The eye
Show Scentprint a fragrance and it looks the way a collector looks: the shape of the glass, the label, the light. Then it checks what it sees against an archive of 98,261 fragrances — and comes back not just with a name, but with the composition behind it: every note, top to heart to base.
When the photograph is difficult — bad light, a rare release — it says so and asks for another look, rather than guessing in silence.
The palate
Notes behave like people. Some harmonise the moment they meet; some talk over each other. The Blend Engine learned the old rules of accords — what shares a facet, what fights — and rehearses your blend before your skin ever does. It scores the harmony, points at the clashes, and writes the story of the hours: what opens, what reveals itself, what settles into the evening.
The memory
Most apps recommend from a chart: what everyone else bought this month. Scentprint reads a different document — your shelf, your rituals, the days you recorded. From them it draws your olfactory identity, and its suggestions grow from that signature alone. Two collectors never see the same Scentprint.
The vow
Your collection is yours. It syncs to your account so a new phone restores it, and it deletes — fully, from inside the app — the day you ask. Your waitlist address is used for one email, then kept for nothing else.
And one more promise, because it matters now: when AI speaks in Scentprint, it is labelled. The app asks before AI joins your experience, and it never pretends to be anything other than what it is.