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Unscented: People revel in floral, spicy fragrances the world over. Why do we opt for the ‘humany note’?

Why don’t San Franciscans like perfume?

Stepping off the plane in Austin, Texas, earlier this year, I was swept away by scents. Women came at me with the force of a Victoria’s Secret gift basket. Men passed by smelling like my first boyfriend — spicy, strong, the caricature of “manly.”

During my stay for the South by Southwest festival, the same olfactory occurrence would repeat itself frequently: a whiff of perfume on an escalator. A floral moment in a conference hall. And not only Austin. Visits to other countries over the past year, from Israel to Britain, had enveloped me in clouds of perfume. It bothered me, ever so slightly, and the fact that it bothered me came as a surprise. That’s because, I came to realize, six years in the

Bay Area completely neutralized this portion of human existence. San Franciscans, you see, simply don’t smell like anything.

When I lived in Tel Aviv, every friend had a signature perfume, be it Dior, Issey Miyake or Chanel. Here, friendly hugs come, at most, with a faint scent of shampoo. “You smell so good,” I’d often compliment someone, only to learn they’d put nothing on. The tone, in this scenario, is almost apologetic. Did you think I wear perfume? Who, me? Perfumewearing and Bay Area living seem to be at odds. Furthermore, there are heavy traces of scent aversion everywhere you go. At the Academy of Art University, where I teach, warnings about scent sensitivity hang in the bathrooms. Recently, the following announcement came via email from the San Francisco branch of women’s coworking space the Wing: “If you’re typically a scent wearer, please be conscious of heavy application when coming into The Wing so we can make sure everyone feels great about the time they spend working here.” Treat it as a chicken and egg thing, but the fact is, most of my fellow Wing members have zero scent surrounding their beautifully curated clothes.

This is perhaps an ofthemoment generational thing; San Francisco is full of hardworking Millennials, a generation that has famously shunned sex, alcohol and other fun things people once used to enjoy. Data show that perfume, too, has followed the same path. “Millennials don’t want to smell like celebrities anymore” reads a title of a 2018 Bloomberg article, in which data reveal midrangepriced celebrity scents are falling out of favor.

You know how these perfumes smell? Like what you’d imagine Jennifer Lopez smells like: strong, sweet, smoldering. You know what Millennials prefer to smell like these days? Like Glossier’s buzzing Glossier You fragrance, described on the company’s website as “that familiar humany note that makes up the body of what you’re smelling. Creamy, sparkling, clean, warm.” In reality, that translates to an almost nonexistent scent of laundry detergent. At the Wing, bottles of Glossier You are stocked in the powder room. I spritzed it on my wrists, and within an hour there was no trace of it.

But it can also be a location thing; Le Labo is a highend, boutique perfume company with a local branch on Fillmore Street. The company’s signature San Francisco fragrance, Limette 37, is available for the majority of the year instore only, and is described as “mingling an impression of cleanliness, freshness and wellbeing with that definite feeling that you are smelling special. In a good way of course.” Compared to other, heavily infused scents at the store, Limette 37 is as slight as summer sunshine in the Sunset District.

San Francisco, after all, is a place where “humany” is a trademark, both ideologically powerful and completely nondescript. Everlane, the clothing brand synonymous with local style, makes sweatshirts that read “100% Human.” They are also gray and just like any other sweatshirt in the world. It’s hard to imagine what fancy Sephoralevel perfume can be paired with that aesthetic. A muted gray sweatshirt can offend no one. Loud perfume, these days, seems to be the ultimate Bay Area offender.

Six years in the Bay Area neutralized this portion of human existence. San Franciscans, you see, simply don’t smell like anything.

Flora Tsapovsky is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. Email: style@sfchronicle.com