Woody

Musk is the scent of warmth itself—imagine the gentle heat radiating from skin after exercise, mingled with soft suede and a whisper of vanilla. It's deeply intimate rather than floral or sharp; think of wrapping yourself in a cashmere blanket warmed by the sun, with a faint animalic undertone that's almost imperceptible. Pure musk has a powdery, almost imperceptible sweetness, like the inside of a lover's wrist or the comfort of well-loved fabric. It doesn't announce itself boldly; instead, it envelops and lingers on your skin like a second layer.

Floral

Tulip is deceptively subtle—nothing like the visual drama of the flower itself. Imagine walking through a spring garden and catching a whisper of something green, slightly peppery, and almost powdery-soft. It's more of a gentle herbaceous breath than a bold floral shout. There's a delicate, slightly waxy quality reminiscent of fresh-cut stems and pale petals, with a hint of something almost minty-fresh underneath. It's the fragrance equivalent of touching velvet in dim light—present, but requiring your attention to truly notice it.