How does your name taste? The strange science of synaesthesia

This article is part of a series in which we speak to individuals who – due to a unique job, location or experience – share an insight they wish others could know.

What's the one thing people should know? We’re all thinking differently about the same thing.

As a child, Constantina Makridakis, a 28-year-old jewellery designer from Greece, thought everyone could taste voices and names.

Her father’s name, Nicholas, tasted like caramel-coated chocolate, while her mother’s name, Maria, was pasta with prawns.

The tastes were usually pleasant; the name Paul, a rich chocolate liquor, was particularly delicious.

“I thought everyone had this ability,” she explained. “It seemed natural to me. We talk from our mouth, so it made sense [that] we also taste names and voices … it seemed connected to me, so I didn't ask anyone about this.”

That was until one day in her late teens, when her sister, Amelia, whose name tasted sweet - often in the form of syrup or jam - told her about a documentary on synaesthesia.

After watching it, Makridakis realised she had a form of synaesthesia, a perceptual phenomenon in which sensory experience triggers another.