My favorite candy used to be Hershey’s Kisses. Wrapped in colorful, sparkling foil, these little nubs of decadence made me feel special as a child, not just because of their sugary sweetness, but also because, for much of Vietnam’s contemporary history, you could only enjoy them if you have relatives abroad.
The last war that plagued Vietnam severely fragmented the country in more ways than one, broke up families and eventually resulted in Vietnamese becoming one of the largest diasporic communities in many western societies, known as Việt Kiều in the Vietnamese language. As a kid, I couldn’t fully grasp the complexities behind the term, I just knew that my aunt was one, and she often gave me Hershey’s Kisses when she came to stay with us, so her visits were always a highly anticipated occasion of my formative years.
The first evening on the day she landed, after a family meal, we would gather around the big suitcase as she gave out carefully labelled bags of presents for each person. Over the years, her visits have blurred into one amorphous blob in my memory, so I struggle to remember what I received. I remember the diverse range of Kisses colors, but mostly what remains ingrained in my mind is the fragrance of her luggage — it is a distinctive yet malleable aroma, or even amalgam of aromas that’s hard to put into words, a mystifying mùi Việt Kiều.
Hershey's Kisses once felt like an exclusive treat for Vietnamese kids with relatives abroad. Photo via Tasting Table.
Mùi Việt Kiều, in my memory, was neither a perfume nor from any recognizable artificial smell genres like floral, herb, or fruit. It wasn’t detergent- or food-forward, it just was. As an adult, I’ve forgotten about it, until a few weeks ago, a curious TikTok video popped up on my feed, advertising a bottle of laundry essential oil with “authentic hương Việt Kiều.” It was astonishing because, for the longest time, I’ve always assumed I was alone in noticing its existence, but someone out there has not only identified it but also commercialized it?
I’ve shared my observations with friends and colleagues, and while everybody confirmed they too have sensed mùi Việt Kiều, no one can pinpoint what it is exactly, apart from vague claims like “I’ll know it when I smell it.” The comment section beneath the laundry oil video was much more illuminating and helpful; someone claims it’s the smell of Irish Spring soaps, while others are sure that it comes from Bounce dryer sheets and Aquafresh toothpaste. Energized by possibilities, I made the next best decision: obtain every suggested item in the theories and did smell tests.
The dubious fragrance as advertised on Shopee.
This is the point where I have to admit that there’s no closure at the end of this journey. None of them smells as good as my aunt’s luggage, even though at various points over the years, it too was filled with Irish Spring and Aquafresh. It is entirely possible that they have recently changed their scenting formulae or that my childhood memories have gotten too murky, but perhaps, the most likely scenario is that there’s no definitive mùi Việt Kiều. Each luggage during each visit smelled ever slightly different depending on what it encompassed: a little bit of Hershey, a whiff of Ocean Spray dry cranberries, a touch of Kirkland multivitamins, etc — all piecing together a little smellscape of America that appeared so exotic and quasi-mythological to little me.
Today, globalization, cultural exchange and advancements in logistics have all but dismantled the myth of American products in Vietnam. How I could very easily procure all the scented items for my smell tests from local shops and online platforms is a testament to this shifting dynamic. Hershey is now readily available, but Vietnam’s progress has also given rise to a plethora of local chocolates so excellent I haven’t touched Kisses since. When we didn’t have much, every little thing was so special and treasured.
The most memorable (and tasty) source of mùi Việt Nam. Photo by Hoàng Vũ via Thanh Niên.
Back in the day, as my aunt’s visits inched to a close, her empty suitcase would gradually fill up again — this time chock-full of distinctively Vietnam items to stock up her pantry and to be given out as gifts on the other shore: dried shrimps, coffee beans, lacquer combs, silk áo dài, Thái Nguyên tea, lotus hearts, and a sizable and eclectic collection of various mắm. Sometimes I wonder about that moment, when, after flying halfway across the globe, she would arrive at home and unzip that suitcase. Does it give out a distinctive smell, too? A mystifying mùi Việt Nam that’s hard to put into words.
