Morocco t. (Tallow+Steel) cade, cade, cade, cypress
I've got a few soaps that say something about rose on the label but then change the topic of conversation once you pop the lid. Take a look at the description on this tub of Morocco: "Walk through the fields of wild roses growing high up in the Atlas Mountains with a masculine floral scent." Enticed? So was I. But T+S's wild Moroccan roses don't seem to have any fragrance, because when you lather this soap, all you'll smell is a shovelful of dirty cade and a few chips of cypress. If you like the smell of an old barn door, this is your soap. Railroad ties to your taste? Dig in. Like hugging tarry telephone pulls? Bring out your biggest brush. Morocco is an epic on cade in all its creosotic glory. Look at the label again. See the pillars of smoke rising in the background? That's what this soap's all about, and their crimson hue is as close as you'll get to a rose in this soap.
I've got a few soaps that say something about rose on the label but then change the topic of conversation once you pop the lid. Take a look at the description on this tub of Morocco: "Walk through the fields of wild roses growing high up in the Atlas Mountains with a masculine floral scent." Enticed? So was I. But T+S's wild Moroccan roses don't seem to have any fragrance, because when you lather this soap, all you'll smell is a shovelful of dirty cade and a few chips of cypress. If you like the smell of an old barn door, this is your soap. Railroad ties to your taste? Dig in. Like hugging tarry telephone pulls? Bring out your biggest brush. Morocco is an epic on cade in all its creosotic glory. Look at the label again. See the pillars of smoke rising in the background? That's what this soap's all about, and their crimson hue is as close as you'll get to a rose in this soap.