I wonder sometimes why I like some scents that should probably seem overpowering or obnoxious: gasoline, used engine oil, wet paint (high VOC, yeah baby!), fresh asphalt, just-snuffed matches, hot metal. Especially hot metal and black engine oil. My ideal mate would probably be a mechanic (though I was seriously considering being a mechanic myself 20+ years ago). Why would any of these appeal to me?

Scent is so deeply wired into our brains, that you'd think the only scents that would appeal to us would be the ones that somehow enhanced our chances of survival (and reproduction). We're quick to pick up the scent of a pending storm, decay, lack of cleanliness, etc. Granted, many scent likes and dislikes are purely psychologically-driven. You could argue that my liking for oil and gasoline had to do with watching my dad work in the garage when I was very young. I don't know that to be the case, but I'm positive we all have associations that invite instant like or dislike, but that we can't necessarily put a name, face, time, or place to.

What about sour, bitter, acrid, or chemical smells? I like the smell of hospitals. How weird is that? I like quite a few natural scents that are, apparently, generally disliked, like bruised marigold foliage (astringent, chemical). Love! But everyone I know who smells it recoils. And tomato foliage (astringent, oppressively herbal). I could seriously see wearing a perfume that had tomato foliage at its base. Oddly, I also like the smell of damp, dusty places, like old houses or barns that have been abandoned. How could the latter possibly be a benefit to survival? It's probably not, but I remember often playing in an old abandoned barn when I was a child, and so must have positive associations with the smells inherent in such a place. More psychological underpinnings. I'm beginning to think that psychologically-based scent preferences easily (and sometimes completely) override the hardwired ones.

My animal scent likes and dislikes are pretty distinct. I like the smell of cats, but not dogs. Horses, but not cows. Allow me to rephrase: it's not that I dislike the smell of dogs (except wet ones) or cows, but that I get no reaction from them other than internally taking note of their scent. Cats and horses give me a real physical reaction, a pleasant one. (Don't read too far into that; I'm talking warm fuzzies here not Catherine the Great.) I also love the smell of many objects that are found around horses: leather, wool, denim, hay, and weathered wood. I'll categorize this as psychological. I grew up around horses and cats. Childhood = good, therefore ... etc.

I have a few scent dislikes, but none that drive me out of a room, with one exception: citrus mold. Agh! And the odd part is, I can smell it before it's even evident. I'll start smelling this nauseating scent a day or two before the first powdery bloom appears on an orange or lemon. And I can walk into a room and instantly tell if there's newly-molding citrus in it, even if I can't see the fruit. The strong scent usually goes away (for me) on fruit that started molding some time ago, even if there's mold still on it. This scent ... it isn't just unpleasant, it's something I really can't take. I have to get away from it. This has me wondering if I'm allergic to the type of mold that forms on citrus fruits. Why else would I have such a strong visceral response to it? Do we finally have here an example of a survival-based scent preference? I haven't done a proper scientific study of the reactions of other people, but my significant other can't smell it at all, whereas I can smell it in eensy-teensy-parts-per-million at a hundred paces and it gives me an instant headache.

Continued ...