Mayotte / Mahora
Guerlain (2000)

in French, Mahora sounds like mort aux rats - death to rats.
Ironically, it smells like it too... drowned rats decaying in a vat of syrup.

I have always liked Mahora, especially in the drydown. I think it is the only perfume I have where a slight coconut roundness overlaps with orris butter and ylang ylang to create a soft cloud. The frangipani and tuberose marry beautifully, but what I love is the sense of timelessness in that softness, like an exotic flower blooming far from human eyes, far from harvests.

As I write this, it's a foggy day in New England, and for all the talk that Mahora is a tropical, beachy fragrance sending wearers to distant, exotic locales, for me, it matches the mood of the brume outside. The tuberose actually suggests an unsettling chill, mentholated and beautifully wan, ghostly like the white flowers themselves, but immediately after it announces itself, there is a bitter green almond, spine-shivering, eyes peering. There is no Tiki bar, there are no paper mache umbrellas. Perhaps something under the surface rises that reminds one for a moment of banana daiquiri in the form of over-ripened ylang ylang. But this grows more than intoxicating, it is buttery blossoms bursting, soon decaying and rotting, enfolding and collapsing as mushrooms do when they are past maturity.

This is a moodier creation than what Guerlain even anticipated, it's as if Mahora is a Frankenstein that refused to be caged in its assigned raison d'etre. It's dark and brooding, wearing a cloak in the thick fog, stealing spirits like a thief in the night. It has that same mysterious poignancy I get from Magie Noire; it's the same feeling I get when I listen to Terry Riley, a continuous dissonance resolving into the consonance and then the cycle repeats. Sweet facades concealing decaying interiors, cauldrons with who knows what floating in the bubbling brew, questions that probably shouldn't deserve answers, this is what I feel when wearing Mahora. Does this mean I enjoy wearing it? Absolutely. It's much like watching a film on the human condition: you squirm and perspire just a bit, but you feel satisfied, even liberated somewhat, by letting the truth unfold as the fog settles—like the vibrant white and yellow flowers destined for browning, decomposition, and departure. Exit scene.

A big and bold bouquet of tuberose and ylang-ylang is blooming. Vanilla and an exotic coconut aroma complete this intoxicating blend which is creamy and refined. Mahora is rich and vintage feeling, a tropical-floral seductive and haunting.

Frangipani and tuberose - a simple but surprisingly well suited floral combination - freshened up with a good dash of neroli with a nigh herbal whiff: This triad together forms too notes that not only are beautiful together, but quite unique - an opening with an original result; a feat not commonly found in a mainstream fragrance. The opening with a sheer delight.

In the drydown the floral side takes over, with a rich ylang-ylang in the foreground and an pleasant wood/jasmine as accompaniment. Throughout all this time, the tuberose permeates them all; not a fat or waxy tuberose, but the lighter, brighter and more elegant variety. Even is the base the result is a touch original at times.

The main addition towards the latter phases is a pleasant, fairly restrained tonka that is of moderate sweetness and never heavy or cloying. Never is this comparison really very sweet.

I get moderate sillage, excellent projection and a very impressive thirteen hours of longevity on my skin.

This spring creation, suitable for cooler days and evenings, is well blended with interesting twists and very good performance. Whilst conspicuously lacking any true Guerlinade, it is nonetheless a well executed creation in the tradition of this brand. 3.5/5.

Well, after reading Mahora's posted blurb, I can't offer an agreeing testimonial describing said perfume as a scent of "magnetic attraction". Oh, wait: it was to the wearer (me). I love/d Mahora. Mahora was DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS. So lookit: okay. When, back in the day, I sported this number, I was pretty much certain that I was the recipient of perfume trash-talk (well, I can only hope it was the perfume. 'Cause that's psychologically easier for me to deal with than... well... ugh, you get my drift). Even after the rolled eyes, whispered comments and withering stares, I wore Mahora everyday 'til my bottle was drained.
Mahora! Mahora! MAHORA!
I love you!