Dior
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The ylang ylang arrives with its characteristic custard-cream richness, immediately softened by a dusting of iris that feels almost tactile—you can practically feel the powder puff. There's a bright, slightly green quality to the jasmine that keeps the opening from feeling too vintage, though it's clearly referencing a particular kind of mid-century French perfumery.
The tuberose blooms properly now, but it's been so thoroughly tamed by the iris and benzoin that it reads more as milky-creamy than animalic or heady. Rose petals are pressed between the layers like silk between tissue paper, adding structure without asserting themselves, whilst the whole composition takes on that characteristic powdery sweetness that defines the genre—lipstick and loose powder and expensive face cream all at once.
What remains is a soft, resinous warmth where benzoin and vanilla have fused with the lingering white flowers into something that smells like perfumed skin rather than perfume on skin. The iris persists as a quiet, woody-powdery hum, whilst the tuberose's creamy facets cling on, creating an intimate, close-to-the-body scent that feels like cashmere against bare shoulders.
New Look is Demachy's love letter to haute couture florals, a powdery white flower composition that reads like backstage at a Dior runway show—face powder hovering in the air, tuberose corsages pinned to silk lapels, and the ghost of Mitsouko lingering on vintage velvet. The ylang ylang announces itself immediately but never dominates; instead, it acts as a creamy, slightly banana-tinged frame for the quartet of white and pale flowers that follow. The iris here isn't the stark, carroty kind—it's been softened with benzoin until it takes on an almost talc-like quality, that particular French face powder smell that conjures 1950s vanity tables and pressed compacts. Tuberose and jasmine create a heady core that's surprisingly restrained, never veering into funeral parlour territory, whilst the rose adds a prim, lipstick-like quality. The vanilla in the base isn't gourmand; it's there to amplify the benzoin's resinous sweetness, creating that second-skin warmth that makes you want to bury your nose in the crook of your own elbow. This is for the woman (or man) who understands that true elegance whispers rather than shouts, who knows that powdery florals are anything but old-fashioned when executed with this level of refinement. It's New Look indeed—Dior's Bar jacket translated into scent, all nipped waists and softly structured femininity with just enough skin underneath to keep things interesting.
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