Citrus

Rhubarb smells tart and slightly green, like biting into the stalk of a freshly picked plant. Imagine the sharp, almost sour zing of ripe granny smith apple meets the leafy, vegetal quality of freshly cut grass or rhubarb leaves themselves. There's a candied sweetness underneath—reminiscent of stewed rhubarb with sugar—but the dominant character is brisk, slightly tangy, and surprisingly juicy. It's herbaceous without being medicinal, and carries a whisper of that pleasant astringency you'd feel on your tongue.

Woody

Woody notes smell like the heart of a forest distilled into essence. Imagine the warm, dry interior of a cedar wardrobe, the earthy grip of tree bark after rain, or the comforting scent of aged timber in an old library. They're neither sweet nor sharp—rather, they're grounding and substantial, with a slightly resinous, almost creaky quality. Think of pencil shavings, sandalwood's buttery softness, or the austere dryness of vetiver. These notes smell like nature's architecture: solid, enduring, and deeply familiar.