As humans, our senses guide us through our physical world. Our moments are moved through the sights, sounds, tastes, touches, and scents happening all around us. Our senses are often used as tools to keep us present. For example, there are commonly known exercises using senses to pull us closer to mindfulness. However, our senses can also pull us in directions that happened long ago—like scent.
Scent has been a guide for multitudes, even our ancestors used scent as maps. Animals are known for using scent to direct their next meal. Even without realizing it, scent finds the familiar, and takes us home to it. There are some scents that seem so surface level, like the sea salt in the wind on the way to the beach. Your mind may shift into reminiscence of every memory collected on those same shores. Perhaps, the smokey smell that hugs your clothes after a campfire, it’s a clinging comfort. These scent profiles are more standard and known, commonly discussed and taken account of. They collectively create joy. However, there are some so specific that you don’t even realize they’re connected. Until like a hungry animal you are taken aback- bloody handed, deep in the bones of memory.
Scent conjoined with memory can also create pain, a quiet haunt of nostalgic energy. I experienced this recently when I sprayed a certain perfume from a very specific time of my life. It was a perfume I had worn on the first date with my now, ex boyfriend. It was like the rose hit my skin just right, the musk centered on my wrists, and the amber branched along my neck – just as it used to. My memory was immediately triggered by the top notes, suddenly flashing images of us together. It was the sort of feeling that stops you, that sickens you. The rest of the day I found myself reflecting on the past connected to that perfume, and as the base notes settled so did the stir of the passage. The startled sickness softened into a distant whisper. It’s incredible how scent, even subtle, can trigger such vivid images. One spray became a graze against my shoulder, a kiss on my fingers, a sweet nothing in my ear, and a salted sip on my lips.
I have another perfume that distinctly reminds me of middle school; the melodramatic flux can be returned to with just one spray. Another one that I wore every dance recital, encapsulating the passion, poise, and chaos. A drop left of my mother’s perfume, which she wore when I was little, never sprayed, just opened, and I’m taken to pearl earrings and smudged red lipstick. For me, perfume has always been a bottled time capsule. A pallet of artistry, not stuck in time but ready and willing to be revisited. Ready and willing to be worn again, and created anew.
It’s so special to think that these bottled capsules can be created unknowingly. Repetition and use seep into each moment that passes through. The scent attaches and stains the memory. Hence, it’s also special to know that these capsules can be purposefully planned, like a wedding day scent. Over the years, it’s become a tradition for some couples to each choose a specific perfume just for their wedding day. When revisited, the scent will take them back to their wedding night, filled with such significance. Some choose to re-wear their scents on dates or anniversaries to remember.
This idea of scent and memory is so human; so raw and real. From naturally crafted scents like the wind or the sea, to the bottled memories on your shelves, time is collected everywhere. It’s a duality of sweetness and sorrow. Yet it’s beautiful that the same scents that can take us to new places can also take us to old ones. It can take you to the hands of a lover, the doors of opportunity, the grounds of passion. It can also take you to places and people you can no longer visit, just remember. There is softness in all of this instinctual act, breathe it in.