Rethinking Workplace Accessibility: the perfume story

I used to work with a person I’ll call Lina for the sake of confidentiality. This was a long time ago, well before I became the advocate for accessibility and neurodivergence that I aspire to be today. I'll admit, even though I knew I was different and dyslexic, I didn’t fully recognize or understand that people could have specific needs and rights. It was only when I became more aware that having specific needs was valid and completely normal that I began to recognize that others had them too and that took time! Anyhow, that’s beside the point!

Lina worked on the same open-floor plan as I did. She was kind, outgoing, and well-liked by everyone. I hadn’t been at the company long when, one day, I came in wearing a new perfume I'd bought. Proud of my new scent, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Later that day, Lina approached me and politely asked if I could avoid wearing perfume at work. She explained that she had a smell sensitivity, a condition known as hyperosmia, which made her react to strong odors. For her, exposure could trigger headaches, nausea, and even vomiting.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand, but I agreed to her request—it didn’t really require much from me, after all. Over time, however, as more people joined the team, not everyone was as understanding. Some new colleagues felt that giving up fragrance was too much to ask, and our employer supported them, saying that they couldn't enforce such a rule. They viewed Lina’s request as “far-fetched” and unnecessary, even though it was causing her significant discomfort.

Things only got worse for Lina. She would often have to leave work due to migraines triggered by the fragrances around her. Her PTO started depleting fast, but her concerns still went unaddressed.

Then, one day, Lina came to work with a doctor’s note stating that she was allergic to perfume. Suddenly, everything changed. The company immediately took action, sending out a memo instructing everyone not to wear fragrances. They even warned that anyone who disregarded this could face disciplinary action.

To this day, I’m not sure if Lina truly had an allergy or if it was a workaround she used to have her needs recognized. A true perfume allergy is rare and often comes with severe symptoms, like asthma or breathing difficulties—none of which Lina seemed to have. Still, I couldn’t help but think about how her request, which should have been met with basic empathy, only became legitimate once a doctor’s note was involved.

This experience highlights the clash between the medical model and social model of disability. The medical model treats disability as something that must be “proven” and “fixed” within the individual, placing the burden on the person affected to seek medical documentation for basic accommodations. In Lina’s case, it wasn’t until a medical note entered the picture that her needs were taken seriously. The social model, however, suggests that disability is largely created by societal barriers—in this case, a lack of fragrance policy or understanding around scent sensitivity. Under the social model, Lina’s environment would have adapted to her needs from the beginning, without requiring a medical validation.

It also raises questions about access to healthcare. For many people, getting a doctor’s note isn’t simple—it can be costly, time-consuming, or even impossible in places with limited healthcare resources. If we, as a society, practiced more empathy, we could alleviate pressure on an already overburdened medical system, recognizing and accommodating people’s needs without requiring them to “prove” their disabilities.

Reflecting on this story reminds me that accessibility is still a work in progress. Far too often, our needs are only validated through medical documentation, when simple human decency should be enough. As Lina’s experience shows, true accessibility will only be achieved when we recognize and respect each other’s needs without requiring “proof” to justify basic accommodations.