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

Woody notes smell like the heart of a forest distilled into liquid form. Imagine walking through an ancient woodland after rain—that deep, earthy richness underfoot, mixed with the slightly resinous warmth of tree bark and aged timber. There's a dryness to it, reminiscent of pencil shavings or cedar chests, yet simultaneously warm and comforting, like sitting by a fireplace in a cabin. Not sharp or medicinal, but grounding and structural—the olfactory equivalent of solid wood supporting a building.