The Alchemy of Smell: Scent as Portal, Paris as Catalyst

Smell is one of the most underestimated senses in the common human experience. What I mean is we just don’t talk about it enough.

We often think of it as background—something passive, something ornamental. But in truth, scent is an ancient messenger. It bypasses our logic and speaks directly to memory, emotion, and instinct. It reminds us of who we are, where we’ve been, and what we long for. In a city like Paris, this alchemical relationship to smell becomes unavoidable.

Let me begin where it’s uncomfortable: the unpleasant scents. 

Paris has its grit. Human piss on warm pavement. Vomit splattered outside a bar. The sharp acidity of wine from broken bottles. Cigarette smoke from the concierge hosing down the pavement. 

These are the realities of an urban organism that cycles with the sun and the moon. And while I can be appalled by what I see on a 4 AM run, I accept them as part of the larger whole. I love this city unconditionally—not just when it is picturesque and perfumed, but even when it stinks.

That’s part of the alchemy.

Alchemy doesn’t only happen in the light. It begins in the shadow, in the putrefaction, in the breakdown. And in Paris, even the smell of rot has something to teach. That contrast makes the beauty sharper.

Where Scent Becomes Sacred

And there is extraordinary beauty here—especially in scent.

In spring and summer, Paris blooms. This city loves its flowers, and its florists know how to put on a show. Balconies overflow with jasmine, peonies, and roses. 

Here in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the floral pride is especially high. The city competes to be one of the most flower-filled in all of France. Streets are lined with blooms, and mature plane and chestnut trees create canopies that catch and hold fragrance in the air. You can walk down a single street and feel like you’ve stepped into a fragrant dream.

These floral scents are not just pretty. They are medicinal. They heal my emotional wounds, nourish my creativity and they soften my nervous system. They activate pleasure and beauty receptors in my body. They remind me of prosperity and femininity. There’s wealth in this experience—energetic wealth, emotional wealth… My health.

The Ritual of Perfume

Scent also lives on the people here. 

France is the birthplace of perfume as a serious art and science. Perfume schools are actually a thing, and so is the respect given to the craft. Wearing fragrance here is not an afterthought—it’s an embodied ritual. A well-dressed woman headed to work in the morning has likely chosen her scent with care. And when she walks by, she leaves a signature in the air.

This happens often on my morning walks. I pass someone and enter into the cloud of their perfume. That fragrance stays with me for a few steps and I always say, “Thank you for that.” It’s a weird kind of intimacy that’s certainly one-sided. LOL! I don’t imagine other people are as enraptured with smell the way I am. But these folks and their delectable smells penetrate me mind, body, and soul; and I love it.  

This is where the alchemy begins.

The scent doesn’t just stay in the nose, you see. It moves. It opens up stuff. It calls up a memory, a hope, a yearning. It tells me who I’ve been, or who I could become.

Culinary Alchemy

Then there are the food smells. The garlic and butter drifting from an open kitchen window. The toasted baguettes in the morning. The chocolate, vanilla, and caramel aromas wafting out of artisanal bakeries. The complex spices from North African, Indian, and Vietnamese kitchens that mark Paris as a deeply multicultural city. These smells make you stop in your tracks. Oh, baby– a rotisserie chicken. They’re grounding. They’re arousing. They’re nostalgic. Okay wait… I’m gonna just do a humble brag. Those rotisserie chickens are never as good as the chicken from my Ninja Air Fryer. Just sayin’.

One of my neighbor cooks like a gourmet. I don’t know if it’s the husband or the wife whipping it up in there, but when I pass by their door, it’s a whole-body experience. I smell prawns, white wine sauce, olive oil, lemon, thyme. It’s the smell of tradition. The smell of love in action. The smell of a life being lived well. I always wonder– how in the hell do I wrangle an invitation? Maybe I should just ask.

Their cooking reminds me of my mom’s cooking. You see? This is alchemy too. Because again, these smells bypass the conscious mind. They go directly into memory, emotion, and desire. They activate longing, hunger, warmth, and connection. So powerful!

Smell as Alchemical Portal

Here’s what I’ve come to understand: scent is a portal. It opens doors inside us—some that we’ve closed, some that we didn’t even know existed. And in that way, smell becomes a powerful tool in the alchemical process.

– It can stir the parts of you that have been numb.

– It can awaken the divine feminine.

– It can summon a buried grief, or a forgotten joy.

– It can call your soul forward.

In Paris, smell is woven into the daily rhythm. It’s part of the landscape. It’s not something you go out to find. It finds you. And if you’re willing, you can meet it as a teacher. 

You can meet it as a reminder that transformation doesn’t always come through logic or planning. Sometimes it comes through a scent carried on the breeze, riding the coattails of a stranger, rising from a bakery door.

This is the alchemy of smell. And it’s alive here in my beloved city.