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.

Floral

Pear blossom smells like spring condensed into a single breath—delicate and ethereal, with a subtle sweetness that's never cloying. Imagine the precise moment you walk through an orchard when the trees are flowering: there's a whisper of green freshness reminiscent of crushed leaves, a hint of honeyed nectar, and an almost creamy, waxy quality that recalls the soft petals themselves. It's floral without being heavy, more airy than a rose, with a faint fruity undertone that suggests the promise of the fruit to come—never the fruit itself, but its shy, fragrant prelude.