What’s that gorgeous smell? It’s pants.

Let’s start this blog post by saying that our sense of smell is a gift. I’m fascinated by smells; I have a keen sense of smell. I can often smell things others can’t. And I love to include smells as an integral part of my writing. It’s evocative.It’s beautiful. Or it’s powerful.

While walking in the woods this morning, I passed sweet honeysuckle, then something that smelled of cat’s pee. I’m guessing it’s boxwood, or elderflower. Scents suggest so much, emotion, memory, physical reaction. It’s no wonder people who sell their homes leave the aroma of coffee and baked bread to make viewers feel immediately at home.

Perfume is a very individual choice. Some people love to smell strongly, others prefer subtle scents. I remember going home as a teenager stinking of patchouli and my mother threatened to put me outside with the cat. Nowadays, I have a limited taste for subtle, musky scents for myself. I’m not one of those women who like to reek of flowers. Nor am I attracted to men wearing the strong aftershave that’s intended to drive women wild. There’s one men’s fragrance – I won’t name it – that reminds me of lavatory cleaner.

Our pheromones are important. They are secreted through bodily glands like sweat and they have a strong impact on human mood, sexuality, and social interactions. It probably isn’t a good idea if we cover natural smells with too strong earthy, smoky, or leathery notes!

The advertising industry bombards us with the myth that artificial smells in our home are a modern necessity. Every house must have a plug-in that constantly bombards us with the powerful smell of flowers. I’m concerned about this – I do burn aroma cones or joss sticks in the house, but I know that there are health risks due to the volatile organic compounds of ‘air fresheners’ if ventilation isn’t good. Chemicals can trigger respiratory issues, headaches, and potentially disrupt hormones.

Toilet fresheners are no better. They can affect air quality and pose health risks. I have one at home, but it’s only ever used by visitors. I can live without it.

I’m concerned that we’re continuously invited to cover our bodies with more chemicals. Adverts suggest we need deodorants and gels and creams that we can’t live without. Yes, I have a shower gel in the bathroom, one that’s free from parabens and SLS, but I’m very cautious about using it too much.

We’re constantly being told through the advertising industry subliminally – perhaps supraliminally – that we all need to smell good. It will make us more attractive, more approachable, more desirable. There’s an advert where a woman kisses her boyfriend passionately because he’s sprayed himself with something sexy, and it makes her dog so jealous it throws the suitor over a balcony.

Warning! If dogs don’t like it, it’s probably not natural.

So imagine my surprise when a I see that new fragrance is available for our ‘lower bodies.’ A man sprays it down his trousers and his crotch is sniffed while he’s playing basketball. Another man sprays his bum and is followed by a besotted woman, nose first, along a row in the cinema.

Shouldn’t there be a law against that?

But it seems that if we spray our pants, we’ll be irresistible.

So I fell about laughing. It’s funny, it really is hilarious to watch.

Although I’m not sure of the health benefits of spraying our nether regions with more chemicals. Or the benefits of masking our natural pheromones with the fragrance of coconut and sandalwood. Since when did we stop wanting to smell – well- normal?

The industry is creating a need and everyone is expected to leap forward and buy it. Apparently it will give us 72 hours of confidence if we smell like pear and cedarwood.

Thanks, but I’m confident enough. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.

A dab of essential oil behind the ears, and I’ll be fine all day. Then I’ll have a shower, even if I don’t need one….

4 thoughts on “What’s that gorgeous smell? It’s pants.

  1. I love the smell of an old book, and sometimes imagine that, over the years, it has absorbed some of the quality of the words it contains. I would love the notion of a slightly scented book, perhaps Cider With Rosie having a subliminal whiff of Jasmine and freshly scythed hay, or The Life of Pi with the gentle, salty ozone tang of the sea. Smells evoke emotions, and might reinforce a readers immersive experience of a book.

    Hands up, I can also imagine situations where this works incredibly badly, James Bond novels drenched in the ‘great smell of Brut’, or The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists emitting overpowering aromas of turpentine and wallpaper paste.

    Maybe not.

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    1. Dickens is a no-no all around. And Zola’s Germinal. And Camus’s La Peste…And we won’t go near a Stephen King…But yes, bring on The Crawdads and Outlander… Thanks, Peter, for bringing sanity to my blog pages.

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