Nosing Around
For Some Action
Robert La Bua make sense of scents

Often abused, even more often resculpted, the nose is the neglected stepchild in our family of facial sensory organs. We please our ears with beautiful music, enchant our eyes with visual delights of all kinds. I won’t even go into the pleasures of the mouth—though they are most welcome to go into me. But what about the nose?

The waft of fine food emanating from the stove or oven (for God’s sake, NOT the microwave) or aroma of heated D&G from a nearby erogenous zone do occasionally catch our fancy, but sustained olfactory pleasure is practically unknown in Western civilisation.

Luckily, we have the sensible influence of Eastern civilisation. Those Easties know the value of a good scent to invoke the spirits, both your own and those of the worlds beyond your own. India, the world’s favourite source of incense, is, perhaps surprisingly, one of the most nose-pleasing places on Earth. I was expecting suffocating curry smells, the stench of animal dung both fresh and stale, and the telling presence of the Great Unwashed to be everywhere. Instead, my nose found sandalwood, rose, spices, and 1950’s-scented napes fresh from the barber shop.

I admit it. I love incense. I have a burner in every room, and I like to burn more than one at a time, mixing complementary scents to enhance the experience even further. I save the incense boxes; when they are empty, I put them in my drawers and wardrobe so that my clothes may pick up faint hints of favourites like frangipani and Nag Champa.

I am not a devoté of aromatherapy, running for a handbook to tell me which little bottle to sniff in order to remedy a twitching left eye and diminished attention span the day after a dance party in which I had already sniffed a little bottle. I want to smell what I consider to be pleasant smells to (sub)consciously relieve stress and remind me of a special place (Agra, the South of France, a fine ass) or a special person (Endora, Maurice, Uncle Arthur). I do like the bottles, though, and therefore have several in case of emergencies such as l’amour l’amour à la the Countess De Lave.

A most effective way to please the nose is to have unexpected scents in unexpected places where Nose will find them regularly throughout the day. I like to wipe the perimeter of the refrigerator door with a favourite scent so that every time I am looking for cheesecake I have a rush of gardenia or ylang ylang enter my nostrils and soothe me in a way that one single cheesecake cannot. Don’t have a food scent in the kitchen; that is what Nose expects to find there. Grab its attention with something woodsy or, more dramatically, industrial, like motor oil. I also wipe the far edge of the bathroom sink with a non-bathroomy scent so that it may grab me when I am bending over the sink. A bit of scent strategically placed at work does wonders for your mood when you would rather be somewhere else doing something else with someone else. Don’t overdo it, especially if the Aroma Police frequent your place of employ; just a little bit for your personal pleasure should suffice.

I find bergamot, neroli, heliotrope, lilac, and lavender amongst the most appealing of scents. There are of course dozens of others to choose from. I know each of them has its own properties, but I don’t get caught up in what is used for what—I just like them for the way they smell and the way they make my mind smile.

If you are a deviate, or would like to become one, you may prefer a whiff of gymcrotch male musk, sweet anality, or undeodorised armpit instead of fruit and flowers. Who could blame you? If you have spent time honing your nasal skills, you can certainly tell Brock from California is on your coffee table, Torben from Copenhagen is on your bedroom doorknob, that Italian guy from the construction site around the corner is on your fingers.

Let’s not forget that scents come from Nature, so instead of aroma bottles and incense sticks, we can go right to the source and have fresh flowers, fresh herbs, cinnamon bark, orange zest and male musk (yes, again—can never have too much of that) in our ether. The scent of potted geraniums, for example, is not flowery, but certainly earthy and distinct. I grew big-leaf basil in the bathroom until the day I ran out of toilet paper….

In risk of violating the undeclared but omnipresent Creed of Homosexual Conspicuous Consumption, I am not a fan of perfumes sprayed on the body. I do like them, but not on skin. Therefore, a little puff of Old Spice on the pillow goes far in setting me up to dream the night away. DON’T let your neighbour’s rancid cooking oil be the last thing you smell at night.

Now that we are ensconced in our minimalist glass-wall environments with no place to hang the art, let scent be the detail that makes your space your own without intruding on the aesthétique du jour.