The Smell of Your Perfume is Making Me Gag
Recently, I was in a packed elevator when a well-heeled businesswoman swept in, trailing a thick cloud of perfume with her. Instantly, my throat tightened. I stood at the opposite corner of the elevator, yet I felt like I'd just swallowed a mouthful of flowery mist. My head throbbed, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Total time elapsed: about 10 seconds.
Welcome to #SuperSmellerHell. Mine, that is.
A heightened sensitivity to smells - called hyperosmia - isn't directly related to a physiological or neurological problem, but reactions to different types of odors can be debilitating for many people. I know all about it: I have left crowded movies, moved tables mid-meal, and bolted out of pine-scented taxis - all in the name of grabbing a breath of fresh air.
I can't walk down the laundry detergent aisle in the supermarket unless I'm holding my breath or clutching a scarf over my nose. When traveling, I silently pray that my airplane seatmate didn't slather on scented body cream or some kind of 'mountain fresh' deodorant before boarding. (Or worse, spritz cologne in mid-flight!) Don't get me started on hotel lobbies. Did you know that marketing folks actually commission scents designed to brand their property, which are then pumped throughout the hotel? Ugh. Is it checkout time yet?
I have left crowded movies, moved tables mid-meal, and bolted out of pine-scented taxis, all in the name of grabbing a breath of fresh air.
Being a Super Smeller is no party trick - it's actually a huge pain to avoid situations that will potentially make me want to hurl. You won't catch me anywhere near a house of worship that waves incense around. When it's my turn for hockey car pool, I deliberately don't offer a lift to the sweet kid whose mom washes his stinky gear in mega-scented laundry detergent. The stench of post-game equipment is actually easier for me to stomach than the soap smell!
When I plan dinner parties, I demand my hostess gift upfront: Please keep your fragrance bottle corked before coming over. I also do hug checks with my closest gal pals, and even my sister. I'll say something like, "Are you wearing or have you worn perfume in the past 24 hours? No hugs for you!"( Yeah, I'm the Hug Nazi.)
The stench of post-game equipment is easier for me to stomach than mega-scented laundry detergent.
At a recent Bruce Springsteen concert, I'd nabbed a coveted spot smack in front of the stage. I was oh-so-ready to strum The Boss' guitar during 'Born to Run.' But then, I caught a dreaded whiff - of a gaggle of groupies nearby. I felt the familiar migraine-like symptoms immediately. Every time one of them flipped her hair, I gagged. But there was no way I was giving up my spot. Panicked, I ransacked my purse for something – anything – that might help. I popped a piece of peppermint gum into my mouth and began chewing furiously. Miraculously, it worked. I felt better within seconds. I'd found a simple way to trick my brain into forgetting what my nose knows. Now, I never leave the house without several packs of gum.
Super Smellers have different triggers - some feel ill around certain food odors; for others, it's the smell of gasoline. For most, it can cause anxiety and affect how they spend their time and with whom. Some doctors, including mine, believe this syndrome is hormone-related. That makes sense to me: While I never loved the smell of perfume, my scent-sitivity kicked into overdrive when I became pregnant with my son. I actually avoided cutting my hair, because waddling into the beauty salon meant facing a barrage of mousses, gels, and hairspray.
While I never loved the smell of perfume, my scent-sitivity kicked into overdrive when I became pregnant
In workplaces across the U.S., employees – especially ones who work in open pods – are asking their bosses to restrict scented products in the office. After all, we're now sniffing each other all day. In fact, fragrance policies and conflicts are among the top five inquiries sent to the Society for Human Resource Management by its members.
To me, perfume is the new cigarette smoke. As more and more people become 'nose blind' to how much scent they've sprayed on, folks like me are getting increasingly irritated. The other night at my mother's birthday dinner, we were in the middle of a swanky feast when a couple in their mid-30s came in. I knew this before seeing them, because the woman had clearly poured an entire bottle of perfume over her head on the way over. As the maître d' escorted them to the table right next to ours (of course!), I immediately flagged our server and begged her to move them. Right now.
Gripping the napkin tightly over my nose, I watched the woman's face as the server discreetly whispered my request into her ear. There it was – that raised-eyebrow look of total bewilderment: Who, me? Wearing too much perfume? But I can hardly smell it!
Sigh…
Barring mandatory directions on expensive crystal bottles warning people to dab rather than decant the scent onto themselves, what's a Super Smeller to do? I'll tell you what I do: I speak up. I gently inform total strangers (through my scarf and gum-chomping) that they stink. Well, sometimes I use a kinder word, depending on how nauseous I am or how desperately I need them to move away from me. My son calls overly-scented people Stinky Winkies, but I think they're simply clueless.
So let's enlighten them. The vast majority of nose-blind people seem genuinely grateful to learn that their scent is offensive, and most agree to change seats when I ask them to. Super Smellers of the world, unite! Maybe one day we can all breathe a (scent-free) sigh of relief.
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