Woody

Indonesian patchouli smells like damp earth after rain mixed with old leather and burnt wood. Imagine walking through a tropical forest floor where decomposing leaves release a rich, almost earthy sweetness—not unpleasant, but deeply grounded. There's a subtle spice beneath it, reminiscent of cloves or cinnamon, with hints of dark chocolate and tobacco leaf. It's heavy, sensual, and slightly animalic; the smell of something authentic and weathered rather than refined.

Citrus

Italian bergamot smells like someone's just peeled a fresh orange in bright sunlight—but with a crucial twist. It's sweeter and more floral than regular citrus, almost creamy, with a subtle spiced edge underneath. There's a delicate bitterness too, like biting into the white pith of the fruit. Imagine honeyed sunshine with a whisper of jasmine and a peppery finish. It's citrus that feels luxurious rather than purely zesty—less "cleaning product," more "Italian Riviera morning."