'The world is two dimensional': What it's like to not be able to smell

'The world is flat - more two dimensional' says anosmic Tom Herrmann

(Viktor_Gladkov/iStock)

Imagine your favourite smell, whether it’s the aroma of your grandmother’s cookies as they bake in the oven or the bitter aroma of your morning coffee hitting nose before you take the first sip.

Now imagine it is wiped from the world, along with every other scent. That is what life is like for anosmic – or people who cannot smell.

Tom Herrmann, from the US state of Arizona, is among the millions of people across the world who don't have a full sense of smell. As 80 per cent of the flavour of food comes from smell, taste is also affected.

Anosmia is generally caused by a nasal condition or a brain injury, but some people are born without a sense of smell.

Now aged 59, Herrmann has not been able to smell since he was 35 on the 10 March, 1993. He lost the sent just 200 yards from his home as he was cycling to the gym, in a crash he was no memory of.

“I walked home and fell asleep for as much as an hour until my wife came home. She woke me, saw blood and leaves on the back of my head and took me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with a concussion.”

He realised he had lost his sense of smell when he visited a copper mine in Bisbee, southern Arizona, and couldn’t detect the unpleasant aroma like the rest of his group.

“Concerned, I went to a store and sniffed aftershave products. I tried five or six brands and could not smell any of them or tell them apart.

Losing the sense affects Herrmann every day – he can’t smell his dinner burning or the approaching rain - but particularly sentimental occasions are the most emotionally taxing.

“Anosmia is isolating,” he says. “The world is flat, more two dimensional. I can see my beautiful wife but I cannot tell whether she smells as nice as she looks.”

“Holidays are especially difficult. Smells are one of the things that make the holidays special. Special dinners, candles, pine trees – and they no longer mean the same to me.”

Anosmia can also make for awkward social situations, adds Herrmann. Eating food, meanwhile has become joyless and sometimes dangerous.

“I can remember that I used to enjoy a certain food, but food is now a necessary evil.

“Dinners with friends can be uncomfortable. Food like steak and lobster are tasteless. I can’t tolerate salads and salad dressings. I was a picky eater before the accident, but now I limit my options to foods I think might be acceptable. I avoid most foods because the likelihood I will like them is so low, while the chance I will dislike something or have it seem tasteless is high. I tend to eat alone at work to avoid having to explain.

“I avoid gas appliances. I once boiled water for spaghetti. The water boiled over and put out the flame, but the gas continued into the room. My wife came in, noticed the smell of gas and turned off the oven. I know of a woman in Texas who died when her house exploded in much the same situation.”

Personal hygiene is also an issue. Herrmann opts for fragrance-free products to save him the embarrassment of dousing himself with too much aftershave.

“I worry about people getting in my car because it may smell like my dogs. I worry that I may smell bad, or things around me might stink.”

The idea that anosmia is dismissed as a trivial condition, which makes the world a more pleasant place by eradicating horrible odours, angers Herrmann. “Anosmia is a serious condition," he urges.

"People picture it as less than significant because it’s not perceived to be as challenging as blindness and deafness. Depression seems to be common, both from the lack of good smells and the sense of loss."
"People tend to trivialise it; they’d rather lose smell than mobile phones," he adds.