Le Dandy
D'Orsay (1925)

I don't gravitate toward boozy scents. I find that when I've sampled them, it reminds me too much of when my pores exude the previous night's alcohol-fueled exploits and I really don't want to give off that energy. Besides, I no longer have alcohol-fueled exploits these days. The boozy scents often smell pretty damn great on their own, maybe even on others, but my chemistry seldom allows for it without feeling like a boozehound.

Le Dandy, on the other hand, is constructed in such a way so that it's like a subtle whiskey on the rocks with a fine cigar. A plum note enhances this, and some spices and resins anchor it all, but it's a lovely light wear, autumnal and warm, with light whiffs and wafts of scotch, just a tiny bit peaty.

The irony is I finally found a boozy scent I can pull off AND wear to the office, and since Covid, I now work from home permanently. Go figure. I can be that dandy wherever else I go...

I don't know the story on this one, supposedly released 1925. I does not smell like that, at least not to my experience.

I get a rather modern scent, something in the veins of Hugo Boss - Hugo. Sweet and fruity, with a heavier and darker base, but without the artificial feel. It smells well composed and natural. Like a niche take on a wearable masculine scent for the masses with a slight twist.

I enjoyed this while my decant lasted!

Le Dandy was first released in 1922 (some say 1923 or 1925) and discontinued in the 1950's. (It was reissued in 1998 as an entirely different perfume). It is a little known scent created by the estimable Henri Robert, who left Parfums D'Orsay to become the chief perfumer for Coty in 1934, and then headed for Chanel in 1952, where he created his masterwork, No. 19.

My Le Dandy is the original black glass Art Deco presentation from no later than the 1930's, designed by Louis Süe, who designed all of the flacons for Patou, including the iconic Joy bottle. Unlike the chunky crystal Joy stopper, Le Dandy's ball topped glass stopper has a perilously narrow neck, but after much gentle prying and prodding, it gave way with a soft “pop,” releasing scent contained for almost a hundred years. Perfume archaeology.

I have not found a definitive description of the original Le Dandy. Luckily, the perfume in my bottle is still sound. It's a beautifully plush, softly spiced, musky floral, a bit like Caron Nuit de Noel (1922) crossed with No. 5. It has gorgeous jasmine, rose, carnation (eugenol), an amaretto cookie note, and buttery nitromusks. It is often said that Le Dandy was originally marketed to men, like the recent reissues, but I have found no evidence of this in the vintage ads, and I am beginning to think this is a mistake. I couldn't understand how D'Orsay could sell face powder and lipstick scented with Le Dandy before, but after smelling this deeply feminine perfume, I do.

Le Dandy d'Orsay (1925) is something of a lost fragrance, as the original composition was completely replaced for reasons unknown, although a lost formula or a pre-made base from a long-dead supplier like with many discontinued Carons is likely to blame for Le Dandy's disappearance. Whatever the case may be, the fragrance known as Le Dandy until the company's initial demise in 1983 was created by Henri Robert before he joined Chanel to replace Ernest Beaux as house perfumer, and itself released during a tumultuously competitive time in Western perfume where florals and chypres like Chanel No. 5 (1921) and Guerlain Mitsouko (1919) had respectively just set new standards for the genre. In comparison to those, Le Dandy must have felt more like "le dowdy" as it was an exercise in traditional floral scent craft even by the conventions of the 1920's, but somehow garnered a fan base that kept it in existence unchanged for almost 60 years. Many of the D'Orsay fragrances released during their golden period would feel like exercises in 19th century style anyway, but I guess most of them were themed after the fashion predilections of Alfred Guillaume Gabriel Grimod d'Orsay, which meant delicate floral bouquets with powdery or woody bases. In this way Le Dandy is really no different, and being somewhat directly named after the count himself (often considered the first dandy), I can see why Henri Robert chose not to paint outside the lines. Another thing of interest here is the particular composition of Le Dandy's soapy rose core almost feels like a presage to Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche (1971), which is spooky considering that the Rive Gauche perfumer Jacques Polge would later replace Henri Robert behind the wheel of Chanel shortly after making it.

The opening of Le Dandy is aldehydes, cold spice, carnation, and fruity lactones. No surprise there, as borrowing a bit from Chanel and Guerlain to keep things contemporary for the time was good for a budding luxury perfumer like D'Orsay to stay "in the game", since it competed for counter space at the same stores abroad. The aldehydes here are duller than No. 5, which may be a good thing for those who don't like the "grande dame" treatment, and we get an expected round of familiar floral notes from there. Rose, jasmine, soapy neroli, and powdery orris all move as one into the base, feeling both prim and pretty, with a touch of indole but not on the same level as something like the later Lanvin Arpège (1927). Base notes also appear really conventional given the period, with oakmoss, sandalwood, coumarin (feigning tobacco), balsam fir, and something a bit sharp and leathery, giving a "Mousse de Saxe" vibe of many fragrance from the time. The effect of Le Dandy is "properly dandy" and most likely to be worn by a mature woman with a sense of propriety and transcontinental speech, although it was worn by fancy guys with the same "lockjaw" and sold as-is without gender in most cases, with vintage ads stating things like "blends well with furs but goes equally well with tailored suits", showing a total ambivalence about sex. Wear time and strength vary by concentration, but what I have went over 12 hours and stayed very present for most of it, trailing off into sandalwood savon and moss only at the end, so I guess they don't make'em like this anymore. Where you'd use Le Dandy now is open to debate, as such a filigreed and old-fashioned floral built on your once-common "stamp'em out" oakmoss and sandalwood naturals from that time is going to communicate to the world that at very least you're a postmodernist with deep pockets, even if not an outright artisanal coffee-swilling hipster elite.

Weather wise, I feel this one works better in spring or fall, but is too powdery for summer and not warm enough for winter, but find your path on that. Plus, you factor in the growing scarcity of something that's already been out of production for decades, and can't really be produced again thanks to oakmoss being the bogeyman and sandalwood being worth more than the blood of Christ, and you end up with something better savored as a collector's piece than functional perfume anyway. Being the walking version of The Osmothèque as you leave a precious trail of century-old scent as you go, rife with either the aforementioned Mousse de Saxe or gobs upon gobs of real sandalwood and oakmoss does have it's appeal, but you're likely going to be the only person who knows the value of what you're wearing, unless you walk into a niche perfume store and intimidate the help. As for what happened to Le Dandy, Group Marignan couldn't save it like they did Etiquette Bleue (1908) or Chevalier d'Orsay (1911), so they created two new scents instead. The "pour Homme" and "pour Femme" pair of the new Le Dandy were noteworthy for being made by Dominique Preyssas and Francis Kurkdjian respectively, but were not well-received and are both discontinued too. The person who likely wore Le Dandy in its prime valued the reserved poise of a perfume with both an aristocratic pedigree and bent on interpreting beauty as a form of moral superiority in the face of daring or scandalous fashion. As for today, the nearly-lost nature of Le Dandy just reminds us that playing it safe, regardless of the era, perfumer, or quality of materials being used, can sometimes also mean being forgotten; so forgotten that you are replaced, then forgotten again. Thumbs up

The whiskey/fruit accord reminds me of the Scotch and cherry brandy mix some hunters take out to the field in a flask (one of Prince Charles' favorite drinks as a boy....) but in this case, the fruit is plum. I do not get any of the spices listed in the middle notes and the base is all about pipe tobacco and incense (benzoin) to me. If you were out shooting pheasant and you dashed into an old church to share a tot from the flask with the gamekeeper while smoking a pipe... well, that sounds pretty dandified to me. Less of a dandy than, say Oscar Wilde, and more like one of the denizens of Downton Abbey. A little too boozy and fruity for me to want to wear very often but Le Dandy is a great reference scent and actually quite subtle. If you want to drink like a dandy, too, this might help: https://www.thespruceeats.com/hunters-cocktail-recipe-761450

Boozy. More specifically, fruit boozy... plum boozy.

I much prefer over similars Nicole Miller & Carlos Santana (apple boozy), Michael (tobac boozy) all 'for men'. It edges out Frank #2 too, with its ambery as opposed to frank's woody drydown -- otherwise, these two share a whole lotta overlap in the open and heart.

Top hat & tails? The old stuff perhaps, but my re-intro'd silver-capped 100ml bottle doesn't come off as outdated, in contrast with that style of dress and the term 'dandy'.

Nevertheless it's a lark fragrance I'm glad to have found.