Khalid

خالد

Lattafa

If there's one thing Khalid von Lattafa isn't, it's subtle.
The scent doesn't enter the room - it rams down the door, wears suede that hasn't seen daylight for years and liberally spreads birch tar on anything that doesn't put up a fight.

The opening is a veritable slap in the face.
Smoky. Tarry. Woodsy. And above all, very loud.
I smell leather, juniper, birch, and above all: birch tar.
Not as an accent, but as a full service.
No campfire romantic flair, but rather: "I soaked my birch tar vest in a pot of asphalt last night and put it straight on this morning."

Khalid doesn't smell cheap or artificial - you have to give him that.
The leather actually looks amazingly realistic - but not like an Italian made-to-measure saddle or an English leather glove, but like an oiled motorcycle jacket that has kissed the asphalt at 180 km/h.

After about 30 minutes, the performance calms down a little. But that doesn't mean it goes quiet.
Perhaps the other ingredients from the pyramid are now mixing in. But for me, this aggressive leather tar forest scent remains more than present in the nose.

I can understand that this fragrance polarizes - and is certainly a discovery for fans of rustic leather notes. But for me personally, it's too much street, too little salon.

My conclusion:
Anyone who has always wondered what it smells like when a road worker with a passion for motorcycles undresses in a juniper grove - voilá.
Khalid delivers.
Honest. Rough. Bluntly.
But for me: too much of a good thing.

For me, unfortunately, it's only a 2 out of 10.
He still gets a point of respect for his craftsmanship - but the two of us won't be friends.