Aquatic

Algae smells like the ocean's green heart—imagine standing on a rocky shore where seaweed clings to stone, still damp from the tide. There's a briny, slightly salty minerality undercut with something almost metallic and green, reminiscent of wet seagrass, crushed kelp, and the peculiar freshness of a coastal cave. It's not unpleasant, but distinctly aquatic and unfamiliar; rather like breathing in the essence of marine life itself—clean, primal, and vaguely ammoniac without being harsh.

Aquatic notes don't smell like water itself—they smell like the *feeling* of water. Imagine standing by the sea on a breezy morning: that crisp, ozonic freshness mixed with mineral saltiness and a hint of seaweed. Or picture a cool shower mist on your face—clean, slightly metallic, with a whisper of ozone (that electric tang you smell before rain). They're ethereal and weightless, never heavy or sweet, evoking cleanliness without the sharpness of citrus. Modern aquatic fragrances smell like your skin after swimming, mixed with salty air and driftwood.

Brine smells like the sea itself—but not in the way you might expect. It's not fishy or unpleasantly salty. Instead, imagine standing on a windswept rocky coastline after a storm, where salt spray mingles with mineral air and seaweed. There's a crisp, slightly metallic quality, reminiscent of licking your lip after ocean swimming. It's ozonic and clean, with an almost numbing freshness, like breathing in through your nose on a bitterly cold seaside morning. It feels more atmospheric than ingredient.

Coconut water smells nothing like the dense, creamy coconut milk you might expect. Instead, imagine the delicate, slightly sweet vapour rising from a freshly cracked young green coconut—ethereal and watery, with whispers of pale fruit and a faint mineral quality, rather like lightly salted tropical air. It's clean, almost translucent, with a subtle greenish freshness underneath, reminiscent of tender coconut flesh mixed with the faintest hint of seawater. Refreshing without being sharp.

Fleur de sel doesn't smell like salt in the literal sense—there's no briny, mineral punch. Instead, it captures something far more ethereal: the clean, crystalline quality of sea air meeting sun-warmed skin. Imagine standing on a Breton coastline at dawn, where salt crystals catch morning light and release a subtle, almost ozonic freshness—slightly peppery, whisper-thin, with a faint saline-mineral undertone. It's like smelling the memory of the ocean rather than the ocean itself, reminiscent of laundry dried in coastal wind.

Iodine smells distinctly mineral and salty—imagine standing on a windswept rocky coastline where seaweed clings to stones. It's crisp and slightly sharp, with an almost metallic tang reminiscent of sea spray mixed with wet stones warmed by sun. There's an ozonic quality, like the air after a coastal storm. It carries a faint, clean brininess without sweetness, evoking the smell of kelp beds exposed at low tide. The effect is simultaneously fresh, cool, and vaguely medicinal—it's the scent of the seaside distilled to its most elemental essence.

Marine notes smell like the ocean itself—but not literally seawater (which would be unpleasant). Instead, imagine standing on a windswept beach after a storm: that fresh, slightly metallic-mineral quality in the air, mixed with sea spray and the green saltiness of seaweed. There's an ozonic crispness, almost electric, combined with subtle hints of ambroxan (a synthetic that mimics ambergris) and briny, slightly iodine-like undertones. It's clean, airy, and subtly salty—like the smell of coastal air itself distilled into a bottle.

Neptune grass conjures the bracing, mineral-fresh sensation of standing beside a rocky coastline after a storm. It smells distinctly ozonic—like that clean, electric snap you get when sea spray hits sun-warmed stone. There's a subtle saltiness beneath, almost salty-green, paired with hints of seaweed and wet driftwood. It's crisp without being sharp, more like the cool, invigorating air of the seaside than any actual plant. Imagine the smell of an ocean breeze crystallised into scent: refreshing, slightly salty-mineral, with an airy, almost metallic clarity.

Sea salt doesn't smell like salt itself—there's no actual scent to sodium chloride. Rather, it evokes the *experience* of coastal air: that bracing, slightly mineral-tinged atmosphere you breathe near the ocean. Imagine the crisp ozone-like quality after a sea breeze, mixed with hints of driftwood, seaweed, and sun-warmed skin. It's clean yet slightly salty-sour, almost metallic at the edges—like licking your forearm after swimming in the sea. Fresh, energising, and distinctly nostalgic.

Water lily smells like a fresh, almost weightless floral—imagine leaning over a cool pond on a summer morning and catching that clean, slightly green scent floating above the surface. It's crisp and dewy, with a whisper of cucumber-like freshness and a faint powdery sweetness, like the inside of a flower petal that's just unfurled. There's nothing heavy or perfumey about it; instead, it evokes that serene moment when air itself seems to have a gentle fragrance—cool, aquatic, and almost crystalline.

Water notes don't smell like anything you'd expect—there's no true scent of H₂O itself. Instead, they capture the *feeling* of water: cool, clean, slightly mineral, with hints of ozone (that fresh-electric smell after a thunderstorm). Imagine standing by the sea on a breezy morning, or the crisp sensation of mist on your skin. There's an almost translucent quality—refreshing without weight, airy without being perfumy. Some carry subtle metallic or ozonic brightness, others suggest sea spray or rain-dampened air.