Citrus

Paraguayan petitgrain smells like freshly peeled bitter orange—imagine the sharp, green-tinged brightness you get when you've just snapped a Seville orange's waxy skin between your fingers. It's crisp and slightly herbaceous, with an almost leafy undertone, less sweet than regular orange oil and more austere. There's a delicate floral whisper beneath, reminiscent of fresh-cut green stems or spring garden leaves after rain. It's simultaneously zesty and refined, with a candied edge that feels almost vintage.

Oriental

Spanish labdanum smells like warm, resinous amber kissed by sun-baked stone. Imagine honey that's been drizzled over leather and left to caramelize in the heat—sticky, slightly smoky, with undertones of incense and dried tobacco. There's a honeyed sweetness lurking beneath an almost animalic earthiness, reminiscent of walking into a centuries-old church filled with burning candles and wooden pews. It's hedonistic and slightly intoxicating, never delicate.