If you’ve not experienced the scent of Dior Mitzah prior to, saying that it smells of cinnamon, honey amber, rose and incense can be the same as telling that a pound cake is made up of eggs, butter and flour. Alter the proportions of any ingredient and you’ll get a completely different outcome, but just slightly. It’s still a pound cake. Most spicy-sparkly-balsamic ambers exist on a pound cake plane, separated by infinitesimal degrees of smoke or sweetness or heft. Perfumes such as Ambre Sultan (Serge Lutens), Ambra Aurea (Profumum Roma), Miyako (Annayake), Vento nel Vento (Bois 1920) and yes, Mitzah (Dior) All are the basis of a global comfort vocabulary. It’s difficult to be wrong with any of the scents. They are, however, also of a variety.
There are three primary aspects that make Mitzah. The first is its texture. It is a fragrance made of the most heavy of ingredients such as labdanum, honey, patchouli, cardamom it is extremely light, similar to gauze being stretched across a glass. Mitzah wears like all of these ingredients were placed in an oven low in temperature that was dried overnight and after cooling and ground into fine golden mica that can be applied like one of those body dusting powders that are edible. If you’ve ever had an Krispy Kreme glazed doughnut right when it flashes red you’ll be familiar with the sensation of getting your teeth buried in that thin glaze, and then finding no food in your mouth other than air since the whole thing disintegrated the moment it touched the warm surface the tongue. Mitzah is akin to this.
A second, the peppery bitterness that is brought on by the cardamom scent is firmly pushed back against the sparkling sweet perfumed dried and freeze-dried air that’s the other component of Mitzah. It’s the same for the earthy, gentle scent of the patchouli. It subtilly darkens the vibrant pink gold tinge of the fragrance and adds a hint something that is a little deeper. These tiny counterpoints make Mitzah an feel of balance and elegance uncommon in the amber category.
The third is a ghostly “roasted” scent that smells like cinnamon sticks or sesame seeds cooked in a dry skillet. It’s not a key ingredient, but it is an interesting element, as does crushed thyme and bay leaf notes in Ambre Sultan and the gasoline notes and spilled licorice found in Vento nel Vento. Mitzah requires this element of interest, as without it, it’s one of those diaphanous , ambery-spicy scents that aren’t distinguished enough to put on to feel comfortable on a cold , chilly day and quickly forget about five minutes after. While I’m not convinced that Mitzah is as intriguing or unique as it’s been made appear as being (Paris exclusivity has greatly created its cult status over time) however, it does great job at bridging the gap between mindless comfort and a sense of purpose. This alone is why I could almost forget about purchasing Eau Noire instead when I was in the final stretch of the Dior Paris Mothership’s reach.
