Fidji Eau de Toilette by Guy Laroche

My mom loved it, and so did I, until she’d catch me stealing it because the scent lasts forever and I’d get caught. Now there’s just an empty bottle in the box, but the essence remains. I’ll buy this gem someday ❤️

You have to make peace with vintage scents. It takes a bit, but in the end, you get Stockholm syndrome. Fidji isn’t easy; it smells very oily. Combined with the heat of the clove, it initially gave me a searing sensation, like boiling oil. But as I get used to it, I start to smell beyond the aldehyde and enjoy the freshness of the moss.

There are many adjectives for Fidji, but ‘boring’ isn’t one. I also see a resemblance to Nina Ricci’s L’Air du Temps, though they aren’t equal or substitutes. Everything in Fidji is subtle: it starts with a powdery, floral iris where the citrus doesn’t stand out but pushes that sensation, moving through a complex development where the notes harmonize over an almost silent background. The result is elegant, luminous without being shrill, kind, and with a quiet but confident character. It’s not for going to the yacht club in a bikini and cocktail, but for a closer, calmer, and distinguished place where the interesting thing isn’t the chic resort, but the solitary beach with few tourists and the sea as the only sound. A place to enjoy slowly and feel attractive.

I smell it and shake my head. No, no. This isn’t for me. With that gorgeous name, one would expect a mysterious gem with tropical inspiration—maybe an astringent, pithy grapefruit with a talcum base, a soapy passion fruit, or a waxy ylang-ylang. But no, here resides the very demon that possesses Paris by YSL: that note that gives me heartburn (again, synthetic violet, on guard, annoying me) and a warning of a good headache. Fidji is too vintage, headstrong, and stately, a very much alive L’Air du Temps, with which it shares a slight resemblance depending on the moment. I promise you, I have no idea where those magical impressions come from that evoke paradises, gardens, freshness, and greenery. To me, it smells like Mrs. Havisham from Great Expectations, locked in her house with her brand-new wedding dress.

The resemblance to L’Air du Temps is almost identical, while the Nina Ricci one is more solemn and ceremonial; Fidji is more sensual, a bit carnal, and elegant. They share notes, but here the flowers stand out more, whereas in the other, spices like clove take the lead. Fidji is a more rejuvenated version of the Nina Ricci; I don’t mean it’s old, but of vintage exquisiteness, while the Guy Laroche is more youthful, bold, and carefree. Fidji is a jewel of the old school, an olfactory prodigy of ambrosial taste and very distinguished. Divine delight.

This was my signature scent back in the early 80s. It was a gift I received during my teenage years. I wore it constantly, and even though I was very young, I felt deeply connected to that enigmatic aroma—it somehow brought me closer to my dreams of traveling to those Pacific islands, with sands bathed in rays of turquoise light. Its formula is passionate, rich, sumptuous, yet youthful. A modern, deconstructed fragrance for an era dominated by aldehydes and olfactory jewels. Years later, when I finally flew over those islands, I was moved to tears remembering my first imported perfume, that 50ml bottle that accompanied me through so many happy moments. Fiji, a dream come true, timeless, and always with me.

My mother’s favorite, but unfortunately it’s no longer available in Argentina.

The most beautiful green floral in history! Anyone who tries it inevitably falls under its charm. It’s not that vintage perfume that smells old; it’s a classic! A young woman or an older lady can wear it, day or night, summer or winter. Laroche has created few perfumes, but both Fidji and Drakkar Noir were and remain a success, totally wearable by men and women today… and with so little marketing!

Fidji really makes me laugh. It’s as if it were a happier, younger flanker of the mossy and galbanum compositions that preceded it, where the others were dark and gloomy. Fidji, without losing that foresty tone, is much kinder. For me, the charm of Fidji is being halfway between the gloomy formulas of the past and the greasy, raw florals of the seventies; Fidji is neither one nor the other, on my nose it has snippets of both families. Considering that the first fascinates me and the last doesn’t make much sense to me, I find in this beautiful creation by Josephine Catapano a perfume different from many others born in its time. It’s luminous, it’s kind, and it smells of formality. But it’s definitely not as maternal or matronly as its contemporaries. Nor does it seem as common or boring as so many other perfumes with a strong aldehyde load. Fidji has “mystery” when faced with denatured notes like moss and galbanum. Even carrying hyacinth, which is a scent-stealer in any perfume, I feel it’s ambiguous and much more in tune with my tastes than similar perfumes of its era. It doesn’t reach my favorite perfume by a long shot, but I really find its versatility amusing. Besides, it’s one of those you never think about, but when you try it again you think “hey, this is cool.” Fidji, which seems like a good girl, is deep down a mossy, woody chypre, but with exquisite manners. Galbanum, moss, initial aldehydes that die out quickly just like the hyacinth, and a woody green finish where a very characteristic spicy, peppery tone stands out. Wonderful. P.S. It doesn’t remind me of L’Air du Temps to me, which by the way is a perfume I can’t stand. The bottle is a masterpiece; I’d love to have a vial of the parfum edition.

A good fragrance to wear especially during the hottest months, both day and night. Very feminine, not lacking elegance, but relaxed and easy to wear. It also reminds me of L’Air du Temps at its initial release, but the evolution is different. Fidji is more luminous, has a fresher touch. I prefer the eau de toilette to the parfum. It’s versatile: it can be worn for the office as well as leisure situations, as long as they aren’t too dynamic, because it remains a floral, and in summer it stands out. For looking put-together, it’s also perfect: its elegant and feminine touch will make you stand tall. Another thing I like about Fidji is that it’s not very common, at least nowadays: it’s not easy to cross paths with someone wearing it.

Fidji is a scent that constantly smelled in my house back in the 80s, worn by my sister. Currently, the remastered version I own offers that old scent but doesn’t have the same longevity and intensity. It’s a vintage that, having been softened, still offers me that past that is now so hard to find. If you like narcissus, try it; if you like flowers, try it; if you like perfumery from the past, get it. Its citrus opening is somewhat tempered by a delicate iris that gives it body, while the aldehydes act. Minutes later, we notice the whole ensemble standing out: a moss that darkens the perfume in a classic way, giving it an elegance few possess. I love putting it on from time to time and choose to put it on a handkerchief so it lasts a bit longer. It’s one of the few vintages still easily available in circulation, though not easy to try in perfumeries. If you like Anais, this is the older sister, a bit more serious, but no less friendly and fun, who has chosen to become independent and claim her own identity in the world of floral fragrances. For today, it’s a precious option that sets you apart from the florals of this time and evokes a floral that isn’t old, but determined to stay in the 70s. On the skin, longevity is low and the trail is also less compared to years ago, but it’s a jewel that has its showcase.

Fidji in its original formula is a floral in the style of Nina Ricci (Capricci, Farouche, L’air du temps). What does this mean? That we’re going to find a soft fragrance, not extravagant or dramatic, and that invites something more personal and intimate. Fidji is calm, serene, soft but with a complex composition. It has many things in common with L’air du temps, but also has its differences. In the Nina Ricci fragrance, spices and cloves have a bit more participation than the florals, and with Fidji it’s the opposite: Hyacinth, galbanum, and iris stand out against a sandalwood and moss that accompany them as support. Fidji is hyacinth and L’air du temps is carnation. But in terms of fixation and projection, they take the same direction. Since they are two so well-crafted fragrances, the fact that they are soft florals doesn’t mean they evaporate in 4 hours; their middle and base notes last a very long time on the skin. This is regarding the vintages, because the new formulas of both last less, especially Fidji’s which not only loses fixation but also beauty. I recommend the vintage for all romantics.

It starts spicy, a deep floral that softens over time until it feels like talcum powder. Definitely a daytime scent. I agree with those who said it’s similar to L’Air du Temps; yes, it follows that line I call powdery floral.

This perfume reminds me of beautiful moments in my life. My high school teacher, an elegant woman with a unique presence, used this masterpiece. I still remember that sophisticated floral scent that filled the room. For me, it’s one of my favorites, a moment of magic immortalized by Guy Laroche that exalts femininity without being loud and timeless.

I wore it on the day I got married; now I wear it on summer nights. I really like it—it’s very feminine and elegant. It reminds me of my mom’s garden, but also of party nights.