3
The quiet right to exist
Darkness doesn’t always fall with the night. Sometimes it seeps through borders, headlines, and the silence between explosions.
I’ve been wearing Shadid, Andy Tauer’s latest olfactory act, and it kinda haunts me. Not in the way ghosts do, but like memory, like conscience. The opening is a sharp whisper of coriander, quick to disappear.. Later on turns to a dry, musky woodiness, and the most prominent-nagarmotha, semi-sweet with vanilla added, but at the same time serious, like defiance rising from old soil. There’s ambergris too, though not the oceanic kind. No salt. Just heat. Resin. Ambery warmth that feels earned through grief. A sweetness that tastes like aftermath.
Shadid” (شديد)—“strong,” they say. But what is strength in a world that teaches restraint to some, and vengeance to others? Strength isn’t the roar of drones. It’s the quiet right to exist, to stand your ground without apology, even when history tells you to bow. When you’re cast as the victim without choosing it, without acting for it. Even when no one listens unless you burn.
There’s a rhythm to this scent. Like ruins breathing. Like a people who still dream, not of conquest, but of not being erased and free. You’ll find no bombs here-just the stubborn perfume of persistence. Balsamic, woody, slightly sweet... like peace, maybe. The kind carved out with bare hands.
In this part of the world, even some perfumes are political. But Shadid says nothing outright-it simply endures!
And sometimes, that’s the most radical act of all!
I’ve been wearing Shadid, Andy Tauer’s latest olfactory act, and it kinda haunts me. Not in the way ghosts do, but like memory, like conscience. The opening is a sharp whisper of coriander, quick to disappear.. Later on turns to a dry, musky woodiness, and the most prominent-nagarmotha, semi-sweet with vanilla added, but at the same time serious, like defiance rising from old soil. There’s ambergris too, though not the oceanic kind. No salt. Just heat. Resin. Ambery warmth that feels earned through grief. A sweetness that tastes like aftermath.
Shadid” (شديد)—“strong,” they say. But what is strength in a world that teaches restraint to some, and vengeance to others? Strength isn’t the roar of drones. It’s the quiet right to exist, to stand your ground without apology, even when history tells you to bow. When you’re cast as the victim without choosing it, without acting for it. Even when no one listens unless you burn.
There’s a rhythm to this scent. Like ruins breathing. Like a people who still dream, not of conquest, but of not being erased and free. You’ll find no bombs here-just the stubborn perfume of persistence. Balsamic, woody, slightly sweet... like peace, maybe. The kind carved out with bare hands.
In this part of the world, even some perfumes are political. But Shadid says nothing outright-it simply endures!
And sometimes, that’s the most radical act of all!