Universal Flowering’s Fig Leaf is a bit sexier than most green-forward or fig-leaf scents, as one would expect from this brand. The petitgrain and orange blossom notes are subtly blended with the musky base note: it doesn’t feel overtly citrusy, but it’s considerably warmer and more lactonic, more powdery and less purely “green” than, say, Diptyque's Philosykos. I feel it also leans a bit more feminine than unisex—I’d even say “womanly.”

Philosykos promises a hyperrrealistic, super-green fig (the listed notes are 100% fig—fruit, leaf, and tree) and I feel like it delivers: it’s a pure spring breeze, not “clean” like a soap but clean like truly fresh air, a lane filled with verdant trees. It’s leafy, light, and graceful, with the slightest hint of white florals, and an even fainter hint of fruity sweetness (pear, maybe?), but I still feel like it comes across as unisex rather than overtly feminine. I only have the Eau de Toilette and the longevity is pretty poor, which I think is fairly typical for fresh green scents, but I’d love to try the EDP. Big fan of this one, though I do also turn to DS & Durga's Debaser for an earthier, denser fig leaf scent. Universal Flowering's Fig Leaf is also spicier, sexier, more lactonic, if you're into that—but Philosykos feels iconic. It's the one to beat.

Parfum Prissana's Natsumeku is very citrusy up front (Yuzu, Neroli, Bitter Orange), but not at all in an artificial way. You also get the sharp hinoki wood with oakmoss and camphor, little bit of bergamot and palo santo, aromatic touches of lavender and a barely detectable note of rose. Highly refined, a mix of warm sun and cool shadow: I would imagine a Japanese shrine smelling like this. Feels calming, spa-like, even a tiny bit medicinal. Maybe it’s the camphor, but I feel like I’m smelling eucalyptus even though it’s not there. I’ve had my sample for a while and worn it often, but I think that antiseptic note (even though it's not unpleasant!) is what’s keeping me from springing for a whole bottle of this.

This perfume really got my hopes up only to disappoint. It’s supposed to lead with lemon and blood orange, with herbal notes of Chinotto, evoking Campari, with a balsamic base chord and touches of violet leaf and incense. As a negroni devotee and lover of bitter Italian sodas, that all sounds fantastic to me, but on my skin, I find it mostly just smells like cheap orange dish detergent and then dries down to something unpleasantly powdery (that’s the violet and the musk ambrette, probably). I simply do not like it, which is a bummer, because I really wanted to.

Le Labo’s Fleur d’Oranger 27 is exactly what is says it is: a super-realistic and pretty potent orange blossom, with almost nothing else involved. (The listed notes are orange blossom, petitgrain, bergamot, and lemon, but I can barely detect the bergamot). If you’ve ever tried the “navette” cookies that are a specialty of Marseille, this smells exactly like those, complete with the slight soapiness—not of dish detergent, but of orange-blossom savon de Marseille-style bar soap, with a very slight woodiness on the drydown. It’s quite sweet, could even border on cloying for some, but I find the initial intensity fades fairly fast, and it’s overall a really high-quality take on a simple concept, rich and enveloping. A very pleasant thing to smell like, imo, but a little one-dimensional. I think I’d prefer if it had more interpretive action involved. More layers, you know? I've just got a sample and, at Le Labo prices, I can’t imagine buying a whole bottle.

I read a review of this that described it as "Briney olives with a soft sour sandalwood” and I immediately sped down to my local perfumery to check it out because I HAD to know if it could really smell like briney olives. The answer is: yes, absolutely, this perfume opens up with a powerful blast of ripe, resinous, almost tarry black olive, which soon blends with spicy green fig leaf and herbal, gin-and-tonic juniper before easing into a veritable logpile of sun-beaten woods (guaicwood, birch, cedar) and a warm bed of dry, aromatic grasses (vetiver, papyrus, hay). The vibe is sweet, fresh, and languorous, braced with the front-loaded saltiness of the olive and fading into a smoky, creamy, leathery finish (myrrh, frankincense, sandalwood oil). It really feels like a whole story, perhaps the dreamy Tuscan late-afternoon suggested by the description: a frolic in the countryside; a roll in the hay; a few too many cocktails during a seaside rendezvous. I love the complexity of the salty, vegetal brine, the damp greenness, and earthy smokiness. It’s a dirty, rough-around-the-edges fragrance that’s full of layers, endlessly interesting. Like a bowl of particularly pungent olives, this isn’t for everyone or for all occasions, but it's way up my alley. I’m going to be wearing my sample a bunch and I could definitely imagine getting a bottle. No idea what the name is supposed to mean, though.