That woman’s perfume spurred past memories and experiences. It reminded me of a dominant woman who used heady odor to mask the smell of insecurity, of illness, of loneliness or even looming death. In Tagalog, we say, amoy lupa (the smell of earth or soil). On the other hand, some can interpret it as the smell of self- confidence and strength.
In a book entitled A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman, the author says that scents define our self-image, determine our religious fervor, stir seductiveness, warn us of danger, wed us to fashion and leave us steeped in luxury. It also affects our evaluation of people and things.
During courtship, I distinctly remember a pleasant-smelling cologne that my husband wore and continued to wear called Vetiver de Carven. This masculine scent blended lemon with lavender and jasmine with the warmth of the root of vetiver grass.
Diane Ackerman said that the woman usually initiates the mating and, by George, the Vetiver "did" the trick for me, plus his long sideburns. (Ah, thanks, Elvis.)
Unknown to the male population (husbands included), women use smell as their weapon, their lure and their clue. It can turn men into slaves of desire or "love zombies."
In contrast, my husband said that I reminded him of a germ-free antiseptic environment (i.e., a hospital) because I splashed myself with rubbing alcohol compound instead of the usual body spray colognes and perfumes.
Soon after, we discovered that we both had a heightened sense of smell (as opposed to people who have many blind spots) and we could pick up faint and fleeting scents faster than the rest of our children or our friends could.
Once, I sat in a car that smelled of unwashed hair  worse, a dirty wig  and immediately, I pressed the automatic window down a fraction to let in fresh air. The owner (and her driver) never noticed it at all because their noses had gotten accustomed to this loathsome smell. Similarly, my husband once remarked to a friend, "You smell like Mongol," and he was right; my friend had sharpened a dozen pencils for her grandson’s art project a few hours before we met up with her.
What scents do I like? The sweet aroma of brewed coffee (even if I don’t drink coffee), of roasted chestnuts, of the freshly peeled skin of an orange fruit, and cakes being baked with caramelized bottoms; I find the smell of taking a fresh, hot shower with lavender shampoo and bergamot body wash most soothing, as I do the smell of babies fresh from their morning bath, toweled dry with just a hint of light talc making them "unpolluted by life and diet." I used to smell the top of the head of my grandson and say to him, "You ssssmmell so good!" He’d laugh and offer his head again so I could continue to sniff until I could absorb and transfer every bit of the minty, talcum scent to my shirt. Also, who can resist the smell of clean clothes pulled from the dryer  still warm?
Allergic as I am to perfume, I would rather suffer the atrocities of smelling heavy, strong perfume than be completely "anosmic" to it. (The word comes from the word "anosmia" meaning no sense of smell.)
It can happen. You can lose the sense of smell whether by accident or through an infection or an ailment. When that happens, it is said that the other senses are affected, especially the sense of taste. Even if you can still detect foods that are salty, bitter, sour and sweet, you would lose all the heady "succulence" of life.
Without the sense of smell, your life could be endangered because you wouldn’t be able to detect the smell of smoke and its attendant fire; or you could be poisoned because you can’t smell putrid odors or gas leaks. You’d also lose the ability to experience scents and odors that can release in you heart-stopping memories and associations. No smell, no passion  or exaltation, either.
In her book, Diane Ackerman describes smell as the mute sense because it has no sounds or words, "When we use words such as smokey, sulfurous, floral, fruity or sweet, we are describing smells in terms of other things (smoke, sulfur, flowers, fruit, sugar). We can only describe how they make us feel or the links between our senses and language. Something smells disgusting, intoxicating, sickening, delightful, pulse-revving, hypnotic or revolting."
How do we smell? We smell through tiny receptor cells in the nose that fire impulses to the brain’s olfactory bulb or smell center. Our nostrils have olfactory regions that are richly moist and filled with fatty substances that are yellow in color; the darker the color, the more acute the sense of smell.
Animals have the strongest smell and their olfactory regions are likewise darker in color (those of cats are an intense mustard brown). This explains why Albinos are known to have a poor sense of smell while dark-skinned men have more acutely sensitive noses. But take note: women are known to have a stronger sense of smell than men.
When we smell something, the effect is immediate; it goes directly to the emotional side of the brain in which we feel, we lust, and we invent.
Something new that I learned was that in New York City, between 57th and 10th Avenue, there is a center for scents and tastes, International Flavors and Fragrances (IFF). They are responsible for those peel-off scented strips in glossy magazines  very expensive to incorporate, but a popular and effective way of advertising a new fragrance or promoting established brands.
3M also invented the scratch-and-sniff fragrance strips enabling consumers to sample a new fragrance before buying the real thing. I like collecting fragrance strips that promo girls hand out freely in department stores. I use them to perfume handbags and shoe boxes.
What would be considered a bad smell? The answers depend on culture, age and personal taste. In the book, Ackerman wrote that fecal smells are repulsive, same with farting, which is described as discourteous and "smelling of the devil"; open sewers and fumigation for health reasons or insect/pest control smells are also offensive.
My husband would disagree with me when I say that the smell of his favorite fruit, durian, is a cross between a rotting onion and sulfur. To him, it smells of thick and rich butter and, indeed, oftentimes I see the yellow flesh resembling thick butter. Unfortunately, I did not develop a taste for durian much less a nose for it.
Some diseases have been described as duplicating the smell of certain objects and animals. "Typhus smells like mice, diabetes of sugar, plague of mellow apples, measles of freshly plucked feathers, yellow fever like a butcher’s shop and nephritis of ammonia."
By the color of their skin, says Ackerman, "Germans like pine scent, the French anything flowery, the Japanese like delicate odors while North Americans like bold smells and South Americans even bolder ones."
Filipinos like to experiment and switch from minty scents to flowery to musk scents. The smell of freshly cut grass can also be pleasing, so long as no favorite pet has done its thing in the vicinity.
I still have yet to come across a person who would dab the scent of tobacco or cigarette on their skin although I’ve come across many who carried the overwhelming smell of spirits and alcohol.
On a recent trip to Cairo, Egypt, our tour included a visit to an aromatherapy factory. Initially, I was barely interested. I was happy to sit down and rest my weary feet. Besides, I already had a full supply of massage and essential oils at home, enough to last me a while. I said to myself, "The owner of the shop will have to do a better job than simply passing essential oils around in big apothecary jars."
But I caught sight of several glass shelves displaying beautifully hand-blown glass vessels called millefiori (originally made in Venice, Italy, now manufactured locally. These ornate bottles are the best way to show off exotic scents and perfumes.
Egypt was the first civilization to use perfume extravagantly. They used it for bathing, in their grooming rituals, even for embalming and burial. Picture Cleopatra with her indulgent baths filled with rose petals. It was the height of pampering and self-indulgence.
Egypt also raised the art of makeup and, personally, it fascinated me to see young babies with deep, penetrating eyes that were enhanced by the use of kohl powder at an early age. (The other country where kohl is extensively used is India.)
The owner of the shop, Ahmed, sat himself on the floor and began to give us a short lesson on the different floral essences that were used as perfumes or to combat illnesses or promote health and fitness (see sidebar).
Ahmed was very patient and made us try every scent in the collection; in between, we sniffed coffee beans to refresh our olfactory senses, so as not to confuse the brain about the different scents. A small bottle (70 ml) will set you back about $40 so I thought long and hard before I got myself a bottle of Frankincense and Black Narcissus.
Leaving the shop with my acquisitions, I turned to my friend and asked, "Now how did that happen? All my resolve and steadfastness not to buy another bottled scent disappeared like smoke." My friend giggled and whispered, "Just think of these scents opening up a robust, energetic sex life for you; ergo, we are still desirable, alluring, lethal (à la femme fatale), irresistible, etc."
Hmmm. I’m not thinking that far ahead. The memory of my great "quest"  you know, the Vetiver and the sideburns  still suits me fine.