Sillage: Learning New Words from Friends

My friend Amy taught me a new word tonight unintentionally.

She used the word sillage.

I didn't know that one. And, apparently, Dictionary.com didn't either. It doesn't bring anything up there.

But Google knew better and told me forthwith, "the trail of scent left by a perfume."

What a lovely word.

A Glossary of Perfume Terms.

I imagine the connoisseur of perfumes must live in a world of abstractions about as delightful as those of the oenophile.

Both face similar problems in trying to translate subjective qualities of a sense (or some would argue senses--since most experiences are multisensory) into abstractions that can be deciphered by a reader in terms of similar experiences.

I always find critical assessments of a wine (and I imagine perfumes would be this way) enjoyable, but I invariably end up thinking more about Wittgenstein and language than I do about wine when I read these attempts to translate the experience of taste into language.

I applaud the attempt to reproduce what is probably impossible to reproduce.

But these writers can get close. And therein lies the drama.

I know there are elements in wine that have an undeniable objective reality.

For example, we have to be able to isolate what purpose tannins serve in a wine, and how they function in relation to the taste buds, to be able to look at just that one aspect of a particular wine.

There is science behind it. No doubt. But there's also a great deal of subjectivity.

We can't be sure that anybody else ever experiences a flavor the same way we do. That's the Wittgensteinian part. We can both be equally enjoying a flavor--and believe we are enjoying the same flavor. But while the first part of that supposition is objectively verifiable, the latter is not. I think we could extrapolate from this and begin to understand why two happy people might still get divorced.

And while it's unpopular to talk about genetic or other biological differences in people, when I smell that stinky asparagus smell in my urine after enjoying one of my favorite vegetables, I am reminded of this...

Asparagus contains a sulphurous compound called mercaptan (which is also found in rotten eggs, onions and garlic). When your digestive system breaks down mercaptan, by-products are released that cause the strange smell. The process is so quick that your urine can develop the distinctive smell within 15 to 30 minutes of eating asparagus. Not everyone suffers this effect; your genetic makeup may determine whether your urine has the odour -- or whether you can actually smell it. Only some people appear to have the gene for the enzyme that breaks down mercaptan into its more pungent parts.

It's funny, because in the past I had read that the genetic difference was in the ability to smell the mercaptan. Like a sort of selective anosmia. Now when I found this version of the argument, it's about the presence of the smell itself due to an enzyme (or lack therof). That makes more sense to me.

While I was at dictionary.com I noticed a WHAT'S NEW section over in the sidebar.

And it asked me this?

How do you say this in Spanish?

French Fries
UFO
Boat
Computer
Stroller

This was their way of showing they had gone bilingual. When you click on the entries you get Spanish language equivalents.

Nice.

I knew the first four. I think I skewed the spelling of the Spanish word for "computer" towards the French ordinateur though.

But stroller I blanked on.

It's cochecito. "Little car." lol.

So babies are rollin' rollin'.

I tried to find the "fancy" term for a connoisseur of perfume, but failed. I mean like the equivalent term of "oenophile" with wine. I'd imagine there must be one, but I can't recall every having encountered it.

Of course, nothing is going to beat the one Amy used in that same email: "frag hags." I love it.

I was scanning the Wiki article on "Perfume" quickly and it was reminding me of how strange the art form can be.

Like one of the ingredients sometimes used in perfume was the excrement of the African hyrax!

This reminds me of Baudelaire saying (I think this was in Le Paradis Artificel) that a very disgusting scent in small enough quantity can be intoxicating. And that an appealing smell can be nauseating when the concentration is very strong.

That sort of made sense to me.

But then he was on drugs too. Serious drugs.

But it did make me wonder if Baudelaire, like the Hybrid owners in that South Park episode, liked to smell his own farts.

I mean in "very small quantities."