Jules ad by Rene Gruau, 1980, stock image

I’ve been trying to catch up with him all my life. Sometimes, I’ve caught his glimpse – in a café in the Rue de Reves reading his newspaper over a double espresso; heard his baritone from the corner of the Dublin pub where he told tales to the lads in the snug; watched him helm a ketch in Sardinia, sailing towards the coves, alone; followed his shadow down the alleyways of Casablanca, never knowing what I’d say if we ceased the chase. I’ve seen him hang on the arms of a hundred women, never truly theirs, and drive off in his vintage roadster into the dawn, laughing to himself at the folly of love. He is Jules.

Dior Jules poster by Rene Gruau, 1980

An extraordinary green fougere from perfumer Jean Martel in 1980, Dior Jules – French slang for a boyfriend or lover – upended male perfumes for me forever. Until I came across it – where or when I cannot remember – I thought of men’s fragrance as mostly butch and leathery or slap-it-on-your face jumbles of citrus and woods. Suave, easy, identifiable. But Jules was a different creature altogether: as intensely, deliberately green as a Rousseau jungle; animalic and elegant as the prowl of a great cat; urbane as Cole Porter teased on the baby grand in Bemelman’s bar, and as stylish as a hat tipped just so. It was Sam Neill as Reilly, Ace of Spies, clever, refined, the outward epitome of “done right,’ but underneath the tailored chevroned suit, a shirt disheveled from too many late hours, and a collar with the cling of another bed. I fell ridiculously in love with it.

Sam Neill as Sid Reilly in Reilly Ace of Spies, image via ITV

The original Dior Jules (it was reformulated in 2016 by Francois Demachy, Dior Parfum-Creator using a hefty dose of galbanum to amp up the perfume’s greenness) sported ads by the great Rene Gruau that suggested, according to Dior’s web copy, “a virile, determined sports-lover who relishes in risk and adventure. Car racing, aviation, boxing and motorcycles are an integral part of the fragrance’s image.” While that clearly isn’t the image I take from the fragrance, it is unquestionably the fragrance of someone who finds convention boring, something the top notes make clear straightaway: assertively green but never biting; leonine; highwire walking between clever fougere and classic green floral.

Dior Jules opens with a gorgeous bouquet of fresh green herbs, hyacinthine cyclamen, lavender and bergamot, as flawlessly blended as the perfect gimlet, and teetering right on the edge of jaunty green floral a la Jacomo Silences. But instead, a deliciously animalic note, half-leather, half-spice, spreads out in the next few moments like a stretching cat and cuts into all that lovely good taste with a languid swipe. Eventually, cumin identifies itself — but cumin haters, don’t worry; no note in Jules ever nudges another out of the way or calls too much attention to itself, and the cumin behaves itself here. Just.

Illustration by Rene Gruau, 1960

The floral heart is where Vintage Dior Jules really shows its stuff. A deep, cushioned rose clings to some gently peppery carnation, lending a dandified touch to the fougeres-like notes that frame the composition. The inclusion of such warm, textural flowers in the perfume’s center moves it firmly into genderless territory.  Sandalwood comes out here, too, adding its characteristic mellowness, and is a perfect partner for the elegant glove suede note that manifests now – a nod to the driving gloves of the original creative vision. Cedar and oakmoss in the base steer Jules back towards traditional masculine ground, but the execution of the fragrance is so deft that it never betrays its gender, as so many other fragrances aimed at a male audience do, when the musk makes a stand, or the woods call a halt to the proceedings. It’s exactly the fragrance I’d want to smell of the morning after, and an all-time favourite.

I can’t help but wonder if M. Martel intended women to wear it all along.

Notes: Bergamot, Tarragon, Cumin, Lavender, Cyclamen, Basil, Jasmine, Carnation, Rose, Sandalwood, Cedar, Amber, Oakmoss, Leather, Musk, Tonka bean, Suede.

Disclaimer: Dior Jules from my private collection.

Lauryn Beer, Senior Editor

Vintage Dior Jules miniature, photo by Lauryn

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