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Among the many botanical curiosities that populate the traditions of Hoodoo, folk magic, and conjure, few possess the quiet majesty and enduring reputation of Queen Elizabeth Root. Known botanically as Iris germanica and commonly referred to as orris root when used in perfumery and herbalism, this humble rhizome has long been regarded as a potent spiritual ally. Beneath its unassuming exterior lies a symbol of feminine sovereignty: a root associated with love, authority, charisma, and the cultivation of personal power. The dried root itself offers a small lesson in patience and transformation. Hard and unyielding when whole, Queen Elizabeth Root does not readily reveal its fragrance. Once cut, grated, or pulverized, it releases the soft violet-like sweetness that has made orris root prized in perfumery for centuries. Within Hoodoo and related folk traditions, Queen Elizabeth Root is revered for its association with attraction and magnetism. It is most frequently worked by those seeking to draw love, deepen romantic attention, or cultivate passionate connections. Yet its influence extends beyond the sphere of romance. The root is also valued as a charm for increasing charisma and popularity, encouraging eloquence in communication, and strengthening one’s authority in relationships or negotiations. It is believed to help its bearer command respect and secure favorable outcomes in situations where influence and presence matter. Because of these qualities, Queen Elizabeth Root has traditionally been regarded as an emblem of feminine power. Carried as a talisman, it is said to enhance personal magnetism and reinforce one’s ability to shape the circumstances of one’s life. In folklore, the root is sometimes linked with figures such as Queen Jezebel, another symbol of commanding presence and irresistible allure. Beyond matters of love and influence, Queen Elizabeth Root is also associated with inner perception. Some traditions hold that it may aid in prophetic dreaming or support divinatory work, subtly opening the mind to intuition and symbolic insight. In this role the root becomes not merely an instrument of outward magnetism but also a key to inward awareness, encouraging the practitioner to listen more carefully to the quiet language of dreams and omens. The iris plant itself has long carried associations with nobility and elegance; its flowers appear in royal heraldry and classical gardens alike. In sorcerous lore, this regal imagery becomes concentrated in the root. To carry it is, in a sense, to carry a fragment of symbolic sovereignty: a reminder that presence, dignity, and charm are forms of power that can be cultivated and consciously directed. Thus Queen Elizabeth Root occupies a distinctive place within the landscape of folk magic. It is not a tool of aggression or coercion but one of magnetism and influence, working through attraction rather than force.
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May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children. May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us — yes, establish the work of our hands. Also known as salep root and Helping Hand, this orchid root has been used as a tool of success, wealth, and good fortune, bringing blessed luck to everything your five fingers can touch. It’s a gambling root that blesses risk-takers, but is also a tool for craftsmen, laborers, artists, and all who work with their hands. A deep earthy perfume entwined with orchid petals.
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Angelica archangelica has long been associated with protection, purification, and blessing. In European folk practice it was carried against illness and misfortune, burned to cleanse spaces, and planted near doorways as a ward. In hoodoo and rootwork it is used to break crossed conditions, guard against harmful influences, strengthen women, and reinforce spiritual authority. The root is often carried in a mojo bag for protection and luck, added to floor washes to clear negativity, or dressed with oil and kept on the altar as a standing guardian. During the great plague years in Europe, angelica was regarded as a life-preserving herb. Physicians and herbalists recommended it as part of protective cordials and vinegars, and it was chewed or worn to guard against contagion. Paracelsus, the 16th-century physician and alchemist, praised angelica as a powerful remedy in times of pestilence, viewing it as a plant marked by divine intent for the preservation of life. Its reputation as a plague herb strengthened its identity as both medicine and spiritual safeguard. Its scent reflects that history. The root is dense and fibrous, with a sharp green opening that quickly settles into dry soil, resin, and a faint sweetness reminiscent of sap and old wood. There is a subtle heat to it, peppery without being hot, and a clean bitterness that reads as clarifying rather than harsh.
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Roses have been woven into magic and folklore for thousands of years, and this oil reaches past the lovely sweetness of petal and hip. In addition to the rose’s association with love and romance, the rose's spiritual depths encompass blood, rebirth, resurrection, and immortality. The root carries all of this in concentrated silence: love that is not fragile, love that has come back from the frost, love that grew itself back from the cold, shadowed death of winter. The rose is an emblem of Venus, deeply associated with love, passion, and friendship across cultures, but she is also sacred to Aphrodite, Isis, Hekate, Inanna, Ishtar — goddesses of the underworld as much as the bloom. She lives at the crossroads of beauty and power, and her thorns and roots have always been part of its power. An earthy, patchouli-touched rose oil with a hint of oakmoss and vetiver.
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Ulmus rubra’s mucilaginous inner bark produces a thick, protective gel that coats and soothes the throat in herbal medicine, and in rootwork this same quality becomes an act of slippery sorcery: thanks to the Doctrine of Signatures, the same mechanism that heals the body becomes armor against the violence of speech as wicked words slide away, accusations refuse to stick, and malicious talk loses its purchase and slides away, harmless. Governed by Saturn and resonant with the Air element, the domain of communication and the spoken word, slippery elm carries correspondences that reinforce its purpose. Saturn’s cold discipline enforces silence and binds the tongue of the enemy while Air governs every form of speech, rumor, and persuasion. Slippery elm sits at the crossroads of both. In hoodoo and rootwork, this translates into a robust tradition of anti-gossip and protection work and is a guardian of reputation. Slippery elm is carried in mojo bags, powdered into sachets, burned over charcoal, and sewn into charms. Pinches of the bark placed in the four corners of a room are said to protect the home from evil; a knotted yellow thread tied around the bark and cast into fire is a traditional working to cease all gossip directed at you. Keep the root close to your body wherever two-faced company gathers. In court case work, slippery elm shields against false accusations and slander, helping a difficult case move smoothly toward resolution. Slippery elm does not merely silence: it may be worn as a charm to cultivate eloquence, and it loosens the tongue when silence has become a trap or a curse, granting fluency and persuasion to those who carry it while denying the same to their enemies. A nutty, earthy-scented root with a whisper of benzoin, bourbon vanilla, and slippery, sweet sugar cane.
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Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? The aggrieved and the injured say, “Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.” And the passionate say, “Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.” The tired and the weary say, “Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.” But the restless say, “We have heard her shouting among the mountains, And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.” At night the watchmen of the city say, “Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.” And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, “We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.” In winter say the snow-bound, “She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.” And in the summer heat the reapers say, “We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.” All these things have you said of beauty, Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror. You are life and you are the veil; a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted: saffron-threaded sandalwood, white ambrette, wild narcissus, smoky yellow tobacco flower, and gilded vanilla.
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You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable. You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons. Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing. Yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness, And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space. Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless? And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds? And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless? But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons, And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing. Let each season encircle all the other seasons: ambergris accord, frankincense smoke, orris root, angelica, bergamot, and white tea.
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Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows—then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.” And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky,—then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.” And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion. Rest in reason and move in passion: smoked rose attar, honeyed saffron, red sandalwood, red tea, clove bud, and frankincense.
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Fuel and fire for speaking out against injustice: a heap of warm spiced funnel cakes with a scoop of coffee ice cream. Proceeds from this scent will be donated to the American Civil Liberties Union. To learn about how the ACLU will be challenging Trump’s agendas in court, visit them here. Note: If you are confused, the original scent description on the website said cinnamon ice cream. It was mentioned that this was an error and that it should actually be coffee ice cream in a live sniff on Thanksgiving.
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Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right As the other fellow has To stand On my two feet And own the land. I tire so of hearing people say, Let things take their course. Tomorrow is another day. I do not need my freedom when I’m dead. I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread. Freedom Is a strong seed Planted In a great need. I live here, too. I want freedom Just as you. – Langston Hughes A scent for community, for communal power, for collective justice; a fragrance of sustenance, comfort, resilience, justice, and the stubborn belief that sweetness belongs to the living, here and now. Crusty brown bread still warm from the oven, golden wheat, clover honey, sweet butter, oat milk, chamomile, and a soft breath of vanilla.
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An ode to persistent typos and overconfident, profoundly incorrect autocorrect. Dedicated to Ali in gratitude for years upon years of undangling my participles. Proceeds from the sale of this scent benefit Philadelphia’s Childrens Literacy Initiative who helps provide Black and Latino children with high-quality and culturally sustaining literary education. 7-year aged patchouli, candied dates, and dried red currant.
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A tribute to Epidendrum nutans, the nocturnal seductress of the forest canopy. Sweet, indolic jasmine curls around a breath of citrus and moonlit air, a perfume that blooms when the world sleeps.
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Pleasure is a freedom-song, But it is not freedom. It is the blossoming of your desires, But it is not their fruit. It is a depth calling unto a height, But it is not the deep nor the high. It is the caged taking wing, But it is not space encompassed. Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song. And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing. Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked. I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek. For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone; Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure. Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure? And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness. But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement. They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer. Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted. And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember; And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it. But even in their foregoing is their pleasure. And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands. But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit? Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars? And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind? Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff? Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being. Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow? Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived. And your body is the harp of your soul, And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds. And now you ask in your heart, “How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?” Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower, But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee. For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life, And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love, And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy. People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees. Be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees: candied rose petals, red honey, sweet berries, and luxuriant red musk.
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Bottled sunshine.
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And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge. And he answered, saying: Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights. But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge. You would know in words that which you have always known in thought. You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams. And it is well you should. The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea; And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure; And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. For self is a sea boundless and measureless. Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.” Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.” For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. Lotus petals cast onto a dark and fathomless sea.
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In the shadows of a neon hive-city, insectoid forms glide between thick curtains of bright green vines and crackling circuit boards. Blooming under sheets of acid rain and electric moons, this scent opens with the dark crackle of leather: slick, sunless, and alive with static. A surge of petrichor follows, like rainfall striking alien soil, soaking into a garden grown from strange seeds and synthetic spores. Peculiar blooms unfurl, humming with iridescent electricity. Moss clings to chrome roots, cybernetic orchids burst from humid soil.
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Have I spoken this day of aught else? Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom? Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations? Who can spread his hours before him, saying, “This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?” All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self. He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked. The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin. And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage. The freest song comes not through bars and wires. And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn. Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it take with you your all. Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute, The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight. For in revery you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures. And take with you all men: For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair. And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles. Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children. And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain. You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees. A perfume of the sacred in the ordinary and the value of labor, joy built from the things you carry into the temple of your days. Golden hay, frankincense tears, hearthsmoke, amber-streaked cedar, and beeswax.
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Dusty vanilla bean and Moreton Bay Fig.
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Her far horizons, her jewel-sea: a rose-tinted sunset of amber salt spray azure musk.
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You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance. For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether? And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart. And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing. When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet. Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion. For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive: And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted: Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard. It is enough that you enter the temple invisible. I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart, And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence, “Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth. It is thy desire in us that desireth. It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also. We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us: Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all.” A scent for wordless communion, an immersion with the divine: silver frankincense and white myrrh, blue lotus absolute and white sandalwood.
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A sun-warmed bloom, its fragrance unfurls in lush waves: rich and creamy, like chocolate and nectar mingling in the sultry air. A scent both decadent and wild, glistening with heady sweetness.
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Then said a teacher, Speak to us of Teaching. And he said: No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge. The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness. If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind. The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding of space, but he cannot give you his understanding. The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm nor the voice that echoes it. And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you thither. For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man. And even as each one of you stands alone in God’s knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his knowledge of God and in his understanding of the earth. A perfume for knowledge and the wisdom to wield it well: frankincense, green cedar, white sandalwood, bay leaf, and hyssop.
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A bright, sparkling scent, effervescent with joy and fiery with rekindled hope: golden musk and crystalline amber with Calabrian lemon peel, ti leaf, sweet vetiver, ginger root, neroli, and lime blossom.
