Practices in Smelling: Presumptions

Being open to the uncomfortable.

I can’t stand the smell of jasmine. Well, actually I used to hate the smell. Let me explain.

For the longest time you couldn’t pay me to wear a floral perfume - especially a really heady white floral scent. I remember in the 90’s, when Estée Lauder’s Pleasures came out, so many of the 30-something women at my work were wearing it. To me it was cloying and overpowering. The smell would linger in the conference room long after the meeting had ended.

Whether it was a scented soap, lotion, or candle, if I experienced a white floral fragrance, I recoiled. The scent of jasmine, in particular, seemed to be everywhere. At least that’s what was written on the product labels. So I quickly made the association that anything white floral had to be jasmine. Of course it could have been others, like tuberose, ylang ylang, or lily of the valley.

By the 2000’s I was working at a fragrance house, smelling all kinds of different scents. Yet still, anytime I came across a heady white floral, I quickly ran away. Most, if not all, of the scents were synthetic because it’s simply too cost prohibitive to create a shampoo, lotion, or candle at an affordable price. Even the fine fragrances were mostly synthetic, with just the odd drop of naturals for marketing effect.

You could say that my presumptions of any white floral scent I came across were always met with discomfort and avoidance. I didn’t even give them a chance.

But one day something changed. The proverbial lightbulb went off.

At the time I had left the fragrance house and was now studying to become a certified aromatherapist. On that day I had to do a deep-dive into jasmine absolute (Jasminum sambac). Of course, I went into the exercise with the preconceived notion that I was going to hate the scent and so was determined to get through the required smelling as quickly as possible.

Lifting the scent strip up to my nose, I could already feel my body recoiling in anticipation. But, after one whiff, the exact opposite experience took place. I was delighted. I took another sniff, then another, and my body began to relax. I was utterly blown away.

I thought to myself, this isn’t jasmine. It can’t be. I know what jasmine smells like - it’s cloying, it’s aggressive, it’s potent and loud. But this scent wasn’t that. Yes, it was a rich, sweet, and heady floral. But it wasn’t overwhelming; it didn’t assault you.

I proceeded to spend the next hour evaluating the scent from all different angles. It soon occurred to me that not only was I falling in love with the smell, but I was developing an entirely new relationship with a scent I had absolutely despised. I now seek out jasmine scents, especially the natural ones. I run towards a jasmine bush and eagerly take in its captivating smell.

The beauty of it all, and why I want to share the experience with you here today, is that each time I smell jasmine, I discover a new facet, an additional nuance that I hadn’t considered before.

I’ve learned that my presumptions about jasmine - those preconceived notions - have kept me from recognizing the hidden beauty and complexity of the scent. All those years, I missed the opportunity to fully appreciate, and truly understand, what the scent of jasmine really is.

Funny enough, I look back now and realize that I actually really liked white floral scents. If you recall my ode to the perfume Anais Anais is a very white floral perfume. And I wore Marc Jacob’s Daisy for many years. Go figure.

All that to say, in this month’s Practices in Smelling, I want to invite you to do the following exercise with a scent you don’t particularly like. Give the smell another chance, experience it in new ways, without presumptions. You might find it nose-opening and, like me, it may soon become your favorite smell.

Here’s the exercise…