Perfume Review: Christian Dior Diorissimo

By Tom I wandered about this weekend in a state of perfume ennui: what to review? I had dropped by Barneys and was captivated by Malle's Bigarade Concentree, and promptly lost the sample the SA made me (I hope it fell out of my pocket into the car and not onto Wilshire Blvd). Lutens Vetiver Oriental is racing to the top of the list of "what I shall waste my rebate check on" but I am still processing it and not ready to review. I even saw in a gigantic full-page ad in the August Times that Juicy Couture had introduced a new men's fragrance and duly trekked off (to the Valley, even! Oh, okay I admit it, I went to Highland Park to Penny's which has the best French Fries in three counties and there's more parking at the Valley Macy's) to Sherman Oaks to sniff. Sniff I did. Citrus inoffensive would be a good name for it. Diet Sprite smells edgier. What to do? Then I had the good fortune of reading Beth's review of Diorissimo. Wait? I have some of that! I love that! Certainly the world is waiting for my opinion of this?!? Well, let's not go crazy.. Having the memory of your average sieve, I think that Beth and I share similar upbringings- I do remember that lily-of-the-valley were perhaps not the first sign of Spring in the part of Western New England where I was raised (that would be leaves and grass) but were perhaps the first sign that spring had really sprung and wasn't just one of those cruel jokes Spring in New England can be. Part of our backyard was a small valley, really more of a dip, that would bloom with a profusion of them; this valley was a boundary between my parents house and our neighbors and was normally just grass. Both families had a silent agreement not to mow that area until those plants were done for the year: the perfume was so heady and yet so innocent that to mow that part of the yard would be akin to murder. Diorissimo seemingly effortlessly captures that fragrance: no mean feat I am told, since that particular flower can't be juiced or steamed or whatever it is that perfumers do to render unto us the scents that we so adore. It's blissful springtime; the scent of renewal. The long cold winter is over, the heat of summer isn't here yet but the trees have gone from bare buds to a profusion of impossibly plump leaves, grass is firmly back and even the garden shadows seem green; spring flowers seem to bud before your eyes and the rain showers seem fecund. As it goes forward, Diorissimo mirrors that fecundity with woods and civet and a bare hint on me of uncured tobacco- as Colombina writes "flowers pulled out of the earth with their roots intact". Would I wear it? I don't know, I think I would need independent confirmation that I was light and innocent and not gassing people out at work (any volunteers?). It has certainly rocketed to the top of scents that I think I need to have in my life in more than a decant, to celebrate the season, to get through the admittedly mild winters the Hills of Beverly, or even to remind myself in what is arguably the Autumn of my life that there is always Spring, the Eternal Return. Even as the most extravagant way possible to scent my sheets. Oh, and Beth, if you are wearing this if ever we finally meet, I will be sniffing you hair big time...