May 24, 2021
The Smell of Paper: Memories and Experiencing
Do you like to smell paper? If yes, I’m sure you find nothing weird about it. If not, you likely think that people who smell paper are weird, or worse. Perhaps you find it weirder, still, to hear that smelling paper is a strong facilitator of memory and, hence, experiencing.
In other words, smelling paper can help you recall old memories and relive past experiences. As we’ve seen before, this is crucial for a writer.
But even if you’re not a writer, recalling and re-experiencing your memories offers a sense of identity, helping you to reflect on yourself. Ultimately, it helps you better understand who you are.
All this from smelling paper!
Why Does the Smell of Paper Help Us Remember?
Have you ever wondered why smelling paper helps us remember so easily? In other words, why the smell of paper presents such a direct, often nostalgic link to past experiences?
The reason smelling paper helps us remember is that there is a finite number of smells associated with paper. I can’t quite tell you what those are – they aren’t “lemon”, “rose”, or “spices”. But I can clearly recognize them and tell them apart. I suspect it depends on the chemicals or process used to produce the paper.
“Kinds” of Paper Scents
And so, there is one kind of paper scent you experience with paperbacks. There is another kind you find in magazines. And there is another kind of smell you find in newspapers. Obviously, there are a few minor variations, too.
But all in all, they are not many. The smell of paper expands in very few directions, which makes it easy to recall.
Holding today a magazine printed in Finland and talking about academic matters, helps me recall the video games of my childhood in Greece. The only connection between these two concepts is that the way the academic magazine smells is identical to that of a computer-game magazine I read as a kid. Think about that for a moment!
Smelling Paper and Reflecting on Identity and Temporality
What this fancy title means is this: By having such a finite, limited number of paper smells, smelling paper links your current self (smelling a book or magazine in the present day) to a prior self. There is no other link of meaning, but the similar smell of paper.
The smell of paper acts like a trigger, and the nature of the experience – that is, lacking any other link – forces you to reflect on your self, your identity, your evolution, the way a mundane cup of coffee makes you recall previous cups of coffee.
Such instances of experiencing, paradoxically enough, underline that experiencing is timeless.