Why do we like perfumes with disgusting notes? Spoiler: biology and psychology are involved too

Let’s admit it: everyone has, at least once, fallen hopelessly in love with a smell that should, rationally, make us recoil. Some people can’t resist the scent of freshly pumped gasoline, others are mesmerized by the acrid odor of fresh paint, while others find comfort in the warm, biscuity smell of a dog’s paws. Scents you’ll never see in glossy perfume ads, yet they hold a secret, magnetic, almost forbidden allure. And it’s not just about quirky personal obsessions. Science and psychology tell us that our relationship with repulsive smells is far more complex. These uncomfortable odors act as emotional detonators, capable of sparking memories, stimulating desire, and sometimes even arousing us. They show us that pleasure and disgust are not opposites, but two sides of the same coin. And that true olfactory artistry (at least according to #perfumetok) lies not in reassuring us, but in pushing boundaries, where the skin prickles and the heartbeat quickens.

A journey into the brain: the memory of smell

Smell is an anarchic sense, and perhaps that’s precisely why it fascinates us so much. While the other senses (sight, hearing, touch) all pass through the thalamus, the brain’s great switchboard, smells take a shortcut straight to the limbic system, the primordial zone where raw emotions and stubborn memories are born. This means that every odor, even the most ordinary, can function as a time machine. The aroma of fresh paint hurls you back to childhood, when your bedroom was being repainted sky blue, while the pungent scent of sweat may return you to an adolescent summer of stolen kisses and breathless runs. It’s not magic, it’s neurology. Artistic perfumery has learned to play with this cerebral shortcut, transforming “dirty” smells into intimate narratives.

Why disgust turns into pleasure

But memory alone isn’t enough. Chemistry also shows us that the line between attraction and repulsion is a matter of dosage. Indole is the most famous example. In low concentrations, it gives jasmine its sensual aroma; pure, it reeks of raw feces. The same goes for musk. Velvety, enveloping, erotic when skillfully balanced; nauseating and animalistic when excessive. This very paradox makes disgusting perfumes irresistible, fragrances that live on the edge, ready to slip from sublime to repellent. The perfect example? Stercus by Orto Parisi, inspired by manure: it captures pure animality but dresses it in a creamy sweetness that disorients you. A slap and a caress in the same breath. Psychology confirms this contradictory attraction. According to behavioral scientist Valerie Curtis’s theory, disgust evolved as a protective mechanism, shielding us from things that could make us sick, rotten meat, feces, toxic mold. Yet, just like fear in horror films, we learn to enjoy the thrill in a safe context. Wearing an extreme perfume becomes a controlled experience, a rollercoaster ride for the nose. Garage by Comme des Garçons, with its mix of kerosene and motor oil, or Laughing with a Mouthful of Blood by Filigree & Shadow, evoking rage and nihilism, let us flirt with what repels us without paying the real-world consequences. A kind of emotional training that makes disgust not just tolerable, but surprisingly seductive.

Toxicity, eroticism, and taboo

There are smells we know are dangerous, yet we can’t help but love them. Gasoline, glue, paint fumes… all contain volatile organic compounds that, when inhaled, can cause dizziness, respiratory damage, even addiction. And yet our brain rewards us with a dopamine hit, the neurotransmitter of pleasure. It’s literally a form of toxic attraction. No wonder the world of perfumery has turned this taboo into art. Dead Dino by Snif, for example, faithfully recreates the smell of gasoline, transforming a secret vice into a luxury accessory. Smelling it is like reliving a forbidden memory. You’re doing something you know is wrong, and that’s exactly why you can’t stop. But beyond the chemical thrill, there’s also the carnal one. The link between scent and sexual attraction is ancient. Before eyes or words, we choose each other with our noses. Sweat, breath, even the rumpled clothes of someone we love can be powerful aphrodisiacs. Studies on the MHC (major histocompatibility complex) confirm it: smelling another person’s body helps us unconsciously gauge genetic compatibility. That’s why a lover’s sweaty T-shirt can be more exciting than a €300 fragrance. This is where olfactophilia comes in, sexual arousal tied to body odors like semen, vaginal fluids, armpits, which daring perfumery has decided to exploit, catering to a growing group of “fraghead” craving more than milk or vanilla. The most famous example of brands capitalizing on this primal tension? Sécrétions Magnifiques by Etat Libre d’Orange, described by the French maison as a “true olfactory coitus,” has become legendary for its notes of blood, sweat, semen, and saliva. So disturbing that some have vomited upon first sniff, yet it continues to have fans precisely because it transforms disgust into art. For those who want to go further, there’s Sombre by Strangers Parfumerie, inspired by Philippe Grandrieux’s film about “a serial killer traveling through France targeting young women.”

Extreme perfumes, cultural rebellion, and the inner shadow

Niche perfumery loves to go where big brands don’t dare. While industry giants keep serving up comforting sweetness, independent creators dive into the murky depths. A perfect example: Toskovat’s olfactory offerings, from Anarchist A_, with notes of credit cards, dirty money, priest’s clothes, holy water, and whiskey, to Inexcusable Evil, created (in perfumer David Lev Jipa Slivinschi’s words) to “apply the trauma and horrors of war to the skin,” reproducing with bloody bandages, iodine, and burnt flowers “a smell so unpleasant it cannot be worn on one’s own skin.” Wearing these perfumes means carrying the darkest, most controversial sides of human experience. But why are more and more enthusiasts shunning classic floral bouquets, sugary vanillas, and comforting gourmands in favor of murky, disturbing, even unpleasant scents? Perhaps because, as famed nose Frédéric Malle once wrote, “perfumery has always been the echo of the world.” And today the world is restless, marked by economic crises, political tensions, and constant social upheaval. As cosmetics formulator Kyle Frank explained to Dazed, our stress levels (the infamous cortisol) have never been so high. This fuels both a return to nostalgic perfumes, comforting like an olfactory blanket, and the rise of an opposite trend: conceptual, dark, obsessive fragrances that dig into shadowy moods and fragile folds of identity in search of new expression. Spraying a perfume on your skin today is an act of identity, a language that tells the world who we are and what we want to show, or hide. Some choose extreme fragrances to dialogue with their shadow self, to look into the mirror of repressed parts, and to feel the thrill of recognizing themselves in odors they would normally reject. Others use niche perfumery to rebel against classical gender categories, rejecting “women’s perfumes” and “men’s perfumes” in favor of molecules that speak of bodies, desires, and memories without labels. In this sense, skanky fragrances, dirty, animalic, sweaty, with hints of dung, burnt rubber, or abandoned hospitals, aren’t gratuitous provocations, but ways of declaring individuality in a culture that often pushes toward homogeneity. 

Why are we drawn to disgusting smells?

To sum up, we fall under their spell for many different reasons. Maybe also because they remind us that life isn’t just roses and jasmines. The disgusting perfume proves that eros and death, desire and repulsion, sweetness and decay coexist in the same breath. They fascinate us because they speak in a primordial language, one that needs no words. They shake us, confuse us, make us feel alive. In the end, we’re drawn to disgusting smells because they tell us the truth no advertisement dares to admit: that we are animals, fragile and carnal, and our nose recognizes this truth better than anything else.