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.

Floral

White flowers smell like pristine elegance captured in a bottle. Imagine walking through a moonlit garden where gardenias, tuberose, and jasmine bloom simultaneously—intensely sweet but never cloying, with a creamy, almost powdery softness. There's an intoxicating richness reminiscent of fresh cream and honeyed almonds, yet with an ethereal quality, as if the scent itself is luminous. It's both delicate and commanding, filling a room with an almost hedonistic whisper. If sweetness had a texture, white flowers would be velvet.