Melon Feta… And Other Cultural Matters

About a year ago, I attended an excellent Royal Institution lecture at which Procter & Gamble’s Will Andrews stated that one of the main difficulties faced by multi-national perfume companies trying to promote their wares is that scents are perceived in such different ways by people of different backgrounds and cultures. For instance, he mentioned that fragrances which are considered ‘clean’, ‘watery’ or ‘marine-like’ in the West smell of absolutely nothing at all to most Japanese people. In the UK, lavender is frequently associated with elderly women. And in Germany, lemon notes spell disaster because they’re linked with cleaning products. (Personally, I think the latter applies to most of the West, but I’m just repeating what Andrews said.)

Of course, this has implications for how perfumes are judged and evaluated. No matter how objective they may try to be, scent critics can’t divorce themselves from the cultures in which they grew up and in which they operate. I recently spent a few days wearing Mathilde Laurent’s much-praised L’Heure Fougueuse for Cartier. I haven’t yet decided whether I’m going to post a review of it – there’s a part of me that thinks enough has been written about it already – but I will just say that it certainly wasn’t a case of love at first sniff. And I’m beginning to wonder if this may have had something to do with cultural reference points.

My own olfactory biography has been shaped by the fact that I was born in Britain and that I did almost all of my growing up in Poland, Iran and Dubai. Whether I like it or not, this will have had an effect on how I process the information the world presents to my nose. So, as a way of generating a discussion with all of you out there, I thought I’d share some brief descriptions of a few smells which I ‘read’ in ways that are probably different from most of the people with whom I currently inhabit this cloudy little isle.

Cardamom: in my mind, inextricably linked with tea, because the two are often served together by Gulf Arabs. (To a lesser extent, the same goes for ginger.)

Saffron: inseparable from rice, which makes it as un-exotic as any smell could possibly be, because rice was the main component of my family’s meals on at least five days of every week. (Dill also carries heavy rice connotations, but then it sometimes nudges Polish memories and makes me think of potatoes.)

Watermelon: strongly tied to salty smells, because the fruit is often combined with feta cheese in southern Iran. (Highly recommended as a snack, by the way!)

I could go on, but three’s probably enough for the moment. For now, it’s over to you: what are some of your idiosyncratic smell associations?

Persolaise.