Dior
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The bergamot arrives with its characteristic bitter-bright snap, but within moments the star anise weaves through with its sweet, medicinal liquorice facet, creating an unexpectedly Orient-meets-Provence tension. The elemi adds a peppery, piney greenness that keeps the citrus from reading as straightforward cologne territory.
Here's where the hedione blooms into its full metallic-floral glory, that peculiar jasmine-that-isn't-jasmine radiance lifting the lavender absolute into something between barbershop and incense chamber. The cinnamon never shouts but adds a dry warmth that makes the wild flowers feel dusted with spice, whilst the vetiver begins its slow rise from beneath, earthy and slightly smoky.
What remains is a sophisticated amber-vetiver-labdanum triad, resinous and skin-close, with ghostly traces of lavender and that persistent hedione glow creating an almost molecular transparency. The woods feel lived-in rather than freshly cut, warm and faintly sweet, like opening a cedar drawer that once held cinnamon sticks.
Eau Sauvage Parfum takes François Demachy's reference point—the 1966 original's revolutionary hedione overdose—and reimagines it through a resinous, spiced lens that feels both archival and utterly contemporary. The Calabrian bergamot and orange hit with that familiar citrus clarity, but here they're almost immediately wrapped in a warm, balsamic embrace of elemi and star anise. This isn't the cool, soapy hedione bomb of Eau Sauvage EDT; it's a denser, more contemplative creature where the lavender absolute smoulders rather than sparkles, its aromatic facets darkened by cinnamon and grounded by vetiver's earthy bite.
What makes this compelling is the tension between brightness and shadow. The hedione still provides that lifted, transparent quality—that peculiar jasmine-metal shimmer that feels like ionised air—but it's now anchored by labdanum's leathery amber and the green, lemony resinousness of elemi. The wild flowers accord hovers somewhere between the notes, adding an indistinct but essential softness that prevents the composition from becoming too angular. This is for the Eau Sauvage devotee who's grown tired of the original's polite restraint, who wants something with more grip and mystery. It works beautifully in autumn when you want citrus that doesn't feel incongruous against wool and fallen leaves. Wear it to galleries, to long lunches that turn into longer conversations, to moments when you want to smell both approachable and quietly serious.
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