Khalis / خالص
Khalis / خالص
173 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The peach arrives with bright, slightly waxy immediacy, flanked by the creamy white florals of magnolia and a sharp neroli that suggests bergamot's more floral cousin. Within moments, however, these top notes collapse into diffusion, the alcohol delivery system in the oil feeling insufficient to hold them aloft.
Honeysuckle's honeyed sweetness blooms unchallenged, paired with almond macaroon's powdery richness, whilst something distinctly troublesome—that "stench" note—emerges as a discordant, slightly animalic whisper. The synthetic musks become increasingly prominent, lending the composition an almost cosmetic quality that strips away any remaining naturalism.
Amber and tonka bean establish themselves as a soft, skin-scent warmth, the sequoia wood offering dry, resinous support rather than fresh greenness. Everything trails into near-invisibility within hours, leaving only a faint sweetness and the lingering memory of having worn something deliberately opaque.
Al Riyad's Asrar Al Banat Khalis presents itself as a peculiar artifact of 1990s fragrance thinking—a perfume oil that reaches for sophisticated femininity through the marriage of orchard fruits and honeyed florals, yet stumbles on its own ambition. The composition opens with a genuinely arresting collision of peach and magnolia, neroli cutting through with citric brightness, but this promising overture dissolves almost immediately into the fragrance's central tension: honeysuckle nectar and almond macaroon create a dessert-like sweetness that teeters dangerously close to gourmand territory, whilst an unexplained note listed as "stench" suggests either a transcription error or a deliberately discordant floral—perhaps an indolic tuberose or civet-tinged musk meant to provide counterpoint. The result feels caught between eras, neither quite a floral nor a proper sweet composition, instead occupying an uncomfortable middle ground where the synthetic musks become increasingly apparent as the fruity elements fade. This is a scent for someone drawn to amber and tonka bean's comforting warmth, to the woody whisper of sequoia, yet someone also willing to tolerate a fragrance that refuses to project itself confidently onto the skin or linger persuasively in a room. It's retrospective interest rather than contemporary pleasure—the kind of vintage perfume oil one discovers in a souk and wears ironically, or preserves as a document of a particular moment when Middle Eastern olfactory sensibilities were being translated through European perfumery.
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3.9/5 (99)