first travel producing a provocatively told, completely smell-free account of India. This is how invisible smell remains, even when we’re actively asked to pay attention.

All of this got me thinking about how I might travel differently moving forward. Whether it’s revisiting the familiar or exploring new places. What happens when we dim our dominant sense of sight and allow ourselves to be led by the nose? How can that open up a new appreciation for a place and its people?

I have a few ideas:

Smell first. Arrive somewhere new (or old) and give yourself thirty seconds to simply take in the smells. What does this place smell like before your vision takes over and runs the show?

Notice changes. Then, as you move through a place, notice how the smells change - from the transit hub, to the food markets, to the residential backstreets, to the parks. Every city has its own smellscapes, and moving between them tells you something a map never could. Smell the ordinary infrastructure too: the water, the rain on hot pavement, the inside of a bus or train. These things vary more between countries than almost anything you’ll photograph.

Ask others to take part. If you’re feeling bold, ask a local to share what their city smells like to them. Most have never been asked. I imagine the answers will be unexpectedly specific, and potentially moving.

Keep a record. Finally, alongside your camera roll, keep a smell log. One note per place, per day (record it in your phone notes - I love my voice memo app!). You’ll be surprised what rich memories the smell descriptors will evoke that your photos can’t.

Let me know how it goes! I always love to hear. Leave me a comment below.

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With summer just around the corner, as I like to do every year, today I want to share a few olfactory books I’m excited to read from the comfort of my hammock this summer. Let me know what you’re reading!

How Flowers Made Our World: The Story of Nature’s Revolutionaries (2026, Viking)

By David George Haskell

I interviewed David for my podcast last year to talk about his book Thirteen Ways To Smell A Tree, and in that conversation he teased this book. I was so happy when it finally came out earlier this year, and I got to read it. It’s incredibly rich with insights and goes well beyond the stereotypes we project onto flowers. I also interviewed David about the book for this Substack a few weeks ago. My biggest takeaway - flowers are treated exactly the same way as the sense of smell. They’re totally underrated and ignored. Go figure. Have a read and you’ll see for yourself.

Publisher Summary: An exquisite exploration of the power of flowers, placing them at the center of the story of how evolution created the world we know today. We live on a floral planet, yet flowers don’t get the credit they deserve. We admire them for their aesthetics, not their world-changing power. Inspired by the most up-to-date scientific research, David George Haskell observes, smells, and studies flowers such as magnolias, orchids, and roses, as well as fascinating but less well-known flowers such as seagrasses, to show us what we’ve been missing.

Olfactory Worldmaking (2026, University of Minnesota Press)

By Hsuan L. Hsu

I just came across this book and found the concept so intriguing. If you don’t know, Hsuan also wrote The Smell of Risk (2020), which made me think about the role smell plays in our life in totally new ways. I can only imagine this book will do the same - can’t wait!

Publisher’s Summary: Smell is a vital, if underappreciated, medium through which we inhabit and imagine the world. In Olfactory Worldmaking, Hsuan L. Hsu traces how olfactory experience communicates across visceral, material, and affective registers to offer new ways of relating, which challenge the extractive logics of racial and colonial capitalism. Blending environmental humanities, sensory studies, and critical ethnic studies, the book highlights how scent animates suppressed histories and marginalized memories.

Spice: The 16th-Century Contest That Shaped the Modern World (2024, Yale University Press)

By Roger Crowley

I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m obsessed with spices and history. So, when I came across this book I knew I had to read it. More than just flavor for our food, spices left an indelible mark on how our world is shaped today. And I think that will make for a delicious read!

Publisher’s Summary: The story of the sixteenth-century’s epic contest for the spice trade, which propelled European maritime exploration and conquest across Asia and the Pacific. Spices drove the early modern world economy, and for Europeans they represented riches on an unprecedented scale. Cloves and nutmeg could reach Europe only via a complex web of trade routes, and for decades Spanish and Portuguese explorers competed to find their elusive source. But when the Portuguese finally reached the spice islands of the Moluccas in 1511, they set in motion a fierce competition for control. Roger Crowley shows how this struggle shaped the modern world.

Symbolorum: The Secret Wisdom of Emblems (2025, Abbeville Press)

By Mandy Aftel

This is yet another treasure from Berkeley-based natural perfumer Mandy Aftel. It’s a different kind of book than her others, more visual and contemplative, but unmistakably Mandy. Because it’s structured a little differently, you can read one emblem and sit with it for a while. I plan on leaving the book on my nightstand and reading one at a time throughout the summer. If you’re curious how this book came to be, and how it ties in perfectly with her perfume work, you can listen to my conversation with Mandy about the book in this podcast episode.

Publisher’s Summary: Discover the esoteric insights and enchanting imagery of the Baroque emblem book - a long-lost cousin of the tarot. Aftel presents one hundred emblems from the Symbolorum et Emblematum of Camerarius, originally published between 1590 and 1604, with the circular engravings sensitively tinted in watercolor by Aftel herself, alongside translations from the Latin and her own commentary.

Full Bloom: A Novel (2025, Ballantine Books)

By Francesca Serritella

This one’s a page-turner - one that I couldn’t put down. It’s the perfect aromatic read for lazy summer days. The story centers around a perfume, but not in the way you think. It folds in themes of female ambition, sexual power, and the cost of being noticed simply by wearing perfume. While these sound like heavy topics, the read is actually light, fun, and entertaining. If you want to learn more, I had a great conversation with the author on my podcast that you can listen to here.

Publisher’s Summary: A national bestseller. A woman’s life is forever changed by a mysterious perfume in this stunning novel about ambition and untapped desire. Magical realism meets sharp social commentary in a story that asks: Who are you without your inhibitions?

The Perfumist of Paris (2023, MIRA Books)

By Alka Joshi

This is another novel centered around perfume, but focused on creation, ingredients, and cultural heritage. I’m excited to read this one over the summer and escape to France and India from the comfort of my hammock.

Publisher’s Summary: Set in 1970s Paris, Radha’s budding career as a perfumer must compete with the demands of her family and the secrets of her past. Filled with the rich and evocative scents of India and Paris, this novel will transport readers.

Kitchen Chinese: A Novel About Food, Family, and Finding Yourself (2010, Avon)

By Ann Mah

I confess, this one just looked like a fun read that takes me to cultures, and perspectives, I don’t know much about. And what a great way to dive in - through food and flavor. Looking forward to this one.

Publisher’s Summary: In the wake of a career-ending catastrophe, Isabelle Lee takes off for Beijing to stay with her older sister and finds a job writing restaurant reviews for an expat magazine. What she discovers is far more than she bargained for - about China, about her family, and about herself.

The Incense Game: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Novels) (2012, Minotaur Books)

By Laura Joh Rowland

Many of you know that I’m obsessed with Japan, so any opportunity to return there through a juicy novel, with a historical backdrop, and centered around incense - I’m in! I might even burn a little incense to immerse myself more deeply.

Publisher’s Summary: Japan, 1703. A devastating earthquake has left the city of Edo in shambles. When Sano Ichiro discovers the bodies of two young sisters buried beneath the rubble, he suspects that incense poisoning, not the earthquake, killed them. A powerful RT Book Review Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award Winner.

No Place for Plants (2024, self-published)

By Dr. Kelly Ablard & Frauke Galia

Ok, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include some summer reading for the children in your life. I’m really proud of the book we’ve written and I hope the story not only inspires children to connect with Nature more, but to do so through their nose. Listen to the authors’ conversation here.

Publisher’s Summary: What happens when a cherished community garden is threatened to be taken away? The story of one community’s determination to save an urban green space — and what it smells, sounds, and feels like to fight for something you love.

Buy The Book

“We live on a floral planet, yet flowers don’t get the credit they deserve. We admire them for their aesthetics, not their power. Without flowers, human beings would not exist.” So goes the premise of award-winning writer and biologist David George Haskell’s new book “How Flowers Made Our World: The Story Of Nature’s Revolutionaries.”

Released this spring, the book is highly engaging and very informative. I had the chance to interview David about it, and while he’s been active on the press tour, I wanted to take our conversation somewhere most interviewers haven’t really focused on: the smell aspects of the flowers’ story.

Here’s what he had to say.

You argue that 90% of all plant species are flowering plants, yet they’ve been sidelined in the story of how our world came to be. Reading your book, I kept noticing a parallel: the sense of smell is equally pervasive and dismissed, useful but not quite serious, decorative rather than foundational. Does that resonate with you?

Yes, the importance of flowers and of scent is underrated in our culture right now. This has not always been the case. Flowers have been used, in the past, as symbols of royal and imperial power, and the sense of smell has been more central to human experience in many other times and cultures.

Our ideas about gender play a role. In contemporary Western culture, flowers and scent are often boxed into narrow gender roles, rather than being thought of as belonging to and experienced by all genders. This limits the richness of our human experience and also hides essential truths from us, that both flowers and aroma are central to the world’s creativity and interconnectedness.

You describe a shift when flowering plants arrived: the relationship between animals and plants moved from mortal enemies to partners and even servants. How central was scent to driving that shift, and what did it offer that color or shape couldn’t?

When flowers evolved, they created new relationships with pollinating insects. These interconnections vastly increased the efficiency and productivity of reproduction in plants. Scent was central to this revolutionary change. By releasing a plume of aroma, flowers guided insects across large distances, even in dense vegetation where visual sight lines are blocked. Insects are great at following aromatic trails to these sources, and so aroma was a key floral innovation that allowed efficient pollination to evolve.

The surfaces of many petals are essentially living aroma diffusers. The cells on the very top layer of the petals are filled with aromatic oils that waft out into the air. Aroma not only attracts insects, it carries with it nuanced information about the identity and reproductive state of the flower.

This is important because different insects are focused on pollinating different flowers. A beetle interested in magnolia blooms, for example, can distinguish between the magnolia and some other flower from dozens of meters away. Some modern plants have incredibly specific aromas. Orchids, for example, often produce an aroma that speaks to only a single species of insect. The same is true for many figs and yuccas. Even among flowers that are pollinated by multiple species of insects, there is specificity. The blend of aroma produced by different species of wild daffodil is tuned to different groups of insects, with some daffodils releasing aroma melanges that are more attractive to flies, while others release blends that speak to moths or other insects.

Interestingly, if we look at the descendants of the very first flowering plants, species that branched off early in the evolution of flowers, they’re all aromatic. This suggests that aroma was present very early in the evolution of flowers.

The euglossine bees and orchids have one of the more surprising aromatic relationships in your book: the bees don’t collect scent for food, but forage it from multiple flowers to construct their own perfume for courting females. You write that flowering plants each offer “distinctive aroma blends with recognizable profiles”, like competing perfume brands. How do the bees actually bind and carry those scents, and what does their selectivity tell us about how plants evolved to differentiate themselves?

These bees invented perfumery millions of years before humans. The male bees travel from one flower to another literally scraping up the aromatic oils from the flowers. They use brushes on their fore-legs to sweep the perfumed oil to the hind legs where combs squeeze it into grooves and pouches. Sometimes, these will also collect aromas from mushrooms or decaying vegetation. When the male bees are ready to court females, they waft air over the perfumed oils, showing off the distinctive blend that they have created. In this way, the male bees advertise their identity and foraging ability. Standing out in a crowd is important, and so when many bee species and orchid species are all found in the same area, both the bees and the orchids make unique blends. The flowers draw from just under two hundred aroma molecules. Each species of orchid uses between one and six of these for the dominant “notes” in their perfumes, in different combinations and strengths.

You describe the challenge flowers face in getting scent exactly right: attract the right pollinators, repel the wrong visitors. The field mustard plant seems to have solved that problem elegantly - its scent draws bumblebees while actively offending caterpillars. How does a plant arrive at that kind of precision, and what does it tell us about how scent evolves under competing pressures?

Evolution allows flowering plants to fine-tune their aromatic signaling to meet local conditions. This adaptability is especially rapid among plant species that can breed very quickly. Field mustard, for example, can go through many generations in a single year. This allows scientists to do interesting experiments. When the field mustard is grown in places with many bumblebees, but not many caterpillars, floral aroma swiftly evolves to become stronger. In this way, the flowers draw in their favorite pollinator. But, in places with lots of caterpillars, the floral scent actually attracts these leaf-munching pests, and the field mustard evolves a much more muted aroma. These experiments show that, from the perspective of the plant, floral scent has both costs and benefits.

The aromatic profile of every flower is therefore a result of a long “conversation” between the plant and its local environment. In wild tobacco, for example, individual plants can shift their aromatic expressiveness based on local experience. The flowers are usually pollinated by hawkmoths. But if too many hawkmoths are attracted, moth caterpillars can become a real problem. If this happens, the wild tobacco plant will switch off its floral aroma and rely on hummingbirds as the main pollinator.

You describe floral aromas as a language, where chemical variants function like words, and combinations carry meaning. Sometimes they signal to just one or a small number of pollinators, but more often to a broader group. You write that “this variety of aromatic expressivity is created by the richness of ecological relationships.” What does that richness look like in practice? How do those relationships actually shape what a flower says?

The richness is a result of the incredible diversity of ecological relationships. Yucca flowers, for example, are pollinated by a very small number of moth species. The aroma of the yucca flower is therefore finely tuned to the sensory preferences of the moths. In addition, the Yucca flower offers very sticky pollen that only a handful of moth species are able to gather. In return, the moth is a very diligent pollinator, but also exacts a price. The moths lay their eggs inside the yucca flower and the moth caterpillars eat some of the yucca seeds. This tight relationship works for both parties, though, and has existed for at least 40 million years, a bond mediated by the specificity of the flower’s scent.

Sometimes, the aromatic relationship between a flower and its pollinator is deceptive. Some orchids smell just like female wasps. Male wasps are duped into trying to mate with the orchid, acting as a pollinator but getting no reward.

For other flowers, welcoming a wide variety of insects by having an open flower and abundant nectar is a better strategy, especially in places with diverse and unpredictable pollinator communities. Many asters take this route, thriving in multispecies communities.

We tend to relegate floral scents to the bouquet or the perfume bottle: pleasant, but not consequential. Have we underestimated how deeply floral aromas have shaped human evolution, not just our aesthetics, but our biology?

For most of us, yes we radically underestimate the power of aroma, including Floral aroma. People who work with perfumes often have a much deeper and more nuanced understanding. Through both personal experience and centuries of perfumery know-how, we have a lot of cultural knowledge about how aromas affect our feelings, thoughts, and identities. Formal scientific study lags behind perfumery. We lack a map of exactly which aroma molecules stimulate which aroma receptors in our noses. And we lack scientific understanding of how aroma molecules interact with others to change our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.

Intriguingly, some floral aromas are exactly the same molecules that are produced by human skin. Maybe, when we apply floral perfume, we’re giving a little boost to the scents that we most want to emphasize? But most floral aromas are unique to the plant kingdom, and so we express our individuality by becoming chimeric beings. We merge our aroma with that of flowers, and become more ourselves. The “self” becomes a community. This is the original genius of flowers: to link living beings into expansive and creative webs.

At the end of your book, you offer “Invitations to Play with Flowers.” Can you leave us with one aromatic invitation?

Play is a form of joyful curiosity. I hope that readers will enjoy these activities that involve our bodies and senses. The simplest and most powerful is to sit with a flower, maybe for 15 or 30 minutes, and consider the world from the flower’s perspective. Let your senses roam into the many manifestations of a flower, from aroma to texture to color to form. Gently touch. Stems might have sticky or fluffy hairs to slow unwanted insects. Petals can feel warm in the sun and rubbery-cool in the morning. Brush the sexual parts to feel the grip of the stigma and the powdery or granular textures of pollen. Bounce your fingers against the flower, using your kinesthetic sense to understand which parts are stout or pliable. Smell, in short little huffs, then in long inhales.

To whom is the flower speaking? Who are the flower’s collaborators? How did the flower get here? Go beyond first impressions and see where open-ended curiosity takes you. Flowers are great communicators. We just need to take the time to pay attention. As French thinker Simone Weil wrote, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity”. Let’s give flowers some of that generosity and see where it leads.

Learn More About The Book

Visit David’s website: https://dghaskell.com

Connect with David on Instagram @davidgeorgehaskell

If you’re curious about some of David’s other work, have a listen to my conversation with him about his book Thirteen Ways To Smell A Tree, which is also fantastic and worth adding to your collection.

In this episode David explains how trees smell, reveals what aromatic language they use to communicate with other living beings, and spells out how we should smell a tree. He then shares what made him decide to write the book, including how we can re-engage with trees and rebuild connections to the natural world.

David gives an inspiring answer to the question of which one tree we should smell, and reveals which tree smell is most meaningful to him. They then go deep into two of the thirteen smells in the book, the Green Ash tree and Gin & Tonic, where David reveals some intriguing aromatic stories.

He also shares why it’s so important to pay attention and invites the listener to engage in practices of smelling (especially with others). David also explains why he chose to include the link between sound and smell to remind us that all of our senses are connected.

He reveals what he hopes people will take away from the book, what gives him hope for the future, and what’s next for him (hint: it’s his latest book). This is a truly inspiring conversation that you’ll want to come back to again and again.

Listen Here

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?

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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.