Something had changed at Blockbuster and it was not the annual rearrangement of shelves and their culling of the excellent in favor of the trite. I hurried. Taking advantage of my grise, if not eminence, I leaned toward the young man at the check-out and said, "This place smells like vomit". "We are required by management ..." - shades of Nuremberg! Bereft of empathy, he switched off his smile and said, "Due back Wednesday".
Even before middle-age, when phobias translate to self-righteous smugness, I had started a one-man war against other people's smells, and I don't mean BO. So I was pleased, in '95, when I read an article in TNR by Richard Klein titled "Get a Whiff of This". OK, two-man war, I thought. The article was nowhere to be found on line and I had to rummage through my archives for a copy I had squirreled away.
Klein, a professor of French, had previously published the book "Cigarettes are Sublime"; I feel your winces. Though I am still on the cusp of criminality myself in that respect I do not like the smells associated with the vice. The smoke and others' exhalations suck,
and my enjoyment, if not the habit, is a matter of the past. Cigars, that vaunted concomitant of success and those seeking it, are an abomination to me, as is the stench surrounding uncultivated pipe-smokers. It is easy to elicit your sympathy by saying that I too am revolted by the odors that assail me when I come back home from the movies, open a long unused closet, or board a German train (the very worst).
As for that other commonplace, everyone has a threshold of tolerance for body odors that get adjusted up or down depending on who it is that offends. There are those who for little reason are afraid of it in themselves and resort to masking with deodorants. Compassion kicks in when I smell the presence of another so afflicted, but not when they over-compensate for it. When bathing at least once a month was considered a quaint custom of the French rich, hygeine consisted of changing shirts daily, or more often. Rank clothes these days are more objectionable to me than humors that can't be helped.
Aside from my nose and brain, my COPD scarred lungs protest, for perfumes are a health hazard.
It is much harder to justify my extreme reaction to smells that are blithely accepted in society. To me they are stenches and flag the presence of toxins. I had revolted against Blockbuster's tactic of using vanilla sprays
to combat the imagined mustiness of their stores. Flans and the French version
of the ice-cream I relish, but vanilla air? Blechhh! Chocolate covered hazelnuts, yumm, but hazelnut coffee? Blechhh. Wegmans has two grinders for their customers, one for flavored beans, the other for the enlightened. But do the a-holes care?
Guys, what's with the civet piss? The word musk derives from the sanskrit for testicles, if one may trust Wikipedia. And ladies, enough already with the slathering on of name-brand perfumes and hair-sprays; it only attracts civet crotch sniffers. Toiletries poisoned with imitation fruit and vegetable additives, you guessed it, double blechh! And citrus is overdone in everything.
The allure of scents is strong for me too, and I am a snob who finds my preferences justifiable as natural, as opposed to the synthetic that I suspect in all others'. To dispel lingering odors in my kitchen I heat fatwood in an old can and sprinkle frankincense on it. I search for the better grades of that resin in markets when I visit Bangalore. For the bathroom I use a candle heated infuser with diluted oils of vetiver, rosewood and cedar. Addition of oil of sandalwood, or ylang-ylang and patchouli in moderation, to perfume-free shampoos and lotions works for me. I burn a single leaf of sage occasionally in my car with the windows open. (I had once inadvertently left a bundle burning and a neighbor warned, "What have you been smoking? Don't let the cops find out!") And mint is beyond reproach anywhere.
Matters of taste, allergies and personal preferences aside, perfumes are - too slowly - being recognized as a health hazard. When I pass by the laundry products aisle in a supermarket, my lungs seize up; venturing in to pick up detergent makes my eyes water and burn. Once, just before landing, the woman seated next to me in a plane took out a canister and sprayed her hair for a full minute, and I nearly convulsed. Complaints would not have served, might bring on hostility instead.
So I beg of you : educate your nose, wake up and smell the (unadulterated) coffee, use your head, and have a heart. To that end, please read Richard Klein's informative article. [Download GetAWhiff]
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