Sticky? Warm? Hurt? Round? Sensual? Yes.(A small primer on balsamics in fragrance)
Fragrance language is full of words that sound sophisticated until you realize they’re lying to you if you take them as literal and taxonomic as they actually sound.
“Balsamic,” for example, sounds tasteful and faintly ecclesiastical. It conjures images of dark vinegar drizzled on salad greens that I’ll laugh into knowingly.
(And ice cream, we abandoned the trend too soon. If frozen yogurt can have three solid years of dominant real estate capture then we can bring back the balsamic drizzled ice cream trend for at least another year)
At first, I thought I loved them. I liked the sound of “balsamic.” I liked the idea that I, too, was darkly glossy and compositionally complex. It felt like a word for people who eat fig jam and have opinions about antioxidants. But it wasn’t until I dug a little deeper into what makes a balsamic a balsamic (spoilers, not necessarily balsa wood) that the category made a lot of sense to me.
Mandy Aftel in her book “Essence and Alchemy” lists the great pillars that categorize the balsamic family: vanilla with an “undertone of something woody, spicy, or warm” with the front-runners being “tonka bean, benzoin, opoponax, and styrax.” Tonka bean, sure. Love her, solid citizen, classy dancer, entertaining me since the age of four and now I know what the Tonka trucks were carrying. The beans. But for me the rest of balsamics were on thin fucking ice.
Benzoin? A quiet bro. Styrax? Benzoin’s unreliable bro. Opo? Volatile, either amazing or terrible.
Aftel, defines a balsamic note as an essence similar to vanilla, but “less pleasing” which is a phrase so brutal I still think about it weekly.
Most (non-coniferous) resins within and related to the balsamic family are universally agreed upon to be ‘warm.’
But they are also described as ‘dirty,’ and ‘sultry’ and and ‘sexy’ like they’re going to snatch a promise ring off your finger with their sticky-sweet lies.
Balsamics are not just the sticky-finger cousins of vanilla looking over your shoulder asking “do you got games on that phone?”
They are woody, warm, faintly spicy, occasionally priestly, they stick around a long time and as a result, make other things stick around longer which is why they are used like castoreum as a fixative element for other notes.
A lot of sources I found also describes opoponax as “round,” which is the kind of perfumery adjective that I love because it has no strict definition and nobody really disagrees with it. Round how? Like an orb? Like a well-developed character arc? Well, it’s not triangular, so we all nod and go yeah, round, why not.
Not pictured, elemi, who would have just taken off the skirt entirely
| Resin / Balsam | Source Plant (Family) | Balsamic? | Profile | Uses & Notes |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Benzoin/Styrax | Styrax tonkinensis / S. benzoin (Styracaceae) | YES - Bark exudate and incision resin | Sweet vanilla-amber, powdery, faint cinnamon | Amber cores, vanilla extender, classic comfort resin |
| Opoponax (Sweet Myrrh) | Commiphora erythraea/guidottii (Burseraceae) | YES - Bark incision resin | Warm, honeyed, lightly medicinal, soft smoke | Spicy/amber bases; the friendlier myrrh |
| Myrrh | Commiphora myrrha (Burseraceae) | YES - Gum resin from injury | Dry, bitter-amber, medicinal, solemn | Incense and sacred accords; adds gravitas |
| Olibanum (Frankincense) | Boswellia carterii & spp. (Burseraceae) | SOMETIMES - Gum resin | Lemony, peppery, dry, airy smoke | Church incense, bridges citrus tops to resinous hearts |
| Labdanum | Cistus ladanifer (Cistaceae) | SOMETIMES - Leaf/twig exudate | Amber-leather, musky, slightly animalic | Amber bases, chypres; ambergris simulation partner |
| Tolu Balsam | Myroxylon var. toluiferum (Fabaceae) | YES - Bark balsam | Warm, honey-vanillic, soft spice | Gourmand plushness; blends smoothly with benzoin |
| Peru Balsam | Myroxylon var. pereirae (Fabaceae) | YES - Trunk resin | Rich balsamic, sweet-spicy, faint smoke | Fixative in ambers; note potential allergenicity |
| Galbanum | Ferula galbaniflua (Apiaceae) | NO - but it is Gum resin | Sharp green, earthy, terpenic | Green florals and leather chypres; the “green resin” outlier |
| Elemi | Canarium luzonicum (Burseraceae) | NO - though it is a Resin | Bright citrus-pepper sparkle, resinous | Bridges top to heart; modern incense/amber lift |
| Mastic | Pistacia lentiscus (Anacardiaceae) | NO - but it is Gum resin | Clean pine-lemon, waxy, Mediterranean | Fresh incense nuance; sun-on-stone chapel vibe |
Balsamics are referred to as pathological essences — not in the psychological toxic ex sense, but because they’re secretions the tree produces when it’s injured. It’s a wound response. You score the bark, and the tree weeps resin that you later collect.
Aftel also tells an anecdote of how resinous perfumes were briefly banned by the papal office in 1600s El Salvador because it is sacrilege to the tree, which I like and really brings home the sappy, sticky, wounded nature of resin collection.
They get the ‘1920s flapper girl’ association historically from the opoponax in Shalimar, when really they are also warm, slow-healing metaphors for wounds and growth.
(Hey papal office, didn’t your boy absolutely piledriver a fig tree?)
I pick on opoponax more than the others because of its rapid rise in popularity and the common trend to absolutely DUNK IT into the mix past the 2000s instead of it staying further in the background, a problem that neither the OG’s Shalimar and Jicky have. This isn’t to say the ingredient itself is necessarily even more common— just that it’s finally made it’s way into the lexicon to be listed as a note for consumer understanding.
Looking at you, ELDO. Fat Electrician, Secretions Magnifique, AND the underrated Nombril Immense?
We got it, seriously.
In the end, I’ve made peace with it. I do actually like balsamics; I just like the idea of them much more than I like them. I fell for the sensual, warm, sticky branding. The name sounded smart, the texture sounded serious, and the vibe sounded salad girl.
And, no. “balsamic” doesn’t mean “rich and delicious.” It is more likely to mean “vanilla-adjacent, woody, and with marketing notes that will make your science teacher blush (unless she was really cool).”
Balsamics are the accord of vanilla’s jaded cousin, weary and resinous, sensual from experience and from painful memories, the ones who’ve been tapped too many times and now ooze wisdom.* It’s warmth you respect more than enjoy, it’s badassery that hasn’t lost its spice. It reminds that time heals all wounds but leaves both scars and sticky residue.
*Except in the year 1617 in El Salvador.
