People will ask anyway.
A room can be dressed the way a person is.
Two pumps into the air, a few onto the sofa. It settles rather than announces, and stays in the fabric long after it has left the room.
The one to send when you don't know the house well enough to guess.
The set of four, boxed
Two pumps, held high, at the centre of the room.
Sofa, cushions, curtains. It lasts longest here.
A light pass over sheets before the bed is made.
Most fresheners are designed to be hidden under a sink. This one is drawn for the console table, the shelf, the counter — wherever the room is already being looked at.
Bergamot, sweet lime, something green underneath.
Jasmine and neroli, kept deliberately light.
Cotton, cool mineral, a trace of salt.
Cedar, vetiver, a thread of smoke.
After cooking, when the smell of the meal has outstayed the meal.
Evenings, and the half hour before people arrive.
Over sheets and towels, where it holds for days rather than hours.
The first thing a room says. Light enough not to say it twice.
One word on a label can stand for a thousand ingredients.
In India, "fragrance" is all a freshener is required to tell you. We think that's the wrong amount of information to give someone about the air in their house.
A mineral odour neutraliser takes the smell out of the air instead of parking perfume on top of it.
Named one by one, in full, at a size you can actually read. Not one word standing in for the rest.
A fine mist pump, no aerosol propellant, no phthalates, no formaldehyde releasers.
Four scents built to belong in any room of any home, at any hour of it.
Scents this country already knows by heart, made to sit in a room rather than perform in it.
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