Nabeel
Nabeel
315 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first spray is an assault of jammy fruits—apple and blackcurrant dominant, sticky with what smells distinctly like grenadine syrup—cut through by the pink pepper's fizzy bite and a substantial pour of rosewater. There's coffee lurking somewhere in this fruit salad, adding a dark, almost burnt edge, whilst cardamom and cinnamon provide warmth without tipping into Christmas candle territory.
As the fruit recedes (though never entirely disappears), saffron and oud emerge with typical Middle Eastern generosity, surrounded by sandalwood's creamy haze and nagarmotha's earthy, vetiver-adjacent rasp. The florals—rose, jasmine, iris—meld into a plush, slightly powdery cushion that softens the oud's sharper medicinal facets, whilst frankincense adds a resinous, church-like quality that feels surprisingly contemplative given the exuberance elsewhere.
What remains is a dense amber cocoon—labdanum and vanilla dominating, with oakmoss providing earthy ballast and just enough patchouli to keep things from becoming entirely dessert-like. The leather and balsamic notes create a smooth, slightly smoky sweetness that clings tenaciously to skin and fabric alike, whilst white musk adds a clean(ish) halo that prevents the whole affair from becoming too animalic despite that listed civet.
Turath is maximalism in a bottle—a richly layered Middle Eastern composition that throws restraint out of the window and embraces the souk's sensory chaos with gleeful abandon. The opening is a collision of sticky candied fruits and pink peppercorns that's immediately recognisable as Dubai perfumery: jammy, unapologetically sweet, with just enough spice to prevent it from toppling into full confectionery. That apple and blackcurrant accord mingles with cardamom and cumin, creating an oddly savoury fruitiness reminiscent of preserved lemons and honeyed tagine, whilst the rose—predictably Damask, predictably generous—lends a rosewater syrup quality that feels both opulent and vaguely edible.
The heart is where things get interesting. Saffron and oud form the expected Middle Eastern backbone, but they're cushioned by such a profusion of supporting players—nagarmotha's earthy, almost rooty bitterness, sandalwood's creamy sweetness, jasmine's indolic warmth—that the composition never feels linear or one-note. There's a resinous, almost leathery quality emerging from the labdanum and Peru balsam that gives Turath unexpected depth, pulling it away from simple fruity-amber territory into something more complex and brooding.
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4.1/5 (104)