From how you dress to how you stand, non-verbal communication is a huge part of politics, and how you smell can sometimes play just as big a part
In a move reminiscent of adolescent bravado, 47-year-old Emmanuel Macron reportedly applies “industrial” amounts of Dior Sauvage – to such an extent that his aides in the Élysée Palace can smell him coming. According to a new book by French journalist Olivier Beaumont, this inclination to wear the cologne “at all hours of the day” is a way “almost of marking his territory. It is a sign of one thing: that the president is in the building.”
Politicians have a lot of tricks when it comes to the ‘non-verbal communication’ they use to secure and assert power. They can dress up to exude authority, or dress down to show solidarity with financial difficulties (as in the case of Greece’s Alexis Tsipras). They also stand in a particular way (i.e. the George Osborne spread-legged pose). Scent is another of these tricks – after all, smell is a powerful tool: it causes us to react without thinking, lighting up parts of the brain associated with emotion and memory.
Back in the 17th century, King Louis XVI had an obsession with perfuming the French court, setting off a craze for orange blossom. Dubbed “the sweetest king of all”, he fragranced the palace of Versailles with bowls of flower petals and had his furniture sprayed with perfume. At that time, fragrance signified wealth and status. Napoleon had a longstanding order with perfumers Chardin to deliver 50 bottles of their citrus-scented eau de cologne every month. Some academics have even proposed that his excessive exposure to essential oils – evidence shows he also drank orange blossom water with coffee – is what eventually killed him.
Fast forward a few centuries and Donald Trump, never one to miss a branding opportunity, released two signature fragrances to commemorate his 2025 win. Victory 47 is designed “for men who lead with strength, confidence, and purpose”. There are no top or base notes; instead, the official blurb calls it “rich” and “masculine” (Fragrantica users have sarcastically filled in the blanks, calling it a “burst of halitosis and rotten oranges”). The $199.99 scent is topped with a gold statuette that portrays Trump as a god, or emperor-like.
While Trump’s broader strategy is undoubtedly a cash grab, a scent, unlike a keyring or golf club, offers something deeper. It taps into emotion, memory and allegiance, carving an identity out of political leaning. “Scents are related to regions, religion, national cuisine, traditions,” says Caro Verbeek, an olfactory researcher at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. “This means smell is an active agent in both group formation and a sense of group identity. Because smells easily evoke emotions and memories, they can be used to evoke certain sentiments such as patriotism, unity, a sense of belonging, or nostalgia.”
Some politicians, particularly populist ones, like to court nostalgia through sensory touchstones – think Jacob Rees-Mogg and his haunted Victorian aesthetic, or Nigel Farage and his unbreakable bond with a pint glass. “The way a politician looks, sounds and moves communicates a huge amount about who they are – and who they want to be seen as,” says Savvas Voutyras, a lecturer in politics at Bournemouth University. Often, political leaders have tweaked these cues in subtle ways. Margaret Thatcher employed a vocal coach in the 70s to make her voice appear deeper, firmer and more powerful. William P. Wilson was the aide who helped JFK with his TV debate against then-Vice President Nixon, insisting on a single-pole podium (to show off his “athletic” figure) and a light dusting of make-up. Kennedy’s whisker-thin victory was believed to have been nailed by this on-screen appearance. “On such decisions – Max Factor Crème Puff instead of Shavestick – rode the future leadership of the United States and the free world,” reads Wilson’s New York Times obituary.
Similarly, olfactory messaging can help instil feelings of trust, nostalgia or patriotism for propaganda purposes. While it’s unclear what drew Hillary Clinton to her reported favourite scent Mugler’s Angel, Thatcher’s decision to spritz herself with Penhaligon’s Blenheim Bouquet – a scent originally created for Winston Churchill's father, Lord Randolph – makes sense. The fragrance brand’s quintessential Britishness, with its links to history and royalty (it earned a Royal Warrant in 1903), has a political tie-in with Thatcher’s.
Macron’s choice of scent is an interesting one, then, due to its own cultural resonance: it has earned alleged abuser Johnny Depp over $20 million for starring in its ad campaign. But there could be a business-minded reason behind Macron’s choice: LVMH Group, who own Dior, is seen by the French government as a useful arm of soft power due to their close relationship. “The perfume, too, isn’t just about personal taste – it’s about projecting distinction, refinement, and power,” Voutyras says. “These cues separate him from others, almost like a silent performance of elite status.”
Scent isn’t the only subtle power play Macron uses, according to Beaumont’s book. The French president keeps a box of “ugly” sunglasses with “crooked arms” and “red rims” that guests must choose from if they want to stay and talk outside in the garden with him, a move that one minister is quoted as saying he believes is part of the president’s game. “It might sound strange – or even a bit theatrical – but this kind of thing is about controlling the scene,” says Voutyras. “By choosing how others appear, Macron subtly puts himself in charge. It’s a way of creating asymmetry: he looks composed, they look silly. It sends a message about who’s really in control.” Elsewhere, commentators have noted how the French president is often photographed with his sleeves rolled up, indicating a ‘ready to work’ status.
Voutyras believes these subtle details can play a significant role in shaping the narratives around political figures. “These kinds of things, they seem very insignificant out of context, but they can be very important,” he says, citing the claims that Trump eats his steak with ketchup as a signal of his lack of taste. Is it not concerning, though, that these trivial details can influence voters so heavily? “Policy should be the most important thing,” Voutyras says. “But this goes all the way back to Aristotle, when he was talking about the different forms of appeal. It has to do with how someone is trying to get our trust. I don’t think this is something that will disappear from politics.”
Scent has long been used as a tool of social control – in what Verbeek says is a process called ‘othering’: “Higher classes decide and control what is foul and what is fragrant. And the lower classes are often automatically deemed ‘smelly’, just because of different diets, for example.” More literally, stenches are used for deterring crowds, for example during the Covid pandemic, when the Swedish city of Lund spread chicken manure across its central park to stop people gathering for a festival. Meanwhile, Extinction Rebellion smeared themselves with butyric acid – a stench of vomit and rancid butter – in the Netherlands to protest fast fashion’s environmental and human rights issues; flipping the script on how some retailers use scent marketing to manipulate shoppers’ behaviour.
Whether used for myth-making, signalling public policy or asserting dominance, perfume continues to waft its way through politics. Will we hear reports of an eau de Starmer being splashed throughout Whitehall soon? Stranger things have happened.