“A perfume must create an illusion stronger than reality.” — Edmond Roudnitska
If my childhood has a scent, it is Diorissimo. Every morning my mother would leave for work wearing a few precious drops of the extrait de parfum. Long after she had disappeared down the stairwell, her fragrance lingered in the apartment. Diorissimo became my first lesson in perfume’s mysterious power: a person could leave, yet remain present through scent.
The little pink box fascinated me almost as much as the perfume itself. Before ballet class I would secretly dab a tiny drop on my wrist, convinced that its ethereal elegance might somehow transform me as well. It certainly distinguished me from the scents that defined the Soviet world around me: the heavy cloud of Krasnaya Moskva worn by my schoolteacher or the sharp blast of Chypre cologne that accompanied the neighborhood alcoholics.
Diorissimo conjured up something entirely different, a world of spring that bloomed all around me. I loved how it evoked the white blossoms, leaves and even a tinge of damp earth. I stood at the ballet barre, sniffing my wrist so intensely that I would miss the combination given by the teacher—and of course, receive the mandatory reprimand. I didn’t care. Diorissimo beguiled me completely.
For paid subscribers, a master-class on Diorissimo with sample muguet accord formulas.