Woody

Resins smell like the amber-golden aftermath of a forest fire—warm, slightly sticky, deeply comforting. Imagine inhaling the scent of a church's incense, but earthier: there's honeyed sweetness mixed with subtle bitterness, a whiff of burnt wood and smoky vanilla. It's like pressing your nose against aged leather that's been warmed in sunlight, with an almost medicinal undertone. The aroma clings to your skin and clothes, leaving a lingering, almost resinous residue in the air.

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.