Tag Archives: Dior

Industrial Perfumes The Perfumed Dandy’s Unusual Weekend Break


The Dandy was away at the weekend.

Though this time I found a succour in an unusual setting.

Not the countryside where I normally seek repose, but amongst the great rusting remnants of the original epoch of industrialisation.

To Manchester.

Cradle of the first wave of the factory age, which they tell us may now be coming to an end.

It’s viaducts, locks and piers, great mills and brick warehouses, unwanted freight railways and miles and miles of canals are the Roman ruins of the future scattered about us today.

If only we take the time to look…

Then it got me thinking, something I once read… could there be such a thin as Industrial Perfume?

Purple Under Sides


Estee by Estee Lauder

Shop bought glamour for stolen kisses and unwise fumbles under the freeway flyover.

Oakmoss. Aldehydes. Coriander.

Steely hearts and unheard squeals.

Something Old, Something New


Calandre by Paco Rabanne

Aluminium stiletto heels grind make up powders made of sacred glass into disco floors in warehouse clubs.

No one cares. They dance till dawn.

Hidden Green, Never Seen


Futur by Robert Piguet

Antique idea of l’avenir that never came to pass.

Chartreuse no parts chlorophyll three parts chlorine.

Toxic temptation.

Flash car, fire escape...


Mitsouko by Guerlain

Petroleum and decaying peach. The high life and the backstreet.

Perfectly tuned engine. Runs like a dream. Ride anything but smooth.

Castles In The Air


Eau de Campagne by Sisley

Grab a bit of country air where you can find it.

Canalside, you can be lord of the manor, raise tomato plants and basil bushes.

View your lemon trees from castellated towers. Sundays only.

The Sea, Wholesale


Womanity by Thierry Mugler

Crude humour. Blue joke.

Well told. Widely copied.

In questionable taste.

Games Without Frontiers


Les Jeux sont Faits by Jovoy

Rum for Dad. Gin for Mum. Mother’s ruined already.

Heady, fruity cocktail consumed in a smoke filled bar.

Followed by a curry.

Saturday night on a production line.

Once More Under The Bridge, Dear Friends


Higher by Dior

Merry on perry for the first time.

Electric shell suits fizzing static.

Zips slip easily, tongues entwine.

French kissing in a Northern style.

Printers’ Ink, Queen’s Cream


M/Mink by Byredo

Liquid words with raw honey.

Crude oil of the mind.

Hot metal. Cool fumes.

An eclectic Monday to start a somewhat unusual week *he winks*.

Hope you like the snaps and scents.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy



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Which ‘ladies’ scent’ will this gent wear come Christmas? The Perfumed Dandy’s Yuletide Hit Parade

Dearest Festive Fairies and Fellows

The Dandy adores Christmas.

I’m sorry, but I do, and over the next week or two I shall be devoting these pages to my own particular form of celebration… details of which to follow anon.

Apologies to the ‘bah humbugs’ among you, but The Dandy says ‘bah humbug’ to your ‘bah humbug’ and that’s enough humbugs to fill a sweet shop with. Now, to kick things off… A Very Special and Seasonal Hit Parade.

I have selected twelve perfumes, one for each day of Christmas, that have never made it to the top of our little chart (though they may appear on it currently).

You, my Santa’s elves, have between now and The Big Day to decide which scent will next my skin come 25th December 2013. So, all you have to do is pick from the sumptuous list below and cast your…

… wait for it…

… 12 Special Time of Year Votes for your favourite or favourites. Here goes, the big list…

French Can Can by Caron

Yresse (formerly known as Champagne) by Yves Saint Laurent

Phul-Nana by Grossmith

Visa by Robert Piguet

Joy by Jean Patou

Rouge (formerly known as Parfum d’Hermes) by Hermes

Diorling by Dior

Tom Ford Black Orchid by Estee Lauder

Chantilly by Houbigant

Louve by Serge Lutens

Parure by Guerlain

Mandragore by Annick Goutal

Well, twelve festive belles there if I may say so. Now The Dandy’s Noel aroma is in your hands… … do spread a little cheer in this direction!

Yours ever festively

The Perfumed Dandy. The Perfumed Dandy

Post Script

Don’t forget that’s 12 votes each, to be dispensed and dispersed as you see fit… use them wisely.

Voting closes at a moment before midnight GMT on Christmas Eve, the winner will be announced when The Dandy’s done opening presents!


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Chic Sheikh and Hollywood Fashion… Mitzah by Dior The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letter

From Asia Minor via Adriatic, Alps, Old Amsterdam, Atlantic, Old New Amsterdam and trans-continental railroad he has arrived to seek his silver screen stardom in the golden sun shining state.

He has brought with him the bare essentials: the shirt on his back, two more in his bag, dancing shoes and  feet, a way with women and smouldering good looks.

His arrival is announced with something, and some things, of the souk.

His shirts, though small in number are fine Egyptian cotton and laundered in the French style with flower scented water.

Meals, though frugal, are spiced with the savour of the Levant. Wholesome pulses and nutty grains come with cinnamon, coriander and cardamom: all conceived to convey the Arabian sub-continent.

His words, though few in English, are chosen exquisitely: notes in a minimal symphony.

Movement is tiny too and exact.

Here is a man who can turn walking across a room into a three act tragedy.

Oh, and the eyes.

Eyes, in first glance ordinary, that are in the gaze sublimely glowing orbs in pools of the heavy dark dust they call kohl.

The dust of three thousand years weighs heavy as settled incense on his every limb and make him languorous to the point of inspiring near universal lust.

That this reality: this exotic, erotic, feeling man should be loved by the camera and women in equal measure is, the producer will years later remark, “the greatest coincidence of the early cinema”.

On set, unaware of his own ambiguous attractiveness to practically all, he sips rose tea sweetened with honey and waits patiently for artistry to occur.

It inevitably does.

If a perfume ever felt it had a divine right to be considered beautiful it could be Mitzah from La Collection Couturier Parfumeur by Dior.

Formed with the easy precision of a skilled pattern cutter’s hand, it is an apparently simple composition that only assumes its true form when worn.

From the start it is mainly smoke in the couturiers’ mirrors. Billowing clouds of incense take their time to clear. Clouds that come from cones heavily flavoured with coriander, cinnamon and cardamom, rich and spiced in their swirling.

When the dust does finally settle our newly dressed gentleman lacks only one thing: a floral buttonhole. A mistake rectified with the quick provision of a rose, one that continues to emanate its Damascene scent the rest of the day.

Only one element now remains: a sweetness to add humour to this show of the dark arts.

Here come the bees in their honeyed hoards to bring a sepia tint to the scene.

An icon is an icon and exudes sexuality rather merely having a sex.

Mitzah is a fragrant icon of the silent olfactory screen.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy


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Our Lady of the Knives Diorella by Dior The Perfumed Dandy’s Scented Letter 

Every artist has a shining sliver of ice lodged in their heart.

Every part of her is artist.

She, though, does not work with brushes or staves, instead with blades.

Knives as sharp and flexible as her clear soul cut infallibly through each pitch perfect ingredient preparing the meticulous meals she insists on serving outdoors once sunshine comes.

Sashimis, ceviches and carpaccios so fresh they deceive as clean flesh and not fish and fruit they are.

All served with lemon herb dressings on long oblong green glass platters, amongst plain vases filled with honeysuckle stems.

Her kitchen, open to the elements and curious eyes alike, is at the centre of a moss lawn.

She, in impeccable whites, is at its centre commanding circling sous chefs to: tweak starched table clothes, excite palettes with unexpected basil, rearrange tabletop arrangements of jasmine and red carnations, pass around cleansing melon millefeuille entr’acte.

If any apparent fracture in her composure appears, the fissure is mere momentary illusion, she huffs to her herbaceous borders simply to hasten patchouli plants into perfume and achieve aromatic perfection for her paying clientele.

The meal ends with a peach desert as peerless as the operatic dame soprano whose name it bears.

Our lady of the knives acknowledges her audience.

Taking a curtain call on her kitchen stage she is all curtsies clutching a bouquet of cutting edges.

Diorella by Dior is no chef d’oeuvre to be trifled with.

An exacting, precise, cerebral perfume it is not a work but an embodiment of art.

Taking the basic chypre recipe and deploying Occam’s razor all fat is removed, all excess skimmed off: only lean muscle, fresh peeled fruit and salient floral seasoning remain.

The bill of fare may be read as unremarkable: lemon, oakmoss, basil, bergamot, a melodius melon, a few greens, a soft peach and a sprig or two of patchouli.

Oh, and that heart rending honeysuckle.

But each part is of the highest quality and it is the genius of their deployment, not the pretensions of their provenance that, gives the dishes as served their unrivalled effect.

The courses run sparkling citrus, through green floral heart to fruit and soil conclusion flawlessly.

Everything because of a single genius.

There is no man or woman in the kitchen, merely the one in charge in whites.

Diorella is Chef.

The Perfumed Dandy is lucky enough to own an older version of Diorella. The current reconstruction is a different, happy lemon sort of a scent, though not entirely to be sniffed at.

Yours ever

The Perfumed Dandy.

The Perfumed Dandy


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