Hawas Ice (Rasasi)

The Hawas timeline is strange. The original fragrance was released in 2015, and was an instant success, ranking highly with the dudebros on the interwebs, stirring the chattering class on YouTube and Instagram, etc. I would argue that Hawas was just as popular in that space as Aventus was five years prior, generating the same kind of sexually-focused buzz, with every other guy claiming it was a "panty-dropper." Somehow I remained oblivious to it until many years later, which I don't regret. 

Apparently, Rasasi was also oblivious, because they waited eight years to release the first Hawas flanker, simply named "Ice," in 2023. Like, what? Why wait nearly a decade to follow up a smash hit? And it gets better: since Ice, Rasasi can't stop churning out Hawas flankers. Very weirdly, none of these flankers, with the exception of Ice, smell anything like the original fragrance, and nearly all of them are obvious cash grabs with no point other than to hook the Gen Z influencers into providing the brand with free advertising and millions in sales revenue. I tend to cast a forgiving eye on YouTube influencers because commercial influencing is, like it or not, a legitimate way to make a living on the platform, and if you're successful enough to have brands send you free bottles just so you can flog their wares on a monetized channel, more power to you. They certainly flogged the hell out of Hawas Ice. Nearly every influencer claims Ice is better than the original. 

It turns out, Ice is most certainly not better than the original, and in my opinion it isn't even as good. Where the original Hawas smacks my nose with its salty grape soda vibe and remains detectable all day, garnering occasional compliments, Ice just smells like a thinner version, with less grape fizz and way more salt. Under all the salt is a pallid fruitiness that rapidly (within ten minutes) fades into what smells like rubber tubing. Utterly unremarkable on skin and in the air, Hawas Ice only remains detectable to me for about four hours, at which point it fades to a very intimate skin scent. I'll again give credence to the YouTube influencers who praise Ice, and acknowledge that it's a pleasant variant of the theme, but give me its big brother over it, any day of the week. Not recommended. 

Hawas Malibu (Rasasi)

Brands, especially perfume brands, tend to do funny things. They release the same fragrance with different names in different regions. They take one specific base accord and build a dozen fragrances on it. Sometimes they market something as unisex when its packaging suggests it's anything but. And sometimes, as in the case of Hawas Malibu, they merely turn the namesake fragrance into a sleeker, improved version of its best self. Which begs the question: why not just release the improvement first?

Take Burger King, for example. A few months back, they released the "new and improved" Whopper, their signature hamburger. I only eat fast food a few times a year, so it's not like I could tell you exactly what a Whopper has always been like, but from fairly recent memory I'd say it was a large traditional hamburger with a surprising amount of fresh veggies that would get smooshed because Burger King only ever wrapped it in paper. I recall eating a Whopper once, thinking to myself: this burger is perfection, deflated. Then I tried the improved Whopper, and wow, what a difference! Not smooshed, fluffy bun, chock full of veggies, literally picture-perfect, identical to the image on Burger King's website. It tasted like a homemade grilled burger and was shockingly good.

My only thought was: why didn't they do this to begin with? Imagine the fast-food dominance Burger King could've achieved in years past if they'd been giving people a burger of this quality from day one. Well, when it comes to Rasasi and their Hawas line, my thought is similar. Now, I should point out: Hawas is the only fragrance in my collection that garnered a gushing compliment from a young woman on its first outing. See my review of Hawas for the details, but the short version is: she could smell me across a grocery store and spent five minutes trying to find me to ask what I was wearing. This speaks to the quality of Hawas and what it does. It's lethally effective at turning heads, and to be honest, I'm not entirely sure why, because to me, it's just another freshie.

Hawas Malibu, released a full ten years after the original, is an improvement on Hawas, at least in my opinion. Where the original hits you squarely in the schnoz with salinated orange blossom, fizzy citrus, sweet plum, cinnamon, and handfuls of sea salt (to the point where you feel like you got seawater up your nose), Malibu tones down that DNA and focuses on Isoraldeine 70, a methyl ionone with a plummy-sweet violet bud/orris powder. This makes the fragrance feel quite floral, but in a sueded, dry, slightly creamy way. It's also much classier than the original; Hawas 2015 was always targeted at the designer-obsessed Invictus Aqua types, but Malibu uses designer clonedom as a facade, tricking legions of YouTube influencers into touting its resemblance to Gaultier's Le Beau Le Parfum, while actually smelling like an incredible iris and violet fragrance.

Where it converges the most with the original Hawas is in its saltiness. This stuff is very, very salty. The initial lick of salted cocktail glass and pineapple-adjacent fruitiness rapidly segues into a brief orange & wintergreen-forward bubblegum vibe that has me fearing the worst. Fifteen minutes later, the fruitiness fades away and the minty quality tangos with the salt, letting the salt lead. They dance into a violet and iris bouquet, with a dryness and wry woodiness peeking through the buckets and buckets of salt, and for its nine-hour lifespan on skin, Malibu smells like a contempo-minimalist aquatic floral with facets of lavender, patchouli fraction, and Cashmeran for that musky smoothness in the base. I wouldn't say Malibu is particularly tropical, but it's definitely got seawater vibes. Interesting stuff.

Rasasi has released a hundred different Hawas flankers at this point, and it bears mentioning that they're overdoing it, to say the least. We don't need a new Hawas every other month. But apparently the brand is committed to this range, as they keep coming. Malibu is more wearable than the original Hawas for me, so I'm happy to take this one out for a spin on a workday, or on the weekends kicking it with my partner. I wouldn't say either Hawas is a masterpiece of any kind, but I would readily admit that they're both very nice fragrances that stand head and shoulders above most of the designers the YouTubers claim they're cloning. Malibu is unique: an old-school fem iris for Gen Z.

Shuhrah pour Homme (Rasasi)

While Rasasi and many of its UAE contemporaries are often known in Western fragrance circles for inspired-by takes on popular designer and niche scents, they occasionally put out something that feels more original (even when it really isn't, as rose/oud combos are anything but). In 2015, Rasasi did exactly that with Shuhrah pour Homme. The name “Shuhrah” refers to fame or renown in Islamic culture and is also used as a feminine name, which already gives the concept a slightly playful angle. The idea seems to be about status and attention, a scent for being noticed, whether you want to be or not. I happen to think that YouTube frag-bros and Reddit dipshits fuel most of the Arabian perfume craze here in the USA, so naming a perfume "Woman for Man" is culture-coded for us more than anyone in the Middle East. See my review of Tom Ford's Oud Wood for how I really feel. 

Shuhrah opens with a sharp, stemmy-green blast paired with a watery, soapy floral effect. Fragrantica, Parfumo, and Basenotes call this “tomato leaf” and “freesia,” but that framing doesn’t really hold up. Tomato leaf is unmistakable, but there is no literal tomato leaf note here, just a green, crushed-stem impression likely built from materials like cis-2-hexenol, Stemone, and other related aroma chemicals that mimic that bitter vegetal snap. The floral side reads more like a clean white floral accord than any specific flower, lifted by airy materials such as helional and Florol that give it a slightly aquatic, soapy brightness. It’s brisk, a little sharp, and honestly a bit divisive in those opening minutes.

Then it settles into what the fragrance is really about: rose. A big, dense, slightly honeyed Taif-style rose takes over and becomes the backbone of the entire composition. It’s rich, full-bodied, and carries a faint soapiness that feels more like budget construction than intent, which makes sense given the price point. Around the 90-minute mark, a smoky, ashy nuance starts creeping in, likely from something like cypriol (nagarmotha), which dries out the florals and adds a burnt, slightly tobacco-like edge. From there on, it’s a steady rose-and-smoke pairing, with the rose clearly in control while the smoke just adds atmosphere. It performs well and projects strongly, easily lasting most of the day. Whether that works for you depends on your taste for loud rose fragrances: if you like them, it’s an easy win at the price; if you don’t, it won’t change your mind, and more polished rose options exist from houses like Mancera and Montale.

Hawas (Rasasi)

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 (oddly Hawas came out a full year before Invictus Aqua, so Rabanne may have copied Rasasi there). Trying it was a major gamble because I happen to hate Invictus, and the overall consensus is that it's a straight-up twin. 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. 

Al Wisam Day (Rasasi)

Gorgeous bottle.

Being a lover of rose scents is a tough life for a male in America. Rose is forbidden to me here; I'm expected to appreciate it in small doses as a minor note tucked behind ballsier "manly" notes. I only have one rose soliflore in my wardrobe: Tea Rose by The Perfumer's Workshop. It's a fresh rose, with green leaves and dew drops in the periphery. It's beautiful, but literal. There are no embellishments to the flower. Ask me if rose water, or any successfully-crafted rose soliflore is "barbershop" in any way, and I'd have to say no. Although roses are associated with some western aftershaves and witch hazels, they are generally not at the forefront of the genre.

This changes as you move eastward, where it's fine for men to wear rose. Rasasi is one of many houses in the UAE that have found interesting ways of making fruity-floral roses smell masculine and modern. What sort of house is Rasasi? They have no tendrils in the US market, beyond the occasional Amazon or eBay merchant. By the looks of it, they're an upscale niche house, native to Dubai. They're given to lining their boutique walls with caskets of oud chips, which they sell as incense. I don't like oud, so this doesn't do much for me. But Saudis and I share a love of rose. This gives me a reason to step into Rasasi's luxurious boutique, despite the burning oud chips.

Al Wisam Day is a musky tea rose, and its drydown reminds me of Annie Buzantian's scent. While the photorealism of the rose is similar, Rasasi's florals are buttressed by blackcurrant and bergamot on top, lending a "fresh" effect, and creamy musk below, burnished by a lick of sandalwood. Its rose is fruity, perhaps overly sweet, but I suspect beta-damascenone and other quality rose ketones are used here. It performs in the inverse; top notes are soft, base notes crescendo. I really enjoy this one. For forty-five dollars, I have something that smells like four hundred. If there are barbers in Dubai, I imagine this is their aftershave.