Citrus

Bergamot smells like someone's just peeled a ripe orange in bright morning sunlight—that initial burst of citrus sweetness combined with something distinctly floral and almost tea-like. It's lighter and more delicate than lemon or grapefruit, with a subtle bittersweet edge and a powdery, slightly herbaceous undertone that lingers. Imagine Earl Grey tea without the tannins, mixed with candied orange peel and a whisper of honeyed florals. It's simultaneously fresh and warm, crisp yet creamy.

Woody

Malayan oud smells like dark, resinous wood that's been slowly burning in an ancient temple—imagine the depth of wet earth after rain, threaded with bitter leather and a whisper of smoke. There's an animalic warmth beneath, almost creamy, like the inside of a leather jacket worn for decades. It's simultaneously woody and animalic, with a slight medicinal edge that catches in your nostrils. The scent feels heavy, grounding, profoundly grown-up—nothing sharp or bright.