Human memory is powerfully linked to scent. A distinct smell can instantly transport someone back to a specific moment, place, and emotion. The author recalls his childhood experience at Bache Brothers Cycles, a bike shop in the West Midlands. The combined scent of rubber, oil, and plastic instantly conjured the joy of receiving a new bicycle at age ten, complete with the shopkeeper’s blunt remark about his weight.
This experience led to a broader realization: English lacks a dedicated verb to describe enjoyable smells. We readily have words to express foul odors (“stinks,” “reeks,” “pongs”), but nothing to convey a pleasant scent. The verb “to smell” feels neutral at best, leaning toward the unpleasant.
Other languages address this gap. Welsh has clywed, a verb meaning to sense or feel, encompassing all senses except sight. Croatian has mirišiti for pleasant smells and smrditi for foul ones. The expression ni miriši ni smrdi (“it neither smells nor stinks”) aptly describes someone or something unremarkable.
The link between scent and emotion is scientifically validated. Researchers have found that scents like vanilla and lavender reliably evoke strong emotional responses, even in prisoners. These scents tap into powerful memories – grandmothers’ bathrooms, childhood holidays, specific locations. People can even recall smells vividly despite physical anosmia, suggesting scent-memory transcends the biological act of smelling.
The author intends to revisit Bache Brothers Cycles to verify if the scent remains as potent as his memory. The power of smell is undeniable, yet our language strangely lacks the nuance to fully capture its pleasurable side.
Ultimately, this linguistic gap highlights how languages evolve based on cultural priorities. While English efficiently describes bad smells, the absence of a dedicated term for good ones reflects a possible underappreciation of olfactory delight.
