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October 10, 2025
Scent is one of our most powerful senses, but it may also be the one that’s most difficult to articulate. As children we learn how to describe what we see or hear in vivid detail, but when we try to capture a smell, our language often falters.
Scent shapes memory, emotion, and even cultural identity. It tells stories before we find words for them. What we sense through smell also informs experiences — we love the smell of pie baking but dislike the acrid smell of something burning — but describing what we smell (or taste) can sometimes be a challenge.
Why is scent so hard to describe? Here, we explore the language of scent, how culture influences olfactory language, and how science and metaphor help us give voice to an oft neglected sensory experience.
Describing scent can be difficult. The language of scent refers to how humans interpret, categorize, and express experiences related to smell, both linguistically and emotionally. Our sense of smell bypasses the brain’s language centers, going straight to areas that process emotion and memory. The smells we encounter shape our memories but and also our moods across the day.
“As children, we learn what is red, what is blue, what is yellow. But we don't learn what is nutmeg and what is grapefruit and what is ylang ylang. And that's also why it takes so long to train a perfumer — because we have to translate what we experience with the language and then memorize it,” says Sabine De Tscharner, Principal Perfumer.
English offers few words that distinctly indicate the spectrum of scent we experience — “sweet,” “musky,” “fresh.” Most of the time, we describe what something smells like rather than how it smells. Scent communication also extends beyond words, using emotion, memory, and metaphor — English employs olfactory descriptors like "stinky" or metaphors like "something smells fishy," both of which carry emotional and social meaning.
While in English (and other cultures) there aren’t a lot of words for smells, which makes them hard to describe, some languages have dozens of ways to describe scent, including the abstract, for the way things actually smell. In Cantonese or Maniq (spoken in Thailand), they have rich olfactory vocabularies, with distinct words for scents such as roasted food, blood, or ripe fruit. They describe smells abstractly (“musty,” “bloody”), reflecting a worldview where scent is central to communication rather than peripheral. These linguistic differences reveal how deeply culture shapes perception.
Across cultures scent can also communicate belonging. Perfume, incense, and essential oils signal mood, social connection, even spiritual state. In some Indigenous groups, certain resins or smokes are tied to healing and protection; in the West, a favorite fragrance becomes a personal signature.
Cultural context also changes how we feel about a scent, as do preferences for scents shaped by ritual, climate, and social norms. Studies show that French speakers in Quebec and France perceive wintergreen differently — pleasant in one region, medicinal in the other. In some Latin American cultures, bold, tropical fragrances are beloved, while in Japan, clean and subtle aromas are often preferred.
Our environment and traditions not only determine what we smell, but what those scents may mean. In perfumery, a warm amber note can evoke intimacy, while in culinary language, spice blends carry centuries of trade, ritual, and identity. And ritual and repetition further embed scent into our emotional lives. A morning candle, a favorite detergent, the smell of essential oil before meditation — each becomes a familiar cue, grounding us in time and place.
When describing fragrances, language divides what we smell into top, middle, and base notes. Intensity, texture, and mood — light, smoky, velvety — help translate the abstract into experience. Top notes are the first impression, light and bright; middle notes form the heart, often floral or green; and base notes bring depth and warmth that linger in the air. These scent layers unfold together to create a complete scent experience, offering the full composition of a fragrance.
When words fail, we borrow from other senses. Writers and perfumers use metaphor, simile, and analogy to make scent felt: “sun-warmed skin,” “a forest after rain,” “linen on the line.”
Developing a scent vocabulary can sharpen perception, allowing us to notice nuance: the mineral chill before rain, the creaminess of sandalwood, the citrus lift in a clean room. Naming what we smell strengthens neural pathways, turning fleeting impressions into grounded awareness.
Scent speaks in emotion, memory, and metaphor. Language gives us a way to listen back and translate what’s instinctive into something we can share.
Building your own scent language starts with attention: notice, compare, describe. In doing so, you begin to see how scent connects us — to place, to memory, to ourselves.
Maniq: https://www.bps.org.uk/research-digest/studies-se-asian-tribes-force-re-think-psychology-language-and-smell
French speakers:
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/355644940_The_Use_of_Aromatization_and_Smart_Solutions_in_Selected_Economic_Sectors/fulltext/617832d53c987366c3ec665c/The-Use-of-Aromatization-and-Smart-Solutions-in-Selected-Economic-Sectors.pdf
Japan: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/9530967/
Top, Middle, Base notes: https://www.aeraforhome.com/blogs/the-aera-blog/aera-understanding-fragrance-perfume