Morocco
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

I must be anosmic to something in Morocco because I can barely smell it at first. The parts of it that I do smell are very nice indeed – a warm, resinous musk with a clove-like carnation and a lightly soapy sandalwood in the background. It smells exotic in a vague, formless way that will please anyone who finds the pungency of real resins to be a bit de trop. Quite honestly, while I like Morocco and wear it quite a bit, there is no escaping the fact that it smells more like a stock oil one might use for making soap or candles than a proper perfume.

Morocco is a homespun fantasy of orientalia rather than anything truly of the orient. It is terribly faint. When I smell it, I imagine the imprint of a cloth soaked in rich spices and incense pressed lightly against a sheet of paper, then the paper held to my nose to smell. In other words, it is a secondhand impression of a smell rather than the full whack. I would normally find that frustrating, but Morocco’s laid back laziness holds a certain appeal. The drydown is a soft sandalwood that smells not (strictly speaking) of the wood itself but rather the lingering scent on one’s hands after washing with Mysore sandalwood soap. This may sound like I am damning Morocco with faint praise, but I am not. There is a time and a place for a subtle, creamy-golden take on the woody theme, and if that is what you are looking for, then Morocco is a solid contender.