The Dior Chypres series ~Miss Dior: fragrance review

“I will tell you of a perfume which my mistress has from the graces and the gods of love; when you smell it, you will ask of the deities to make of you only a nose”. It is in those words that the Roman writer Catullus speaks of the seductive guiles of feminine fragrance. Miss Dior is such a seductive scent, compelling you to ask the deities for favors they ~alas!~ cannot grant you.
Almost everything has been said about this classic of classics that saw the light of day in 1947, so I won’t bore you with the same old, same old about the New Look and how it came about. Instead I will tentatively try to give you the feel I get from this scent and the associations I get in my mind.

Technically a floral leathery chypre, Miss Dior is a soigné miss only in exterior appearances, all prim and proper, because once inside the beast takes over and you smell the animal in its peak of copulating frenzy. There is some element of appocrine in the fragrance and I am not talking about sweat or urine. Although there is the clean overlay of aldehydic waxiness and soft flowers you catch a whiff of more feral, impolite essences. Under the clean exterior there is the carnal cat-call and you feel as if it is perhaps too scrubbed clean to be without ulterior motive. I suspect this is due to civet or civetone, because there is also a pronounced warmth in the background, despite the cooler opening.

The effect is more evident in extrait de parfum especially, which bears a marked difference to the eau de toilette. The latter is more powdery with the slightly bitter, cottony feel of coumarin and has an exuberant, bright green start due to the inclusion of galbanum and aromatic clary sage. Those two ingredients, along with styralyl acetate (naturally found in gardenia buds), is what makes me think of the original Ma Griffe by Carven to which it professes kinship in its initial stages. The galbanum touch might also recall the verdancy of Balmain’s Vent Vert (which came out the same year), although the latter is stridently green in the vintage edition which might seem jarring compared to Miss Dior. The latter also has a soft peachiness to it, characteristic of the Roudnitska touch presumely, which must be derived from some aldehydic compound or other molecular combination, different though from the C14 of Mitsouko. It is a peachiness that I have encountered in hair products, hence my assumption that it is chemically constructed.
The base is smothered in troubling patchouli, moss and earthy vetiver. However this is not the pared down patchouli of modern fragrances that is so ubiquitous in everything churned out at a frantic pace in the last couple of years. There is shady vibrancy in this that defies the clean aspect of the modern patchouli interpretations and a roundness in which notes do not compete with each other for stage space.

As I first inhale whiffs of Miss Dior sprayed into the air, I am transported into a mirage that entails majestic mountains surrounding meadows of lavender and narcissi in bloom, where ultra prim damsels wade through. Their long flaxen hair down, their eyes bright with anticipation in their precious moments of freedom as they turn past oak trees into a little slice of heaven; a pond filled with crystalline waters. And there, out of the blue emerges the catalyst: the object of fantasy and secret longing of who knows what exactly. Acres of moist skin, droplets shinning in the morning sun and wet hair that smells like it hadn’t been washed in a while; that fatty, waxy smell of familiarity, yet for them uncharted territory still. The pungency of horse and saddle distantly echoed in the background.

Here it is:


(Levis commercial uploaded by ladynea)
{The song is "Inside" by one-hit wonder Stiltskin (from 1994)}.

Christian Dior confided that

"...I created this perfume to dress every woman with a trail of desire, and to see emerging from her small bottle all my dresses...”.

Based on a formula by Jean Carles, it was composed by Paul Vacher and later re-arranged in 1992 by Edmond Roudnitska in extrait de parfum. It hoped to open new vistas of optimism after the privations of the war and in a way it did.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case with older creations, there has been some re-orchestration of Miss Dior’s symphony since. Very recent batches do not smell as oily and precise as they did, due to a mollifying of the top notes that deducted the sharp peppery greeness of galbanum giving way to a citrus leaf aroma, not unlike the one in O de Lancome. Also an attenuation of the chypre accord with more vetiver makes the new version less assertive and murky than it used to, rendering it less erotic in effect. At least Evernia Prunastri (oakmoss) and Evernia Furfurea (tree moss) are still listed, although to what ratio it is unknown (hypothesized to a lesser one).
If you happen upon Eau de Cologne bottles, those are surely vintage and they are a pretty good acquisition in lieu of extrait de parfum, if you can’t afford or find it.

It is interesting to note that by today’s standards Miss Dior smells “old-fashioned”, even though it was conceived as a young fragrance aimed at debutantes. Less polite souls would baptize it “old lady”, a blanket term so lacking in qualitative nuance that renders it completely useless. Indeed I was able to witness its effect personally. I happened to spritz a vintage (circa 1985) emerging from a ladies’ restroom, washing in front of two teenager girls who were watching me through the mirror while glossing their puckered lips. Aren’t those times tittilating for budding womanhood? Of course I volunteered to scent them, ever eager to introduce young girls into proper perfumes. One of them staggered back in what seemed like abject horror (judging by the look in her eye) professing the opinion it was “too heavy for her”, the other was more cooperative and allowed me two spritzes on her woolen scarf. Although at first she too seemed a little overwhelmed, after a minute, when alcohol had evaporated, she took the scarf close to her nose and nuzzled deeply. Yeah, there was a look of mischief in her eye as she thanked me. And there you have it: Miss Dior has this double effect; it will make some think it’s heavy and old, it will entrance others on second sniff. I am sure that girl went off to venture into romantic escapades with ackward beaux that could not appreciate the raw power of its labdanum and moss base; beaux whose fathers will be much more receptive to her nubile charms, American-Beauty-style.

Miss Dior is the scent of sexual awakening. A trully naughty perfume under the prim and proper exterior of houndstooth. But hounds do discover the best prey, don’t they?

Official notes: galbanum, bergamot, clary sage, gardenia, jasmine, narcissus, neroli, rose, patchouli, oakmoss, labdanum, sandalwood

NOTA BENE: The above review pertains to the 1947 fragrance formula and the reformulations happening till the early 2000s. As of 2011, the classic Miss Dior is renamed Miss Dior EDT Originale and Miss Dior Cherie from 2005 has become simply... Miss Dior. Please read this article with pics on how to spot which Miss Dior fragrance version you're buying.

For our French-speaking readers there is a nice clip about the 1947 introduction of the New Look with a confessionary voiceover by Fanny Ardant.
Click here:

(uploaded by vodeotv)

We have more surprises on the Shrine for you later on...

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The Dior chypre series ~Eau Fraiche: fragrance review

One might think that unisex or “shared” fragrances, like DNA remnants on a TV show that focuses on forensics, can be traced back to CK One and the 1990s. That one would be much mistaken. Almost every house of perfumery and many small artisanal local parfumeries in Mediterranean countries, notably Italy and France, brandished their own recipe of eau de cologne for cooling down on hot days and refreshing after a bath in the not so distant past. For parfums Christian Dior that emblematic scent could have been Eau Fraîche.

Well before the time women usurped Eau Sauvage for their own use thus catapulting the last masculine bastion, Eau Fraîche could have been shared between both sexes as early as 1953 reversing the situation: a woman’s perfume that can be worn by males. The advertisments from 1957 showed two hands, one male the other female, stretching to clasp the bottle suggesting its vague intent to appeal to both.

Eau Fraîche drew upon a rich tradition that had been semi-forgotten during the first half of the 20th century, when marketing decided that separate smells should appeal to different genders. On the contrary, it harkens back to the times of the first Eaux de Cologne, like 4711 or less well known exempla Hungary Water and Florida Water. These interpretations of the basic concept of a refreshing alcoholic splash utilised hesperidic top notes evaporating at a zingy pace, along with refreshing herbs and light woods or musk for a little tenacity. Purpotedly Hungary Water served the Queen of Hungary, from which the name derives, really well: she was said to have found a young husband in her very advanced age! I don’t know if it can be attributed to the Water’s miraculous qualities, although everyone with a sceptic bone in their bodies would think not; still it was widely believed that the essenses used in those refreshing toners were beneficial to body and spirit. And aromatherpeutically speaking, so they are.

However 1953 was perhaps too early for unisex smells and women were priviliged to add a fresher chypre to their collections, almost two decades before Diorella became the definitive fresh smell for Dior fans. In its rounded flask bottle by Guerry Colas, Eau Fraîche is another in the series to adorn the shelf besides Miss Dior, Diorama and Diorissimo. Notice the almost rattan feel of the sides, suggesting a summery vacation at the Côte d'Azur.

Eau Fraîche begins on a citrus and mandarin burst of juicy freshness with an astrigent appeal. Mandarin lends a little sweetness to the proceedings, due to its less shrill odour profile compared to lemon. Yet they cannot be mistaken for the citrusy fruity fragrances of today, as murky oakmoss surfaces almost simulstaneously giving a chypré feel. Its creator, Edmond Roudnitska, eminent chypre creator knew a thing or two about using it as the perfect backdrop to notes of clarity and translucence.
This oakmoss base is like the background buzz and scratches on an old vinyl taking rounds on an old set: you know digital is so much better, yet you feel a strange nostalgia for something that either irritated you when you were actually using it or which you have never known, simply because you are a child of the 1990s. Oakmoss can lend a subversive mantle to anything with its musty yet sensual feel and if you have ever smelled the ingredient in its raw state you know what I am talking about. In this regard, Eau Fraîche features it rather heavily and it is immediately apparent; a trait that would drive away many of the people who are averse to chypres.

I could perhaps discern its heritage to Caron’s Eaux series. Some of them have a similarly chypré accord which sets them apart from their cousins that pose on shelfs in department stores, all dolled up in their fruity colourful rinds.
To a lesser degree one can also discern a comparable feel in Bulgari Eau parfumée au Thé Vert, a scent that was also aimed at both sexes, well ahead of CK One. A scent that has a smoked wood autumnal feel to it despite the limpid shade of the frosted bottle that would inspire one to use it in a heatwave.

Eau Fraîche also includes rosewood, heavy in suave linalool, and a subtle vanillic touch that rounds it out beautifully. A fragrance for bien-être dans sa peau, as the French use to say: feel good in your skin. A fragrance suggesting laid-back style and insouciance like the 1971 advertisment depicted above shows in such few strokes.
Men as well as women would be strongly adviced not to miss this little-known refined gem.


The Dior Chypres series is not over yet: stay tuned!

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Dior sketch ads: how lovely!

How can an obituary be glamorous? Or related to scent barring the mental connection with funeral flowers? Well, it can, if it involves René Gruau, chief visualiser and illustrator for parfums Christian Dior.
Here is his obuitary from the Guardian:

"René Gruau (Count Renato Zavagli Ricciardelli delle Camminate), graphic artist, born February 4 1909; died March 31 2004" (from the Guardian 15 April 2004)

Guardian obituaries

It says so little...In fact it was exactly Gruau that persuaded Dior to accept the offer of textile magnate Marcel Boussac to help establish a fashion house. After all not many know that Christian Dior began as an illustrator himself. The rest is of course history.

Born in Rimini, Italy, in 1910 as Renato Conte de Savagli-Ricardelli, he had a French mother, Marie Gruau, who was known as a great beauty and must surely be held responsible for providing the son with his first glimpse of beauty that culminated in his vision and aesthetic explorations.

Interestingly he borrowed his mother's name, of which he used "G" for a signature, visible on his sketches for Dior, surmounted by what seems to be a star based on an ink-splash (later he put this symbol on his Rolls-Royce, of all things!)
Using a heavier charcoal outline or thick paint brush was his signature look at an era that preferred watercolours and delicate delineations. It was his modernity that differentiated him and which was a companion till the very end, making his work seem current even today in a world that has practically seen everything.
Apart from Dior he also did illustrations for Balmain, Lanvin, Schiaparelli and his favourite, Balenciaga. He was also instrumental in trying to give a younger image to Givenchy couture. Not to forget his work for films (who can forget his "La Dolce Vita" or "French CanCan" art posters?)and for "glossies": Flair, Vogue and Harper's Bazaar. His provision for Moulin Rouge and Lido remind us of another famous artist of posters with arguably low subjects turned into high art: Toulouse-Lautrec.
But his work for Dior parfums is crystallised someplace in the best part of perfume lovers' mind.

We can see in this not often referenced pic of the first three Dior fragrances that the three perfumes look to be embodients of three "sisters", dressed in comparable fashions: the outlines of the bodies hidden beneath meters of cloth, their heads clothed in loose hoods. The choice of rose, black and white seems to be characteristic of Gruau's palette, even to the modern day. Here they represent different olfactory profiles. It would be interesting to guess which is which! Of course the easiest one would be to attribute white to Diorissimo, it being a more virginal lily of the valley scent (although, not quite!). But which is Miss Dior and which Diorama? Therein lies the charm.

"Some of his artworks were what we now call "brand images" - the pearl-necklaced swan he dreamed up for Miss Dior perfume after Dior gave him a whiff and a briefing" (quote from the Guardian article above). Here it is from 1950. A true classic, just like a string of lustruous pearls on a delicate lily throat.

However apart from vulnerability, there is also the hint of the animalistic in Miss Dior that is so evocatively suggested in this 1949 advertisement: a woman's hand resting on a leopard's paw. The long fingers of a pale feminine hand resting on the spotted fur. Elegance and ferociousness rolled into one burst of olfactory mirth; like the glorious parfum itself!

In 1950 he draw an image of a woman almost melting into a what seems like a giant white lotus flower in a pool of black ink. It also vaguely reminds us of the pon-pon of dusting powder; which is not averse to the dry feel of chypré perfumes, of which Diorama {click here for review} and Miss Dior are great examples, for which the ad was conceived (it run for both).
Gloriously simple, gloriously evocative.

The elegant sweep of his intense brushstrokes can be seen in this Dior Dior advertisement from 1978. The black "ribbon" both delineates the dress (witness the sleeve and the drape of the cloth sketched in a sweep) and his signature. I call this an apotheosis of design calligraphy. Don't you?

Diorella always had the air of independence and élan that is so characteristic to the French parfum du jour. We might as well mention here that although France is considered to be the olfactory capital of the world, this by no means equals heavy bombastic perfumes being considered bon chic bon genre for the day. It is much more elegant to save the romantic and seductive potions for the night, the opera and the ballet or the club than for the errands of the day. For those instances classy BCBG Parisians opt for something light and zingy, like Diorella. {click here for review} And which image denotes an active woman off to town better than this one, pants and boots encasing dynamic gams, sketched by Gruau?

"He limned sexy gentlemen's limbs for the men's range Eau Sauvage far into the 1980s" (quote from the Guardian article above). And what an intriguing idea this is! It hints at both mystery (the hidden torso and face) as well as virility (the hairy legs). This came out in 1966. They just don't make them like this anymore... On a subsequent image from 1970 (interesting to note that by then the sexual revolution was in full swing), the white bathrobe is substituted by a piece of furry hide that plays upon the "sauvage" (=wild) connotation.
Less intriguing than the previous incarnation, but just as playful.

"Perhaps this latter image would befit the 1980s flanker Eau Sauvage Extreme to a T, in its black opaque bottle and ferocious name. The white bathrobe however wasn't abandonded, resurfacing again in 1971, 1977 and 1978. Some things are just too good to let go!

A great artist and a witty man, to be sure.



If I have persuaded you to take an interest in this artist's work, take a moment to revel in these glorious fashion sketches....

We will continue with the Dior chypres shortly. Stay tuned!

Pics from artnet, operagloves and okadi

We have a winner- and a little teasing...

The Black Widow decant winner of the lucky draw announced is Lillie/Nina!
Soon a little package will be crawling its way to you. Enjoy!

To my other readers:
Please check back later on for a fun post on Dior. Coming your way soon!!

The Dior Chypres series ~Diorella: fragrance review

Everyone has an aunt that used to bathe in cold water regardless of it being winter or summer, slip on her bathing suit first thing in the morning and go for an invogorating swim on the first sign of warm weather in mid-spring. She wore long masculine white shirts for summer errands and shopping for gigantic prawns for lunch; often without anything else beneath them but her already salty swimsuit and with matching white plimsolls on her slim feet. She left the salt from the sea on her skin all day long till the evening bath to tone it, make it firmer and washed her hair with rain water ~when she could get it. Those tips were divulged to you in passing: laughter and joyous munching on summery peaches, juice dribbling down her jaw while she was solving crosswords at the veranda; long legs sprawled over another chair, her metallic-frame reading glasses on her long nose. And “what is the word that is both a machine and a mystery? Has 6 letters”. You scratched your little head for it, for it was your favourite aunt. She had never married and people wondered if she had any boyfriends. Did she? You never got to know until it was too late. Her cold bathing didn’t help along with her illness, of which she got alerted rather too late. All the joyfull memorabilia of those summers long ago came into your mind with a frenzying velocity to overwhelm you. And what tears you wept… She could have been wearing Diorella all those summers ago. It wasn’t important; she never showed any signs of self-indulgence and perfume might seem like one.

But her scent could be Diorella. It was in 1972 when this chypre came out. Composed from a rather short formula by Edmond Roudnitska, it came as a female counterpart to his extremely successful Eau Sauvage: the masculine cologne that proved to be the most shared scent between the sexes in the 20th century. The heads at Dior soon saw that women who grabbed this magnificent, vivacious specimen from their boyfriends’ bathrooms would want a comparable fragrance to claim their own. And so Diorella was born exactly 6 years later, smelling as fresh as tomorrow. Roudnitska said about Diorella that it was his proudest creation and that it was the perfect compliment to the environment around his house and garden; he interestingly also said that it derived from Roudnitska's previous 1953 Eau Fraîche, not Eau Sauvage. In Diorella he summarised all the good refined things about spartan style he had come to master in his box of tricks. Rather, he had dispensed with the tricks by now and focused on pure, unadulterated essence.

Despite the joyful character of Diorella’s herbal opening (echoing the aromatic top of basil and bergamot of Eau Sauvage) and the zing of snapped leaves from a lemon tree that might remind you of O de Lancome (1969), Diorella is more serious than that. I also smell a touch of galbanum, a strong green note that was mainly explored in Germaine Cellier’s Vent Vert for Balmain (much more evident in the vintage version than the reformulated one by Calice Becker) which gives another layer of verdancy. And there is a touch of mandarin it seems (or is it?) with a synthetic melon accord to further consolidate the idea that was fist explored in Le Parfum de Thèrese; an iconoclastic idea at the time, giving an aqueous feel.

There is again the familiar theme of peach that Roudnitska explored in both Rochas Femme and Diorella, but here it is done in such a ligh manner as to not blunt the axe into fruit confits. Its subtle warmth enrobs a fresh jasmine note (probably the same dihydrojasmonate/ hedione isolated from the absolute that he used in Eau Sauvage). There is a magical translucence to it like sipping cold tangy juice from a crystal glass on a hot day. A very subtle sweetness reminds one of honeysuckle vines climbing on a metal fence, as if smelled from a distance. Later on there is a little powdery mossy ambience that slowly suggests a more autumnal mood, a secret that contrasts with the dazzling hesperides and fruits of the beginning. To every dawn there is twilight and those notes provide the backdrop to it. Maybe that was what prompted Susan Irvine to proclaim of it:

“Mysterious, it’s a Mona Lisa among scents”.

It might be interesting to compare notes with Eau Sauvage and Eau Fraiche de Dior:
Notes for Diorella:
Lemon, basil, bergamot, melon, green note
Peach, honeysuckle, jasmine, rose, cyclamen
Oakmoss, vetiver, patchouli, musk

Notes for Eau Sauvage:
Lemon, basil, bergamot, petitgrain, cumin
Hedione, lavender, patchouli, carnation, coriander, orris, sandalwood
Oakmoss, vetiver, amber

Notes for Eau Fraîche de Dior (vintage):

Bergamot, lemon, mandarin, orange, green notes

Rosewood

Oakmoss, vanilla


And “what is the word that is both a machine and a mystery? Has 6 letters”. You scratched your little head for it, for it was your favourite aunt. She had never married and people wondered if she had any boyfriends. Did she? The word, dear aunt, was enigma. You.


Diorella is available at most department stores carrying Dior perfumes. It only comes in eau de toilette and there are no major differences between different vintages to my knowledge.


Next post will tackle a fun side of Dior!

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