Castile

Castile arrives as a study in restrained elegance—a fragrance that prioritises clarity over drama. The citrus accords dominate with purpose, but this isn't the sharp, aldehydic zip of a typical eau de cologne; rather, neroli and petitgrain establish themselves with a soft luminosity, as though filtered through frosted glass. What sets Castile apart is how the heart notes refuse to fade into the background. Orange blossom and bergamot weave together with a rose that feels neither powdery nor particularly green—instead, it's that gentle, almost herbaceous quality you find in a just-opened bloom, slightly damp from morning dew.

The composition maintains a distinctly unisex sensibility, neither leaning feminine through excess florality nor masculine through aggressive woody notes. Instead, there's an almost monastic quality to its structure: organised, composed, with every element knowing its place. This is a fragrance for someone who appreciates restraint, who understands that whisper can be more compelling than shout. The woods in the base—never heavy, never barnyard-like—provide subtle grounding without attempting to anchor the composition. A gentle musk hums beneath, present enough to add a skin-like warmth but never animalic or powdery.