Do Mosquitoes Really Bite Certain People More Than Others?

Since I was a child, I’ve heard the same refrain at every outdoor summer activity when every mosquito there feasts upon me: “Looks like you have sweet blood.” 

A charming idiom, to be sure, partly because it sounds like something a campy vampire would say while winking at you. The results, however, are not so saccharine — me, dotted from head-to-toe with small inflammations, turning especially my lower legs into what looks like drunken braille. I’m always the one running for the screen door at an outdoor hang, muttering apologetically that “I’m getting eaten alive out here.”

And so, I finally decided to find out what exactly it is about the blood of me and other particularly scrumptious people that demands complete and utter exsanguination. 

First, I looked up whether blood can be “sweet” in any sense, or if that’s just figurative language. The answer seems to be that it’s purely a poetic turn-of-phrase. I mean, I know there’s such a thing as blood sugar levels, but mosquitoes don't seem to care. I suppose this makes sense, or every diabetic with a lax diet would look like the Candyman on a camping trip.

What, then? Was this all a farce? Was this merely based on some perceived sin I’d committed against the mosquito population? Was I so dangerous and precise with my forearm slaps that they told tales of me in the nest? Was there a bounty on my veins? 

Thankfully for my reputation, but unfortunately for my epidermis, it turns out that it’s not all imagined: Mosquitoes do indeed have preferred feeding targets. It’s just not connected to your blood itself, outside of a seeming slight preference for Type O, which, not having that blood type, I do think is cool. I like that there’s at least one specific blood that they consider a delicacy.

Apparently, I was indeed in possession of a sort of curse, just one that had more to do with other senses than taste. First, smell. Every human smells a little different thanks to their personal microbiome, as anyone who’s spent time in a Planet Fitness locker room can attest. Your personal, internally-produced cologne can either attract mosquitoes, or if you're lucky, repel them. My body, at least as far as mosquitoes are concerned, seems to be firing out a delectable small-batch Scandinavian scent, not a high-schooler’s pre-prom application of Polo Blue. 

Good to know, I guess, if I ever go on a date with a mosquito. Evidence suggests you can slightly control this by avoiding alcohol and ingesting garlic, but once mosquitoes are controlling your diet, it’s hard to argue that you’ve won.

The second variable is body heat, and in this regard, I’m fully screwed. I’m a hot sleeper, heavy sweater and all-around human furnace. I follow sheet science closely with the hope that someday I can wake up refreshed in the morning light like people in the movies, instead of feeling more like I’m peeling myself off a linoleum floor after being knocked out. 

As far as I know, this means I’m fully stuck with my mosquito issues. The only way I know to permanently reduce your body heat is to die, which is a step I’m unwilling to take. I’ll have to resign myself to a life living the monkey’s paw curse of being irresistibly attractive — just to the wrong species.