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Welcome to Back of the Napkin, musings from Serviette for the cultured world.
It’s easy to think of smell as something universal. Yet two people can encounter the very same scent and walk away with entirely different impressions (one man’s niche, animalic oud is another’s barnyard nightmare). Some of this comes down to the usual suspects: age, memory, past exposure, temperament. But beneath those obvious variables lies something more structural. Olfactory perception is shaped not only by biology, but by language and culture—two faculties that, in much of the Western world, remain curiously underdeveloped when it comes to describing smell.
In Hinduism, fragrance is central to worship, an importance that is well reflected in the language. In a Sanskrit text of fables, for instance, the scent of the betel nut is described with staggering detail: it is “alkaline,” “binding,” “demulcent,” and “astringent.” The Sufi poet Rumi even characterizes love as “[bearing] the fragrance of musk.” The Önge—Andamanese Indigenous people—define the Universe largely through smell, with a calendar based on the odors of the flowers that bloom at different times of the year. Seasons are named after their corresponding scents, and odor is heralded as the very essence of personal identity. In Punjabi, there are even separate words for odors to denote positive vs. negative connotations, and the nose itself is often central to metaphors in its corresponding literature and folklore.
In an NPR article, writer Angus Chen underscores the difficulty of describing odors using the limited vocabulary provided to us by Western languages. Most descriptions of odors in the West rely either on the other senses, particularly taste (“sweet,” “sour,” etc.), or on recognizable experiences (e.g. “clean laundry,” “wet dog”). As a result, it was long believed that smell was simply an inferior sense, one that remained underdeveloped due to the evolutionary prioritization of sight.
Asifa Majid, a professor of language and cultural cognition, conducted a study that suggested otherwise. In one study, she asked speakers of four different languages—two from hunter-gatherer communities and two from agricultural societies—to perform a simple task. First, they were shown colors and asked to name them. Then they were presented with a range of odors and asked to do the same. Though the groups all arrived at a general consensus regarding colors, scent proved to be far more divisive. For the hunter-gatherers, it was relatively easy to name smells—about as easy as it was for them to name colors. The farmers, on the other hand, were far more limited in their vocabulary, proving that our sense of smell itself is hardly inferior… We’re just not equipped with the language to describe what it is we’re smelling.
If you’ve ever struggled to articulate your thoughts around what you’re smelling, you might be comforted to know that research is certainly on your side. For those trying to build up the muscle, might we suggest smelling through your Serviette discovery set (Priscus now included) and trying to describe each scent in as much detail as possible without consulting the official notes or borrowing language from the other senses. We promise it’ll be the best smelling homework assignment you’ve ever had.
As always, we thank you for reading this week’s newsletter and encourage you to remain ever curious.