Citrus

Pomegranate smells like bright, slightly tart berries with a whisper of leather and dry spice. Imagine biting into the jewelled seeds—there's that sharp, almost mouth-puckering citrus sweetness, but deeper and more sophisticated than lemon or orange. It carries an unexpected earthy, almost woody undertone, like the pomegranate's skin itself. There's a subtle astringency that catches the back of your nose, reminiscent of red wine or fresh pomegranate juice left to oxidise. It's fruity without being cloying, with a complexity that feels both ancient and modern.

Floral

Tulip is deceptively subtle—nothing like the visual drama of the flower itself. Imagine walking through a spring garden and catching a whisper of something green, slightly peppery, and almost powdery-soft. It's more of a gentle herbaceous breath than a bold floral shout. There's a delicate, slightly waxy quality reminiscent of fresh-cut stems and pale petals, with a hint of something almost minty-fresh underneath. It's the fragrance equivalent of touching velvet in dim light—present, but requiring your attention to truly notice it.