Dior
Dior
28.5k votes
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A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The grapefruit detonates for perhaps thirty seconds before the cardamom-nutmeg combination swallows it whole, creating this bright-but-heavy effect like sunlight filtered through amber glass. There's an immediate warmth, almost a tingle on the skin, as those top notes practically sizzle against the alcohol.
The lavender finally reveals itself an hour in, but it's been steeped in cinnamon bark and licorice root until it's gone thoroughly brown and resinous. This is where the fragrance feels most deliberately spicy—that anisic sweetness from the licorice makes everything smell both edible and completely abstract, like a memory of taste rather than the thing itself. The aromatic freshness is still there, buried deep, fighting through the warmth.
What remains is mostly amber-soaked woods: the vetiver's smokiness, the sandalwood's creaminess, and that dark patchouli holding everything in place like an anchor. It's warm, dense, and sits close to the skin whilst still projecting in waves when you move—persistent without being sharp, sweet without losing that essential spiced character that defined the earlier stages.
Sauvage Elixir is Demachy's masterclass in restraint and excess simultaneously—a paradox that shouldn't work but absolutely does. The opening grapefruit barely registers as citrus; instead, it's been compressed into a sharp, almost mineral brightness that the cardamom immediately smothers with its eucalyptic warmth. This isn't the fresh aromatic of the original Sauvage. This is something altogether more visceral, more deliberately confrontational. The cinnamon-licorice pairing in the heart creates an anisic heat that borders on medicinal, like red hots dissolving on your tongue whilst someone crushes star anise nearby. It's sweet without being gourmand, spicy without tipping into mulled wine territory.
What makes this compelling is how the lavender never quite behaves—it's compressed, darkened, stripped of its fougère prettiness and forced into service as a bridge between the spice and the absolutely massive woody-amber base. That Haitian vetiver brings a smoky, almost sake-like quality that the sandalwood smooths just enough to keep things wearable. The patchouli here isn't the hippie oil of the seventies; it's been scrubbed clean, leaving only its chocolate-earth facets to add heft.
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4.3/5 (14.2k)