Khamrah

Khamrah is an unapologetic gourmand beast that wears its sweetness like armour. The opening salvo of cinnamon and dates creates something darker and more resinous than your typical spice-rack spritz—this is the scent of dates studded with cloves, sticky with their own sugars, dusted with freshly ground cassia. That praline in the heart isn't delicate French confection; it's burnt caramel with a bitter edge, amplified by mahonial's hedione-adjacent radiance that lifts what could be cloying into something almost shimmering. The tuberose here doesn't read as floral so much as creamy-waxy, another texture in this maximalist composition rather than a recognisable bloom.

The base is where Khamrah reveals its true character: a molten river of vanilla, tonka, and benzoin that achieves genuine depth through the addition of myrrh's church-incense bitterness and amberwood's mineralic warmth. This isn't polite. The projection is ballistic, the longevity genuinely impressive, the sweetness relentless. It's for those who find Dior's Fève Délicieuse too refined, who wish Tom Ford's Lost Cherry had more spice and less fruit. Lattafa has created something that smells expensive in its density and complexity, a fragrance that announces its wearer before they enter the room. Best deployed in cold weather when you want to smell like a luxurious, slightly dangerous dessert—cinnamon rolls laced with resin, served in a temple at midnight.