Citrus

Bergamot smells like someone's just peeled a ripe orange in bright morning sunlight—that initial burst of citrus sweetness combined with something distinctly floral and almost tea-like. It's lighter and more delicate than lemon or grapefruit, with a subtle bittersweet edge and a powdery, slightly herbaceous undertone that lingers. Imagine Earl Grey tea without the tannins, mixed with candied orange peel and a whisper of honeyed florals. It's simultaneously fresh and warm, crisp yet creamy.

Woody

White woods smell like the clean, almost silvery heart of freshly sawn timber—imagine walking into a high-end carpentry workshop where pale birch or ash has just been cut. There's a subtle coolness here, almost minty-fresh, paired with a dry, slightly powdery quality reminiscent of cedarwood but airier and less resinous. It's the olfactory equivalent of pale sunlight filtering through a sparse forest. Some describe it as having a whisper of aldehydes—that soapy, slightly metallic brightness you'd find in expensive laundry water. It's refined, almost ethereal, and never heavy.