Can't Smell, Don't Smell

I remarked recently on the amount of gambling ads on late-night TV. [1] In fact, though, the most remarkable preponderance of ads at any time of day seems to be for chemical smells. Yes, of course I know that all smells are chemical: I mean lab-produced perfumes, designed to be delivered to a nose near you by means of commercial cleaning and de-odourising products. It seems we are obsessed by the need to overwhelm "bad" odours with "good" odours, whether produced by sweat, shit, feet, farts, dogs, or whatever other malodorous agents of stink might offend the fastidious nasal passages of the (presumably) typical human. Or, rather, someone wants us to be obsessed by them.

Now, I say "we", but I mean "you". I am not a typical human, at least in this respect: I happen to be a lifelong "anosmic". In other words, I have never had a fully-functioning sense of smell. Whether this counts as a disability or a superpower is debatable, and highly context-dependent. Can't smell gas? Problem! Can dispose of organic substances in an advanced stage of decomposition without retching? Superpower! Can't tell petrol from diesel? Problem! Doesn't care about other people's "bodily odours"? Superpower! True, like most anosmics, I do have a vestigial sense of smell, but one which can't easily distinguish, say, shit from coffee, and yet does occasionally pick up a strong whiff of something – especially when out walking in the woods – that no-one else seems to be able to smell. My partner calls these my "green smells".

I have never found this a problem; a world without smells, good or bad, has always seemed to work for me. As far as I can tell, and despite what people say, this has not impaired my ability to taste or enjoy food: I'm a good cook, and I can could definitely distinguish shit from coffee in a blind tasting and, more importantly, can quickly tell shit coffee from the good stuff. And I don't mean those coffee beans that have passed through the digestive tract of a palm civet. Which is apparently very good stuff indeed.

Getting back to those adverts, though. I have to say I find the ones where someone buries their face in the laundry and exclaims, "It smells so fresh!" hilarious. There is one for Lenor fabric conditioner and "scent booster" in which people actors roll around in "freshly washed" duvets – outdoors – and pretend to refuse to get out of bed at the end of the ad, Lenor's nasal crack supposedly having brought on a state close to ecstasy. Yeah, right... I suppose it is a tribute to their acting skills that they can apparently go so completely and annoyingly gaga over mere bed linen. I'd still be inclined to suffocate each one of them with a scent-boosted pillow, though.

But when it comes to annoying, there is an Irish woman who features in TV ads for Fairy products – I think she's probably famous for something other than somewhat performatively sniffing sheets and cuddling babies – who simpers and gushes over her laundry; something I imagine that she pays someone else to do in real life. I mean, FFS: those sheets and towels have not just been washed, they have been thoroughly ironed and aired into meringue-like fluffiness, and who the hell irons sheets and towels these days, anyway? That is, of course, to assume that these aren't all actually brand-new sheets and towels... Besides, isn't there also something slightly disturbing about the associations conjured by the juxtaposition of "Irish woman" and "laundry"? I don't know about you, but the word "Magdalene" always seems to pop into my mind. Didn't the marketing folk at Fairy consider this? Mind you, it's nowhere near as disturbing as this rendering of that inescapable bit of laundry-related "Oirishry", the jig The Irish Washerwoman. Yikes! Someone call the relevant authorities...

Now, in terms of advertising sophistication you'd think we'd have come a long way since the days of Lifebuoy soap, whose ads in the 1960s popularised the idea of B.O. ("body odour") as the quick route to social death (remember? "Psst... B.O. ... Even your best friend won't tell you!"). Yes, why not try washing with some soap, you malodorous loser! But today the pitch remains substantially the same, just louder and rather less discreet. As a result, multiple "personal hygiene" items jostle for attention in so many overstuffed bathroom cabinets, although I have never understood why anyone who does wash with soap is in need of an underarm deodorant as well, much less an "intimate" deodorant; but then, as an anosmic, what would I know? However, I am assured by my partner that I don't smell bad, even though I smell badly (heh), and despite never using any deodorant other than soap every morning. I think I can trust her on this ("Even your best friend..."). My motto? Can't smell, don't smell!

I do feel sorry for you olfactory normies, though. The sheer range of scented products marketed to mask ever more specific "bad" odours is extraordinary. If the ads are to be believed, it seems that unpleasant hits on your (normal) nose are lurking everywhere in your house, all the time. Rank bathroom? Reeking carpet? Foetid footwear? Argh! But don't worry: there are tailored solutions to every imaginable imaginary miasma conjured up by those marketing folk. Even better, there are also sprays and plug-ins that are one-stop solutions to your house of multi-sourced sensory shame. Stinky dog on the sofa? Spray it! (the sofa, not the dog. Although...). While you're at it, spray everything else, starting with your shoes: trust us, it's all unbearably malodorous! Or, better yet, why not give up a precious electrical socket to one of these gizmos, and fill every room with a floral chemical stench. Ah, it's so fresh! Cough...

Seriously, though, folks, goodness knows what effect breathing all this vapour in enclosed spaces is having, with scented clouds of competing stinkalizers rising from every surface and piece of fabric in the house. Passive smoking was bad enough in the Old Days – now that's how to get yourself a stinky house, supplemented by over-boiled vegetables and a chip-pan of much-recycled lard – but this is nothing less than passive vaping. Class-action law suits will surely shortly follow.

I was reminded of a track on an album that I haven't listened to in many years:

Out through the night
And the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The imaginary diseases...
Mmm, this has to be the disease for you!
Now scientists call this disease
Bromhidrosis, but us regular folks
Who might wear tennis shoes
Or an occasional python boot,
Know this exquisite little inconvenience
By the name of: Stink Foot
Frank Zappa, Stink-Foot

Or, in a lighter vein, there is always "Smelly Cat" by Phoebe from Friends:

All together now: Smelly cat, smelly cat... What are they feeding you... Smelly cat, smelly cat... It's not your fault... [Reaches for the spray]

1. Disclaimer: TBH I watch very little TV. For most of the evening I occupy what used to be our "dining room", where my computer, scanner, printer, etc., now live, knocking out photos, digital pictures, and blog posts like this, while my partner occupies the living room where the TV is. She is a current affairs addict, and watches through multiple news cycles, mainly on BBC or Sky, the commercial channel she prefers, and where I suppose the adverts might differ from other ad-funded channels. Do your own research.