I had desired, at the very least, some sort of experience when I signed up for Smell Dating.Here was a self-selected pool of New Yorkers who were adventurous and had to possess a sense of humor.They just smelled like day-old t-shirts that could stand to be washed, or in a pinch, worn again.
I didn’t have to care whether anyone loved to travel or go to museums.
At this point, even though I hadn’t met any of my matches, the experiment already felt like a success.
I was having tremendous fun writing inappropriate emails to strangers, conversations about smell dating fueled no end of laughter, and I found myself discreetly sniffing everyone with whom I came into contact.
Also realizing that my 5-year-old Gmail profile photo of me holding my infant daughter might not be the most alluring image for a prospective match, I updated it to one of me sniffing a t-shirt sample. I found your sample buttery, with notes of tar and toasted oak.
I also picked up on shades of violet and ochre, combined with reverberations of a distant gong when my synesthesia kicked in.