Metamodernism offers a more compelling alternative to the bleakness of the Postmodernist period. While Postmodernism focused on deconstructing overarching societal norms and Enlightenment values, Metamodernism seeks to bridge the gap between cynically fractured, self-referential truths and the idealism and sincerity of Modernism. It does so by reclaiming meaning, truth, and hope.
While this is positive news to me, I find myself scrambling at times to keep up with the trends of this new era, and I have yet to adjust fully to the "Bubblegum Amber" fragrances that have flooded the market since Paco Rabanne's 1 Million was released in 2008. Why is this type of treacly, overly-sugared masculine a metamodern trait? What is it that imbues it with a post-postmodernist air? Put simply, it's the same sweet amber found in at least two dozen fragrances since 1 Million, and the fact that it's sweet appeals to everyone's lizard brain. Feel free to forget "my truth" when every perfume brand is celebrating a universal truth: people enjoy wearing stuff that reminds them of food.
This standard-issue bubblegum characteristic is present and accounted for in the heart of Rasasi's Hawas for Him (does anyone even wear the feminine?), which makes it part of the metamodern sensibility, but luckily for the cynics, it still manages to reference its native culture. This fragrance is made in Dubai, and as with most Middle Eastern perfumes, it is very loud, and very "fresh." It seems people are divided as to which version of Invictus is cloned by Hawas, the original or Aqua. Trying it was a major gamble because I happen to hate Invictus, and the overall consensus is that it's a straight-up clone. I took the risk on a blind-buy because I had a hunch about Rasasi's interpretation, and it paid off.
Paco Rabanne's 2013 scent was a blockbuster when it first hit stores, and I recall thinking it smelled presentable enough, but synthetic, a bit scratchy, blobby, overly sweet, and altogether juvenile. It had that sickeningly beige brand of inedible sweetness that had somehow carried over from the worst of the nineties and morphed into an olfactory monster with infinite longevity and projection. While it was a total ralph-fest for me, I recall thinking something about Hawas when I first saw it advertised in 2015: "Well, they've taken Invictus and done it up Arabian style. Can't be any worse!" Turns out, it's actually a whole lot better. Where Invictus was clunky and aggressive, Rasasi's take it far more dimensionally nuanced and textured. This is Invictus with imagination.
It opens with a barrage of citrus rendered as indistinct notes, perhaps a splash of pink grapefruit conjoined with the sweetness of apple esters and "plum," which smells like purple grapes to me. There's also a distinct orange blossom with hints of orange zest in the periphery, which lends a striking balance to the duskier fruits, a ray of sunshine through the leaves. Aldehydes and something in the vein of Silver Mountain Water's metallic note lend shimmer and fizz to the first ten minutes, until the grapey stage takes hold. Of interest to me is how these notes manage to blend, yet the orange blossom dances apart from them in little snatches, and picking it out takes me back to my earliest days in this hobby.
The heart stage unfurls the grand banner of bubblegum, but again, it's more interesting than it sounds. There are salty marine notes sparkling behind the sugars, and this kaleidoscope of contrasts persists for no less than ten hours, with the marine element gradually intensifying as the sweetness slowly fades out. Ambroxan is used in abundance, but instead of simply relying on Ambroxan to serve as its own note, the perfumer(s) tailored it into something akin to a true ambergris note, with a mineralic saltiness that feels "spikey" and salty to a degree that goes beyond the typical rendition. The sheer potency of this stuff is something to behold; I applied it at eight in the morning and it was still pounding at three in the afternoon. Hawas leaves an oil slick on skin when sprayed, so be cautious when applying to clothing, as it will surely stain. Perfume extrait strength, people.
This is a cold, crisp, fresh fragrance, but it's also a bit of a paradox. The packaging says "The next sentence is true," and the fragrance says "The previous sentence is false." The sweet clubber image of "House" (English translation from Arabic) is belied by the unorthodox marine quality that pervades the composition. While aquatics are popular, they tend to not make the cut with the night-crawlers, probably because salty notes and alcohol consumption don't mix. Ambergris and intoxication is a recipe for disaster, in which case Hawas is an anomaly in tackling the customer who moonlights as a clubber.
For me, it smells like a very youthful and metamodern composition, splicing a bunch of known quantities together to form one big smell that fills the room and attracts everyone born after 1998. Is it a good fragrance? With reluctance, I say yes.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone. See you in 2025.