The Roman satirist Martial often wrote of scent in disparaging terms: perfume, for him, was strongly equated with the ridiculous, the false, the pretentious, and – often (but not always) – the feminine. Read a few choice epigram, here.
To Gellia
When we see you, we think of a perfumer’ s shop,
Or a cinnamon-jar brimming over the top.
Don’t fancy such nonsense attracts men you meet
My dog, if I scent her, will smell just as sweet.
Martial, Book 3, Epigram LV – Translation by J.A. Pott, F.A. Wright, Routledge London, 1924
To Coracinus
Because you are always redolent of lavender and cinnamon,
And stained with the spoils from the nest of the proud phoenix,
Exhale the odour of Nicerotius’s leaden vases,
You smile with contempt, Coracinus, on us, who smell of nothing.
I would rather smell of nothing than of scents.
Martial, Book 6, Epigram LV – Translation anonymous, Bohn’s Classic Library, 1897, ed. Roger Pearse, 2008
To Fabullus
When yesterday we came to dine,
I own you gave us unguents fine,
But there was not a thing to eat.
Methinks a curious sort of treat.
Perhaps you thought your guests had died
And came there to be mummified.
Martial Book 3, Epigram XII – Translation by J.A. Pott, F.A. Wright, Routledge London, 1924
