135 notes in this family
Dark, primal, and atmospheric. Smoky and earthy notes — from birch tar and leather to vetiver root and peat — evoke campfires, aged libraries, and rain-soaked forests. They add an unmistakable edge and gravitas to any fragrance.
Animalic notes smell like warm, musky skin after exertion—the scent of leather worn close to the body, mingled with fur and something deeply primal. Imagine the inside of a suede jacket that's absorbed years of human warmth, combined with the earthy, slightly salty smell of animal hides being tanned. There's an unsettling sensuality here: intimate, almost illicit, with a whisper of sweat and animal magnetism that feels both repellent and oddly compelling. It's not unpleasant—rather, it's deeply human and utterly indiscreet.
Ash doesn't smell like burnt wood residue—it's far more sophisticated. Imagine the cool, mineral-tinged air in a stone fireplace hours after flames have died, mingled with faint charcoal dust and the ghost of smoke. There's a subtle, almost chalky dryness coupled with a quietly acrid undertone—like standing near a smouldering campfire at dawn. It's austere, slightly earthy, and carries whispers of burnt paper and stone. Utterly devoid of sweetness, it creates an almost creeping, contemplative atmosphere rather than warmth.
Birch tar smells like charred wood smoke mingled with burnt rubber and leather—think of a blacksmith's workshop or a bonfire that's been smouldering for hours. It carries an almost medicinal, slightly acrid quality, with whispers of earthiness and creosote (that distinctive smell of old railway sleepers). Rather than pleasant alone, it's an arresting, austere scent that commands attention—smoky, slightly dry, with an undertone of something both ancient and industrial. It's undeniably masculine and rather forbidding.
Black leather smells like a freshly opened leather jacket—rich, slightly animalic, with a subtle smokiness that's almost burnt. Imagine the warm hide of a saddle mixed with tobacco smoke, a whisper of petrol, and something almost like burnt rubber. It's not the clean, tannery-fresh leather of new shoes; it's aged, worn leather that's been exposed to heat and time. There's a dark, slightly harsh quality—reminiscent of charred wood or a leather workshop on a smoky autumn evening—that makes it feel dangerous and luxurious simultaneously.
Black tobacco smells like walking into a cigar lounge on a winter evening. It's warm, slightly sweet, and deeply smoky—reminiscent of cured tobacco leaves with hints of leather, dried fruit, and woodsmoke. There's a subtle vanilla-like sweetness beneath the smoke, along with earthy, almost peppery undertones. It's rich and contemplative, nothing harsh or acrid, but rather the comforting aroma of aged tobacco in a quiet room.
Blond tobacco smells like walking into a cigar lounge—warm, slightly sweet, with a papery dryness that's almost powdery. It's softer than cigarette smoke; imagine the aroma of premium tobacco leaves drying in a sun-warmed barn, mixed with honey and burnt sugar. There's a gentle spiciness underneath, like clove or nutmeg, with whispers of vanilla and caramel. It's smoky without being acrid, possessing an almost creamy, leather-bound-book quality that feels sophisticated and nostalgic rather than harsh.
Castoreum smells like a smoky, animalic leather wrapped around warm, slightly sweet wood. Imagine the scent of a leather saddle warmed by sunshine, mingled with the earthy richness of wet tree bark and a whisper of musk. There's a creamy, almost creosote-like quality—like standing near a smouldering bonfire where old wood smokes slowly. It's distinctly sensual and primal, with an underlying sweetness that prevents it from becoming harsh. In dilution, it softens into something more seductive than repellent.