There is something old about Lattafa’s Al Qiam Gold, something that has been here before you arrived and will remain long after you leave. It smells of something old, respected, and of something that carries authority. Like many new experiences, it can at first be overwhelming; but eventually it settles into a warm nostalgia of a prestigious college, where the decorative hardwood of a professor’s office releases the aromas it’s been inhaling for many, many, semesters: leather-bound books, pipe tobacco, and the pungent sweetness of hot summers in tweed sport coats and leather patches before the advent of air conditioning.  Something distinctly European. It is not merely a fragrance. It is an olfactory portrait of institutional authority, earned wisdom, and patrician masculinity — a scent that carries the accumulated weight of a lifetime of deliberate living.

The raspberry note at the top of Al Qiam Gold’s pyramid is a rumor. What arrives instead is something altogether more serious — a forceful leather-rose accord so full and self-assured that, like a professor delivering a scintillating lecture, everything else becomes background. The saffron does not sweeten so much as thicken — a golden fog rather than a golden light, pungent, opaque, the sweetness of preserves, rather than fresh fruit. There is a tension between being overwhelmed and intrigued. However, the benzoin, patchouli and guaiac wood work together to produce a black pepper accord—warm, earthy, just a hint of spice and smoke—that provides enough lift to allow movement with the fog, rather than become encumbered by it.  It guides, rather than dictates; it asks that the process be trusted.     

The man this fragrance describes — for it is unmistakably masculine despite its unisex designation — is himself an institution. And like old things that have stood the test of time, the authority he wields intimidates. He has acquired the knowledge of a generation working in his field; he has published books and articles; his knowledge is vast, his mind, though aged, still facile and quick, and willing to be changed; his students and colleagues not only respect, but admire him.

Entering the office he continues to surprise: “Please sit, relax. Tell me about this essay you are writing.” And as he sits opposite the plush leather sofa, the lingering tendrils of tobacco curls through the air: a pipe, recently finished.  As he sits on the sofa opposite, the warm leather everywhere and nowhere all at once, a hint of aftershave prevents the atmosphere from becoming dark, all earth and smoke. Is that patchouli? It’s something aromatic, combined with something softer, like vanilla; no, something more sweet, textured, like tonka bean. But never becoming sentimental.  The authority remains, but so does understanding.  The realization sets in that the tweed coat does not symbolize a rough, autocratic and inflexible exterior, but rather something soft, like suede-patched elbows that, over time, have learned to move with the body.   

Lataffa’s Al Qiam Gold smells authoritative, old, aristocratic, like history come to life.  A direct translation of the term, al qiam, has several meanings: standing/rising, the literal act: establishment: signifying steadfastness, probity, established: or, in terms of a person, “the riser”, meaning, the one who rises, or who carries out a command (Wikishia). It is all of these.  In the opening, the rose and leather threaten to dominate the profile, to take total control, but the honied saffron, the earthy the patchouli and sweet tonka, all pliable and soft, balance the composition into something that doesn’t command, but invites, and by virtue of its gravitas pulls everything along with it. In the context of the college professor, rising does not represent superiority, but rather understanding that for one to rise, one does not do so alone.