Green

Fig leaf smells like you've just brushed past a fig tree on a sun-warmed Mediterranean afternoon. It's distinctly green—not the juicy sweetness of the fruit itself, but something fresher and more herbaceous. Imagine crushed green leaves with subtle woody undertones, a hint of vegetation, and an almost creamy, milky quality reminiscent of the latex that seeps from broken stems. There's an unexpected earthiness, too, like petrichor mixed with green tomato vine. It's fresh without being sharp, botanical without being medicinal.

Green

Grass in fragrance captures that precise moment after you've mowed the lawn—a bright, slightly peppery greenness tinged with something almost mineral and earthy. It's the smell of crushed stems releasing their juices, verdant and alive, with a subtle anise-like warmth underneath. There's a clean, slightly watery quality, reminiscent of damp grass on a spring morning. It's herbaceous without being medicinal, and somehow both delicate and assertively present—the olfactory equivalent of green itself.