Scent & the city

New York push-cart vendor on Times Square.

Same vendor. Meat on fire.

Some marketers aim to target all of our senses, when trying to seduce us. Fact is the right design of sound and scent can make us spend more time and dollars in a store, and taking in that sweet smell of warm muffins and creamy cupcakes from the bakery on your way to work in the morning not only evokes childhood memories of grandma's homemade goodies, it most likely makes us stop midstride, walk right in, and before we know it, we're taking a bite out of that incredibly delicious vanilla cupcake.

But what on earth are these New York city push-cart vendors thinking? We see them every day, on dozens of street corners, selling hot dogs, sodas, pretzels and grilled chicken skewers. Grilled chicken skewers? Make that burnt skewers. They are either bad marketers or the worst grill masters walking the face of the earth. Whatever it is they are doing, their fare seems to remain most popular with the highly intoxicated on a late Saturday night. The two pictures in this article were taken on a warm, sunny, 55 degree New York day in November with not a single cloud in the sky. Yet half a city block was covered in smoke. I'm surprised no none had called 311, and filed a public complaint.

Just a few blocks away, on 39th Street and 7th Avenue, there is a Burger King, who for years has directed its exhaust pipe directly to the iron air vent grids outside that are supposed to get fresh air onto the subway platforms. But trust me: nothing good comes out of these pipes. The result: if you are standing on the subway platform of the 1 train underground, you wish you had an oxygen mask. What your lungs are taking in is not that summer night barbecue grill flavor making you dream of a juicy steak, but the putrid smell of rancid fat burning in the fire instead. The memory of that awful smell has been stuck in my mind for years, and it truly has has put my loyalty to the Whopper to the test.

How powerful these memories can be? Well, if I close my eyes, I am reliving the moments of joy I experienced back fifteen years ago at the Horton Plaza mall in downtown Sand Diego, brought to me by a place called - come on, google, help me real quick - ah, there it is: Cinnabon. I will never forget the sweet smell of oven-fresh baked cinnamon buns that came out of an oven-exhaust pipe that was strategically pointed at the sidewalk outside, which made escaping the temptation almost impossible.

For further reading, I recommend Marcel Proust's: In search for lost time. A Reader's Guide to The Remembrance of Things Past.

Related link:
A blog dedicated to the science of Scent Marketing