Terrifically trashy jasmine/vanilla bomb, projected through a haze of smoke, wood, amber, and noise. Guerlain's Shalimar with her wrinkles Botoxed and her eyebrows tweezed, her hair Elnetted to within an inch of its life, and half a cigarette dangling from her mouth as she picks out her skimpiest outfit to wear to the club. Dior Addict - as in, a woman hooked on Dior products, not an addict of the Intervention sort, Dior is quick to clarify - is brutally effective in its mission of seduction. Sweet and slightly narcotic, vulgar with just enough false-lashes-and-pearls glamour to resist immediate dismissal, full of enjoyably crude charm (that creamy/plasticky, dialed-up-to-11 jasmine note would never have found its way into a '20s-era Guerlain), and with a winkingly retro "don't wear it around your parents" vibe that's anaethema to today's squeaky-clean perfume paradigm. A good deal less respectable than its classic oriental forebears, but arguably more fun. And if (like many) you're unconvinced of Dior Addict's quality, some food for thought: Its creator is Thierry Wasser, one of the best noses in the business and currently the in-house perfumer for...wait for it...Guerlain. (More food: Its smoky vanilla/musk drydown bears more than a passing resemblance to that of Le Labo's vaunted Patchouli 24. Stick that in your holder and smoke it, niche snobs.) Bonus: Projection and lasting power that border on the unholy. Who says you can't get bang for your buck anymore?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
In a nutshell: Dior's Dior Addict
Terrifically trashy jasmine/vanilla bomb, projected through a haze of smoke, wood, amber, and noise. Guerlain's Shalimar with her wrinkles Botoxed and her eyebrows tweezed, her hair Elnetted to within an inch of its life, and half a cigarette dangling from her mouth as she picks out her skimpiest outfit to wear to the club. Dior Addict - as in, a woman hooked on Dior products, not an addict of the Intervention sort, Dior is quick to clarify - is brutally effective in its mission of seduction. Sweet and slightly narcotic, vulgar with just enough false-lashes-and-pearls glamour to resist immediate dismissal, full of enjoyably crude charm (that creamy/plasticky, dialed-up-to-11 jasmine note would never have found its way into a '20s-era Guerlain), and with a winkingly retro "don't wear it around your parents" vibe that's anaethema to today's squeaky-clean perfume paradigm. A good deal less respectable than its classic oriental forebears, but arguably more fun. And if (like many) you're unconvinced of Dior Addict's quality, some food for thought: Its creator is Thierry Wasser, one of the best noses in the business and currently the in-house perfumer for...wait for it...Guerlain. (More food: Its smoky vanilla/musk drydown bears more than a passing resemblance to that of Le Labo's vaunted Patchouli 24. Stick that in your holder and smoke it, niche snobs.) Bonus: Projection and lasting power that border on the unholy. Who says you can't get bang for your buck anymore?
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I tried this recently, and wasn't super-wowed by it, but I'll give it another go. I think my nose was too exhausted.
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