Dioressence: Moss Appeal

Diorella, Diorama, Diorling, Diorissimo and Miss Dior seem to get the lion's share of appreciation when it comes to older Dior fragrances, and while I like several of them very much, I think my favorite is the newest of the old, Dioressence.  Granted, of the lot, I've never smelled Diorling and Diorama in anything close to original form, and the Diorling reformulation is pretty pale compared to what it must once have been, so maybe I'm biased.  I should also say that I haven't smelled the most recent version of Dioressence, either.  Still, for me, the original 1979 Dioressence would be hard to beat.

Guy Robert, the perfumer behind Dioressence, created several other well known fragrances, a few of which remind me more than a little of Dioressence in certain ways.  I can smell some of the dusty incense quality from Hermes Caleche in Dioressence's heart, for instance, and something of Amouage Gold in there as well.  Dioressence is a chypre and smells quintessentially of oakmoss to me once you get past the pronounced geranium, galbanum, and rose up top.  In fact I would say that the most interesting movement of the fragrance for me is its seamless segue from galbanum to oakmoss, creating an interesting, textured progression from one distinct green note to another, each of which would seem to get lost taken together.

Osmoz lists the notes as the following: aldehydes, orange, galbanum, bergamot, carnation, geranium, rose, cinnamon, benzoin, patchouli, oakmoss, and vanilla.  Violet is included in the description but not the pyramid.

I suppose there are those who will smell Dioressence and sense nothing but a wallop of old style patchouli.  There's certainly enough in there.  And the patchouli combined with the cinnamon can seem like a lighter version  of H.O.T. Always by Bond No.9, or a slightly more domesticated animal relation to the original Givenchy Gentleman, but to me the cinnamon and patch seem like embellishments, meant to support or underscore the primary green notes.  Even the carnation, geranium, phantom violet and rose seem to hover around in the background to my nose, making the fragrance a lot more masculine than most modern feminine fragrances.  No guy raised on a steady diet of mainstream sports colognes is apt to agree with me, of course.  Dioressence reminds me of another pretty masculine old feminine, Trussardi, which was released in 1984

Dioressence feels a little moodier than the other vintage Diors.  Diorella is sunny and succulent; Diorissimo quite upbeat as well.  Miss Dior, while not prim, is certainly more sedate than Dioressence.  Something about Dioressence reminds me of some seventies bohemian hang out, infested with velvet pillows and thick with lingering incense smoke.  Miss Dior would walk into such an establishment clutching her purse pretty tightly.  Staring at supine Dioressence, spread across a series of batik-patterned throws and a thick shag rug, she'd wonder whether something hidden in the carpet might jump up onto her tweed jacket and hitch a ride home with her.  In style it certainly straddles the hallmark fragrances of the 40s and 50s and the bold pronouncements to come in the 80s.

It has moderate projection and lasting power and for the most part settles down to a nice soft mossy haze after about thirty minutes to an hour or so on me.

Madame Rochas

The Madame Rochas available today at outlet stores like Perfumania is probably a paler rendition of the original 1960 release. Still, it's lovely in a vaguely masculine way, smells both fresh and musky, can be had for less than thirty bucks, and lasts throughout the day. Madame gets knocked around by reviewers for its supposed resemblance to shampoo, and it does have that slight soapiness associated with many older perfumes. But it has enough complexity to make these accusations and comparisons beside the point.

Madame Rochas was designed by Guy Robert using a template made famous by its biggest inspirations, Chanel No. 5 and Arpege. During its development, it travels back and forth along the continuum separating those two. It has the honeyed floral warmth of Arpege, and diffuses off the skin similarly. It doesn't have the aldehyde overload of No. 5, but doesn't seem as aldehyde heavy as Arpege, either. Rose, Jasmine, Tuberose and Lily of the Valley mingle around in the heart of the fragrance, creating more than the sum of their parts.

The base notes interest me the most and, I think, determine what you're smelling throughout the lifespan. Orris root is said to be costly, and I'm not sure how an inexpensive perfume like this one can afford to use much if any, but it's listed in the pyramid, and the overal impression has the buttery affect you'd expect from its inclusion. Santal and musk are listed, too. Given that the former is expensive as well and the latter is unquestionably synthetic, it's pretty astonishing just how rich and textured Madame Rochas actually smells.

It was officially reformulated in 1982 by Jean-Louis Sieuzac and Jacques Fraysse. Sieuzac was the nose behind such greats as Dune, Opium, Fahrenheit, and Sonia Rykiel. Fraysse could be related to Andre (who created Arpege), Richard (in-house perfumer at Caron) and Hubert (who reformulated Arpege at some point). Madame Rochas, like so many other modern fragrances, has very likely been reformulated more than its manufacturers would prefer you to think. The so-called shampoo soapiness in question is nothing compared to some of the squeaky clean astringency of Bond No. 9's Madison Soiree or many more modern peers. For me, Madame Rochas is that rarity, an older perfume which, however different from the original, continues to smell good. More remarkably, it smells better by far than present day fragrances with retro-feel aspirations.