Christian Dior Diorissimo Review – The Favourites – Edmond Roudnitska; 1956

I can’t remember the first time I smelt Dior‘s Diorissimo, but I do remember the first time I was completely overawed by it. It’s been a part of my consciousness for as long as I can remember — not surprising, when you consider that my mum worked in the perfume industry from when I was very young, and that much of her career was spent in direct contact with this particular brand. Diorissimo, Poison, Dune, Fahrenheit, Eau Sauvage, Dioressence and Miss Dior were names that were frequently heard at home. But the real power of Diorissimo – Edmond Roudnistka’s masterpiece from 1956 – didn’t make itself known to me until many decades later.

On our way to visit a friend in the north of England, Madame Persolaise and I stopped off at an antiques market. In France, such places are usually teeming with perfume bottles, but in the UK, fragrance is a rare sight: it’s much more common to be surrounded by vintage clothes, glassware and crockery.So imagine how fortunate I felt when right in front of me I saw a sealed, handbag atomiser of the near-legendary esprit de parfum formulation of Diorissimo. Its price was laughably low: the person selling it clearly didn’t know what they had in their stock. Needless to say, the treasure was grabbed instantly and the required cash handed over promptly.

Later that day, after a long drive, when we’d settled into the room in which we were staying, I unwrapped the box. The metal, houndstooth-covered atomiser was in pristine condition. It had clearly never been used. I pumped the spray. Once, twice. Then it came: a fine mist onto the back of my hand. And after that… I have no idea. Because for several minutes, I was transported miles away from the corner of that little space. 

To say that I was moved would be a pitiful understatement. This was perfumery at its most exquisite, its most transcendent, its most inspiring. Unfolding right under my nose. The opening bouquet was delicacy itself. Current versions of Diorissimo are a touch harsh and strident at the start, no doubt because they have to meet current anti-allergen requirements. But this was tenderness in perfumed form. The softest of breezes blowing through dew-covered blades of spring grass, their tips catching the rays of a just-rising sun.

Then of course, the most celebrated section: quite possibly the finest representation of lily of the valley ever committed to a bottle. To my mind, one of the flowers’ most curious attributes is how they play with scale. In terms of physical size they are, of course, tiny. The little white bells themselves are smaller than a fingernail, but even the plants as a whole barely reach higher than a foot. In the catalogue of nature’s verdant offerings, they’re amongst the smallest. And yet their smell conjures endless vistas of space. You bring your nose close to one of them – if you should be fortunate enough to find some – and it’s like you’ve stumbled upon a portal to another universe. Field upon field of subtle, jasmine-inflected sweetness. Skies coloured a shade of blue that seems almost too iridescent to be real. And beneath all that, an ever-present, unmistakeable earthiness. Civet and sandalwood. The richness of the soil giving life to all that is growing above it.

I remember that as all these images went rushing through my head, I had to pull away for a moment, just to take them all in. The contrasts were extraordinary: even while I was being lifted high above those endless fields, weaving through clouds, I was also enjoying an intensely private moment. Just me, by myself, with my eyes closed, bringing my face close to a single stalk of lily of the valley.

It’s this duality that has always intrigued me about Diorissimo: how it manages to achieve both impacts at once. In some senses, it calls to mind those wonderful, late-night-into-early-morning conversations with someone who has made an instinctive connection with you. Occasions when you spend hours and hours baring your soul, sharing the most personal intimacies, while also feeling that you’re discussing all of the grandest topics imaginable. Life. The Universe. EVERYTHING.

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Since that lucky find at the antiques market, Madame Persolaise – to whom I gifted the small bottle – has used it all up. At first, I was upset: I’ve long asked her never completely to finish any of her perfumes, and to let me have them when they’re almost empty, so they can be relegated to the Great Persolaise Archive. But after a while, I came to terms with the loss. Because I realised that it wasn’t a loss at all. Masterpieces like Diorissimo shouldn’t be imprisoned in glass cages. They should be given the life their creator intended for them. A fleeting life, yes — but glorious, resplendent and capable of bringing tremendous joy to so many people. Madame Persolaise did the right thing: she took one of the most life-affirming perfumes I know – a scent brimming with vitality – and made sure that every single drop of it was lived to the fullest. Because that’s what the best perfumes do: remind us of the preciousness and beauty and fragility of every moment in which we’re blessed enough to breathe. And live.

Persolaise

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