If It Smells Good, It Must Be Bad for You
At some level, of course, we knew it had to be bad for us. It is, after all, just another mood-altering substance that interacts with the human body in a way most of us would rather not scrutinize because it makes us feel so good. But the auto industry is in the process of discovering what early Coca-Cola executives learned--anything that induces euphoria is probably going to get someone in trouble sooner or later. Even that new-car smell.
No one would be surprised to learn that this heady fragrance is chemical in nature. That’s why we like it. It smells like unsullied carpet, still-pristine and protected upholstery, with an undertone of paint and a topknot of newly minted petroleum products. It smells shiny and expensive and significant, like a new road or an attache case of crisp bills. It is the instant payoff for grueling hours spent in close proximity with a car salesman, the consolation prize for the $2,000-loss that comes the moment the car leaves the lot.
But more than that, it is a race memory, the scent of oil and grease and ozone evokes the industrial nature of our shared heritage, of the factories and mills that were part of so many family histories. If the automobile is the most ubiquitous symbol of our country’s achievement, then the new-car smell is a constant promise of its renewal. It is, in a way, the smell of America.
Unfortunately, a recent study by Australia’s Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization found that it also contains enough toxins to make some people sick. So while manufacturers are working to make their plastics and polyurethane foam less pungent, car manufacturers are trying to decide if they can, and should, get rid of the new-car smell altogether. Marketers know what that smell means--research has long shown that of all the senses, smell may be the strongest motivator; certainly it evokes the most vivid memories and emotions. And it is hard to imagine a new car that smells of pine or citrus or nothing.
But the new-car smell is not the only sensual icon in danger of being made obsolete by an increasingly educated and environmentally aware populace. When driving the relatively new electric cars, the first thing many motorists notice is the absolute lack of engine noise. When stopped, it seems that the car has stalled; when moving, the only sound is the road hissing beneath the tires. It can be an unnerving experience, as if the car were not working or simply not real, as if you were traveling at high speeds while naked, in a vehicular sense.
Driving in silence, you realize how much you rely on the sound of the engine to reassure you that all is well, that there is literal power at your fingertips. If a revving engine makes no noise, is it really revving? It will be interesting to see if, like air fresheners designed to imitate that new-car smell, some enterprising person puts together a CD to mimic the sound of a souped up Chevrolet for those folks who’ve gone to the electric hybrid.
Industrial evolution in general leans toward the compact in size and sound. Smells, however, may be enhanced--cleansers that smell like cucumber, detergent that smells like babies--but it is always there. Something that smells like nothing is more unnerving even than a silent car. One of the standard features of futuristic travel depicted in fiction is its sleek silence--the only sounds aboard many fictional spacecraft are the digital ticking of the control panel and the inevitable swoosh of the air-lock doors.
It makes you wonder: What does a new spaceship smell like anyway?
Mary McNamara can be reached at mary.mcnamar@latimes.com.
