Green

Absinth smells like the ghost of a licorice sweet that's been sharpened with something menthol-keen and herbaceous. Imagine biting into a fresh anise seed, then the bite transforms into something green and slightly bitter—like wormwood leaves crushed between your fingers, with whispers of mint and wet grass. There's an almost medicinal quality, reminiscent of old apothecary cabinets and absinthe liqueur itself. It's simultaneously sweet and austere, inviting yet slightly unsettling—the scent equivalent of something beautiful but dangerous.

Woody

Imagine walking through damp earth after rain, then crushing dried autumn leaves in your hands. That's patchouli's essence: earthy, almost animalic, with a subtle sweetness lurking underneath. It smells vaguely like rich soil mixed with dried tobacco and a whisper of chocolate. There's a dark, slightly musty quality—think opening an antique wooden chest. It's grounding and intensely aromatic, never delicate. Fresh patchouli has peppery brightness; aged patchouli becomes deeper, warmer, almost leather-like.