I must confess right away: I have a distinct smell.

You might have an idea of what I mean, but in my case, it's akin to onion soup. I could emerge from a hot shower, with my skin radiant and pink, yet still carry that scent.

This peculiar situation began during my early teenage years, around the age of twelve. Hyperhidrosis runs in my family—my mother and aunt also experience excessive sweating.

Throughout high school, my armpits became the focal point of my existence.

Attending boarding school allowed me to obsessively manage my odor. I would change outfits three to four times daily, applying various deodorants, from Secret and Teen Spirit to Mitchum or Speed Stick for Men, especially when I was particularly anxious. Each came in fragrances that felt like a concoction of artificial scents.

As I typed away on papers in the computer lounge, sweat would trickle down my sides. After field hockey or lacrosse practice, I'd sneak into the bathroom before dinner to scrub my armpits with hand soap while hiding in a stall. Sometimes, I'd line my shirt with paper towels, or crouch beneath the hand dryer, letting the hot air dry me off before slathering on more deodorant. For special occasions, like prom, I resorted to a prescription antiperspirant rich in aluminum chloride.

Though it left my armpits raw and irritated, I felt it was worth it; that stinging sensation reassured me that my embarrassment was under control.

My poor mother struggled with the weight of her upbringing, yet she couldn't mask her discomfort when I got in the car. After the customary check-in about school and my grades, she'd wrinkle her nose and say, "Your body odor is quite strong right now." My usual response was a resigned, "Yeah, I know," or a defensive retort, "You think I don’t know that?!" Neither reaction ever felt satisfactory; I was still her daughter who smelled.

Our skin has two main types of sweat glands: eccrine and apocrine. Eccrine glands are widespread, releasing sweat directly onto the skin's surface, while apocrine glands are found in hair-rich areas like the armpits and groin.

When our body temperature rises, the autonomic nervous system—beyond our control—signals these glands to produce sweat. While eccrine sweat is mostly odorless and helps cool us, apocrine sweat is thicker and becomes smelly when it interacts with bacteria on our skin.

These bacteria decompose the lipids in our sweat into butyric and propionic acids, which emit unpleasant odors reminiscent of vinegar and onions. This reaction only kicks in after puberty, right when we start seeking romantic partners, leading to emotional complexities.

Why do I sweat more? It could be due to a love for garlic, chocolate, spicy food, my genetics, or anxiety.

The truth is, I don't smell because I neglect hygiene; I smell because I'm simply me.

Despite the anxiety of being "The Smelly Girl" in high school, I had a plethora of intimate experiences—awkward, passionate encounters in various places—without much mention of my odor. This was likely due to my diligent hygiene routine, but ultimately my scent wasn't a significant factor in my identity as a woman.

Then came college, where a shift occurred. I grew weary of masking my natural scent with products; I stopped using deodorants, perfumes, and other products, choosing to embrace my smell as a form of protest.

"You're stinky!" my friends would tease, and I'd reply confidently, "People don’t smell like Fiji Breeze! I smell human!"

Then came Louis and Arnold—two consecutive relationships. Louis adored me but was repulsed by my scent. Despite having a more socially accepted relationship with my odor by that age, he constantly lamented my smell.

In contrast, Arnold loves my natural scent. He even buries his face in my armpit, relishing it. After a workout, I'd jokingly toss my shirt at him, and he’d react playfully to the smell. This playful interaction became crucial to me.

Yet, I couldn't shake the question of why my scent was delightful to Arnold but off-putting to Louis. What is the connection between smell and attraction? What influences our preferences, and how do we learn to find certain smells appealing or repulsive?

To explore these questions, I reached out to Dr. Michelle Marzullo, a professor in Human Sexuality at the California Institute for Integral Studies.

Marzullo delved into Affect Theory, which suggests our experiences are shaped not just by narratives but also by emotions and feelings.

According to her, these influences act below our conscious awareness, impacting our sexual desires and behaviors. She noted that our preferences for food and sex are heavily influenced by culture, and what's deemed 'delicious' evolves over time.

She also discussed the origins of various kinks, emphasizing how cultural contexts shape our desires. For instance, the practice of bukkake emerged from Japanese pornography regulations, evolving into a widespread phenomenon.

The Social Issues Research Center's Smell Report traces the historical narrative around body odor and perfume, highlighting how societal attitudes have shifted over centuries regarding scent.

In the past, heavy animal-derived fragrances were preferred, used to accentuate rather than mask natural body odors. However, as hygiene improved, lighter scents became fashionable.

Fast forward to 2017, and I found myself in a tense moment with Louis as we prepared to move in together. My odor became a point of contention, leading to an emotional confrontation.

Despite my efforts to embrace my body and scent, I felt pressured to conform to his expectations. I tried to appease him by creating a homemade deodorant, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Louis called me during a wedding we had planned to attend together, expressing how much he missed me. I arrived feeling beautiful yet worried about whether my scent would cause him embarrassment again.

The Smell Report emphasizes that scent preferences are deeply personal, intertwined with memories and associations. Studies show that familiarity often leads to a preference for certain smells, while some scents are universally liked, such as vanilla.

As I reflected on my experiences, I pondered what my scent evoked for those around me. Marzullo reassured me that Louis's aversion was not a reflection of my worth but rather a complex interplay of societal and biological factors.

She explained that while some hormones may influence attraction subconsciously, the research on the subject remains inconclusive due to the complexity of human interactions.

One notable study involved men wearing T-shirts, and women rating their scents. Women preferred scents from men with whom they shared a different MHC profile, which explains why some smells can be intoxicating to some while repulsive to others.

Marzullo emphasized that attraction and smell are multifaceted, shaped by our environments, experiences, and personal histories.

Ultimately, she concluded, sex is inherently risky. In our vulnerability, we have developed mechanisms to find pleasure in this complex interaction.

In this exploration of scent and attraction, I’ve come to appreciate the nuanced relationship between my body, my smell, and the connections I form.