Djedi (1927)
by Guerlain

Guerlain Djedi vintage extrait

The first impression upon applying Djedi is a large dose of natural civet. Natural civet is much softer than the artificial version--although both have a sort of mothball quality, natural civet is much warmer and rounded, with a sweet, almost floral aspect that the artificial chemical never achieves. Quickly, the civet moves more to a supporting role, and a very leathery note emerges. I think it is probably birch tar since there is a slight petrochemical, smoky and tannic edge to it. The sweetness of the civet is quite nice with the birch tar, knocking off the sharp corners of the birch tar harshness. As the mid notes continue to develop, powder also becomes more apparent. It is the sweet and dry powder that I normally associate with orris root. There are probably also some other florals present, but I can't pick out any particular one. There is simply a floral feel to the composition, not unlike Chanel Cuir de Russie, but more subdued and quite a bit drier.

The intermediate dry iris and birch tar stage lasts a rather long time--quite nice since this part of the development is immensely pleasing. One thing I find interesting are the two thoughts that keep popping into my head. First, that Djedi seems like a rather cool fragrance. The composition itself is not cooling or mentholated, and it is not cool in the sense of a green fragrance category, but the dry chypre leather composition creates a distant and aloof impression. Second, I keep thinking that this is probably what Parfumerie Generale Cuir d'Iris was inspired by, but I must say, Cd'I fell short by several miles. Djedi is a soft, powdery and dry orris and oakmoss leather. Cuir d'Iris is bottled leather tanning chemicals in comparison.

In the drydown, Djedi is quite diffuse with primarily oakmoss and a few remaining hints of the orris root I smelled more strongly in the mid notes. The birch tar has also become significantly attenuated, and I think the remaining smokyness I smell is probably from vetiver. There is still a rather strong leather note, so it is possible Djedi contains one of the major leather aromachemicals used in perfumery. It is quite subtle, however, and had the effect of carrying the birch tar impression into the drydown. I have been wondering where the Guerlain vanilla or tonka might be, and just when I was about to give up, caught the olfactory version of a glimpse in the drydown--it is a slightly sweet undertone rather than a main note in the base. Djedi is a beautiful dry leather chypre, subdued, smooth and composed from beginning to end. It seems a bit on the masculine side, especially compared to Chanel Cuir de Russie, but is undoubtedly wearable by either men or women.

When I first applied Djedi I got a big blast of cedarwood and vetiver. Then, after a few moments a cool medicinal note like camphor emerged. That note was very brief and as it passed the scent became only slightly warmer and drier. The next phase is where I started to understand why others have compared Vera Profomo's Onda to Djedi. There are similarities at this stage. See Quarry's review below where her husband likened Djedi to the smell of a "dirty diaper". I have to admit that in both Djedi and Onda there is a note that does evoke that smell, but why it doesn't come off as offensive to me is a mystery. It is a strange note indeed, more pronounced (and consitant) in Onda, making the scent more feral, while in Djedi that note is more refined and layered with somthing so beautiful and melancholy, there are no words to describe it. That note is where the similarities between Djedi and Onda begin and end. Where Djedi is the dark, dank basement of the castle that so many have mentioned, Onda is a hot barn on a sunny day (i mean all of this in a GOOD way). Djedi is a journey that starts out at a place that's dark and cold. Along the way there are grasses, dirt and sweat with something mysterious lurking in the shadows. If you allow it, Djedi can take you to a place deep and primal that can't be described merely by listing what notes come first or second. It can take you to a place that's deep within and primal, where words have limitations and when you reach the light at the end of that tunnel, all that's left is a faint whisper of vetiver like nothing ever happened.

Many of you may have seen this already, but here is a link for an interesting piece of writing on perfume and the human condition:

http://64.233.169.104/search?q=cache:ZnCe_MFSAOAJ:blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/print.asp%3FentryID%3D122480+Djedi+by+guerlain&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=17&gl=us

Why try Djedi? What struck me is that before mine there are but six reviews, all positive, several of which describe Djedi as not just a fragrance, but as an experience. While many fragrances reviewed on Basenotes produce intense reactions, few seem to rival the effects of Djedi.

Curiosity got the best of me, so I obtained a small decant of the vintage parfum (not the reissue). Was it worth it? Yes! Dark, earthy, pungent, austere and unlike anything I have ever tried. A great scent to support introspective thinking and quiet contemplation. I cannot help but wonder how wearers were affected and impressed by Djedi in the 1920s.

Leather scents are strong, dry, dark and mineral scents, invented in the mid-1920s, and their characteristic smell of machine oil suited perfectly man's fascination with machines, factories and futurism at the time. As always, Jacques Guerlain wasn't late to grasp modernity's signs, and already in 1926 he had created Djedi, Guerlain's first and only real leather chypre. The name was not borrowed from its contemporaries, but from an ancient Egyptian magician who reputedly was able to bring back the dead to life. And the perfume is indeed as strange and mystic as a magician. It mixes rose, vetiver, musk, oakmoss, leathery notes and civet into a dark-green, earthy-cold and heroic-tragic scent, and as such, it's considered to be the first, and most unusual, of Jacques Guerlain's dark '1930's style'-perfumes, despite it being closer to Shalimar in time. It's sensual, but it's a very different sensuality than Shalimar's deep, playful and generous orientalism. It's a restrained, austere, mystic sensuality. The closest sister to Djedi is perhaps Liu that is equally dry, not a mossy, leathery dryness, but one that comes from dusty rose and aldehyde. Djedi's next-nearest sister must be Vol de Nuit, created with the same dark-austere spiciness as Djedi, but laid on a sweeter, oriental background, not a dry leather one. Perfume experts Roja Dove and Luca Turin have described it as 'the driest perfume of all time' and 'a tremendous animalic vetiver', respectively. The bottle for Djedi is rectangular and severe, inspired by architectural functionalism, with a ground glass stopper covered with gilded metal, and placed in a dark-green leather box with a roof-shaped lid. The Djedi bottle is actually a modified version of the 'biscuit shaped' bottle from 1916. Djedi didn't enter Guerlain's classic range, but its 70th anniversary in 1996 was celebrated with a true copy of the original 60 ml model.

It is as soulful as that most evocative of fragrances, Djedi's sibling, L'Heure Bleue, by the same creator. It is a Goth fragrance par excellence, probably the best - brooding, melancholy (with none of the wistfulness of L'Heure Bleue), dark, cool, mineral.
This is an awesome fragrance - I should never try these impossible to get fragrances. Because there's no way I can leave this at one sampling.
It is sensual, leathery, cool, animalic, haunting, mineral, bewitching and dark, but refined and almost ladylike. It got everything just right. Sous Le Vent felt spritely and annoyingly bright next to it. Dzing was reduced to a leather without the depth that gives Djedi a satisfyingly full roundness. Neither have the animalic smoulder of Djedi. This is a perfume to call your signature scent. I must say this was a bit of a set-up as I love chypres and especially leathers, so I was destined to take a fall here.
It was sensual fragrance right out of the gate, and I smelled the dry earthy quality of vetiver immediately. The presence of the submerged rose was also apparent from the beginning, so when the leather emerged in a few minutes it wasn't the straightforward leather of Dzing, but a subtle part of a bigger picture. But it is there, and in an important way. There is also an interesting mineral note that keeps it slightly sharp and soulful. Also present was a suffuse low-key warmth, in the style of Messe De Minuit. That warmth isn't a sweetness but almost seems sweet compared to the cooler elements. There was a flirting in and out of animalics, in *just* the right amount, and, tmn, the musty earthy spiciness of what smells like angelica. On me it became more the "tremendous animalic vetiver " of Luca Turin than the "driest perfume of all time" of Roja Dove. There is a certain indolic note to it all, which adds to its sensuality and earthiness. But with that angelica note, it's incapable of staying in the earth, as is the paradoxical angelica, a root basenote that reaches to the heavens, as its name indicates (angelica is all about soul, and the ancients took that literally).
It was satisfying and strong in all phases, a requirement for a great perfume. My favorite phase though was the top midnote. It was wonderful, with a strong, wild presence.
There are several things I appreciate about this fragrance. One is that it isn't blatant in spite of being a leathery floral animalic. No note predominates. Everything is made subject to the service of the fragrance as a whole. It doesn't flaunt itself as a leather, doesn't highlight any portion, doesn't proclaim itself a chypre. It feels timeless and beyond category. To label this one is to lessen it. The creator obviously had a vision in mind, not a category.
Two is that it didn't have an hesperidic opening, and is one of the rare fragrances I've smelled that doesn't seem to have any hesperides. Bergamot is a classic component of chypres and leathers and is probably there, but if so it's fairly submerged and used for modification. Sometimes I get tired of the inevitability of citrus influence in the opening.
There is a refined tragic note to this fragrance, in a grand Goth tradition. But it is high-minded, and doesn't involve anything as prosaic as cellars or crypts to me. It would be more the cold mineral rock of a castle, as the energy of this fragrance seems age-imbued. Djedi is the soul scent Catherine and Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights would have in common because of its soulful air of time past.
It's difficult to say where the power of Djedi lies. With this one, it's not about the notes. It illustrates the adage 'The sum is greater than the parts' - a true synergy. It is like holding the Tolkien Ring in your hand and slowly letting it engage your soul. It seems to tap into the limbics more than most, and work on a deeper level where the true power of a perfume lies. After all, the original uses of fragrances were for spiritual purposes, to connect one to the gods. Djedi has the same authority in that it taps into some primal stuff. Jacques Guerlain was more than a genius or master perfumer - considering he created some of the most evocative fragrances ever made, he was connected at a level you can't teach in perfumer's school. He was able to imbue the one quality that makes his classics timeless - soul. After trying Djedi, I would love to have met this man more than any perfumer I know of.

I find myself in a primaeval place, dappled with light, but deep and secluded.
It is moist, earthy,and offers itself to my senses, burgeoning flowers, just barely,
Rhizomes, soil, a well-worn saddle in there, somehow, like a subtext.

Ancient but timeless, it will endure and be ageless.