Why Writers Use Unrealistic Smells

Have you ever wondered why writers use unrealistic smells in their descriptions? If so, you're not alone, but there is a reason. Writers are supposed to focus on the five senses when they write description. We’re told to make the reader feel like they’re really there. That’s easier with some senses than others. Sight? Piece of cake. My characters are constantly seeing things. Hearing? Also easy. Characters hear birds singing, ocean waves sloshing, fire snapping, children laughing, and so on. Touch? Harder, but still—a linen shirt feels rough, a lover’s hand feels soft, and the dirt underfoot feels warm. Taste is where the going gets rough and cliches can seep in, like tasting iron when a character bites their tongue or having a sour taste in their mouth when they’re nervous or upset. But authors have a saving grace here—food and drink—which give us a whole range of things for characters to remember, anticipate, and actually taste.

But then there’s smell.

Smell is the most difficult sense for me to describe, maybe because I have a crap sense of smell myself. How am I supposed to describe what my characters might smell when I smell nothing most of the time? If my character is outside in her front yard, at best, she might smell . . . grass (if the lawn has been freshly mowed), rain (if it’s recently rained), or a flower (if she’s got her nose in it).

And don’t get me started on how smell is used when writing romance. The love interest always has an interesting, pleasant, and (usually) unrealistic smell. If an author is feeling fanciful, that smell might be something like “stardust and broken dreams,” or “winter berries and snow.” Okaaaaay. Because I totally know what those things smell like. But even if the smell is more commonplace, it’s still usually unrealistic. Think fresh laundry, cut grass, or rain. When was the last time you hugged someone and thought they smelled like one of those things? If you’ve hugged someone like this (and they didn’t just pull their shirt out of the dryer, cut grass, or come in from the rain), I need to know what laundry products they’re using. My characters smell realistic and boring, like their toothpaste, shampoo, soap, or perfume. So, like mint, coconut, Irish Springs, or an unidentified fruit.

However, I think that writers choose smells, realistic or not, to describe their characters because smell is powerful. Saying that the girl you hugged smelled like “herself” doesn’t give much of a mental image, you know? But if she smelled like jasmine, boom. If this girl turns out to be nice, jasmine is fun and cheerful. If the girl turns out to be mean, then jasmine is overrated and snooty. Either way, you’ve got her signature scent in your nostrils and when it gets brought up again, it brings back that association without further explanation.

Smells are also an effective way to tell readers how to see a character, especially in combination with context. If a person smells like beer and B.O., they might be going through a rough spot (or have just been at a wild party). If a person smells like expensive perfume/cologne, it implies they’re classy or wealthy (or trying too hard).

Finally, smells are that little extra something that takes a story from something you can visualize to something you can live. For example, when you watch a movie, your senses are limited to things you see and hear, but in 4-D experiences, they add things you can feel or, wait for it—smell. I’m still waiting for the shows where they add taste (yes, please put that chocolate in my mouth riiiiight—now. That would really enhance the viewing experience!). Back to books, readers don’t physically experience the characters’ sensory input, but by including the really punchy senses like smell, our imaginations can take us the rest of the way.

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Photo by Richárd Ecsedi on Unsplash