Frosty Mist (1955)

Frosty Mist, introduced by Bourjois in 1955, was named to evoke a diaphanous veil of coolness rather than literal winter weather: the pearly haze of early morning over a summer garden, apple and lilac branches beaded with dew, or pale blossoms whose scent drifts through the air before the day grows warm. “Frosty” gives the name a silvery, clean, almost crystalline quality, while “mist” makes it soft, elusive, and feminine. Together, the words promise a fragrance that does not announce itself heavily, but hovers around the wearer like chilled, scented air—refreshing, romantic, and faintly dreamlike.

The name was especially apt within Bourjois’s trio of summer colognes—On the Wind, Frosty Mist, and Spice ’N Ice. Each translated summer refreshment into fragrance: a breeze, a cool floral haze, and an invigorating play between warmth and cold. For a scent built around apple blossom, lilac, rose, lily-of-the-valley, and jasmine, Frosty Mist was far more evocative than a simple floral title. It suggested pale mauve lilacs, pink-white apple blossoms, moist green stems, clean linens, and the soft powdery elegance of a woman freshly dressed for the day

The fragrance appeared during the prosperous, style-conscious middle years of the 1950s—the postwar boom, often called the Eisenhower era in the United States. Fashion favored a polished, deliberately feminine silhouette: Dior-influenced cinched waists and full skirts remained important, while tailored shirtwaists, summer cottons, slim sheaths, and coordinated accessories offered a fresher, more practical elegance. A woman was expected to look composed from her set hairstyle and gloves to her lipstick and fragrance, yet summer called for something lighter than the rich parfum she might choose for evening.

A perfume called Frosty Mist would therefore have felt like an everyday luxury: a generous, cooling splash after the bath, a finishing touch for a crisp cotton dress, or a fragrance to wear when a deeper oriental or chypre seemed too formal for daylight. It projected youthfulness and refinement without sacrificing sophistication. This was not the perfume of a dramatic femme fatale; it was for a woman whose presence seemed fresh, immaculate, and quietly memorable.

In scent terms, the name is beautifully reflected in the composition. Its dewy apple blossom, neroli, orange blossom, hyacinth, and acacia opening would create a bright floral breeze, touched with green wintergreen freshness and a restrained glimmer of mace. Terpineol and terpinyl formate would lend a lilac-like, airy floral cleanness, while anisic aldehyde and phenylacetaldehyde supply the cool, almondy-anisic and honeyed-petal facets that make the floral effect shimmer rather than sit heavily on the skin.

The heart broadens this freshness into an idealized garden bouquet. Lilac is suggested through powdery heliotropin, bitter almond, violet, ionone, hydroxycitronellal, and orris, while rose rhodinol, geraniol, jasmine, tuberose, ylang-ylang, and lily-of-the-valley add living floral fullness. The apple blossom and lilac therefore do not stand alone: they are softened by rose, brightened by muguet, warmed by jasmine, and given a faintly creamy, cosmetic blur by violet and heliotrope. The result is pale and misty in impression, yet much more elaborate than a simple soliflore.

Beneath that chilled floral surface, Weriguine gave Frosty Mist a remarkably warm foundation. Cedar and bois de rose lend polished woodiness; tonka bean, coumarin, vanilla, and vanillin create a soft, hay-like, almondy warmth; and storax, styrax, benzoin, tolu balsam, and Peru balsam supply a lingering ambered, resinous glow. Ambergris, musk, musk ketone, musk ambrette, and civet add sensuality and lasting power, so the fragrance gradually changes from a cool floral haze into a velvety, slightly animalic skin scent. Its charm lies precisely in this contrast: frosted and airy at first, but warm, powdery, and softly shadowed as it dries down.

Frosty Mist was not wholly outside the trends of 1955. Women still favored sophisticated floral blends, aldehydic brightness, powdery cosmetic accords, and garden-inspired freshness, while perfumers continued to give even light colognes depth with woods, resins, and musks. What distinguished it was the balance of its seasonal, approachable image with its genuinely luxurious construction: a summer lilac fragrance that looked innocent and cool from afar, but carried the warm, sensuous finish of classic French perfumery.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Frosty Mist is a cool, crisp aldehydic lilac floral with a warm, musky-balsamic finish. Dewy apple blossom and neroli open into lilac, rose, muguet, jasmine, and violet, drying down to soft woods, vanilla-tonka, resins, ambergris, and musk.

• Top notes: apple blossom, neroli, terpineol, anisic aldehyde, phenylacetaldehyde, orange blossom absolute, n-butyl phenylacetate, hyacinth, terpinyl formate, acacia, wintergreen, mace
• Middle notes: tagetes, heliotropin, bitter almond, jasmine absolute, tuberose absolute, linalool, ylang ylang oil, rose rhodinol, geraniol, violet, ionone, cinnamic alcohol, coriander, lavender, amyl valerianate, methyl anthranilate, hydroxycitronellal (lily of the valley), orris
• Base notes: benzyl acetate, cedar, civet, vanilla, vanillin, storax, styrax, musk, musk ketone, musk ambrette, ambergris, tolu balsam, Peru balsam, benzoin, bois de rose, tonka bean, coumarin

Scent Profile:

Frosty Mist is a cool, crisp aldehydic lilac floral, but its coolness is not austere. It begins with the impression of apple blossoms and pale lilacs touched by dew, develops into a powdery, white-floral garden of rose, muguet, jasmine, violet, and tuberose, and finally melts into warm woods, vanilla-tonka sweetness, resins, ambergris, musk, and a discreetly animalic shadow. The composition is an illusion in the finest sense: several of its central flowers—particularly apple blossom, lilac, hyacinth, violet, and lily-of-the-valley—cannot be obtained as straightforward natural essences for perfumery, so Weriguine would have constructed their living scent from carefully chosen natural materials and aroma chemicals.

The opening suggests an orchard and garden just after a cool rainfall. Apple blossom has a soft, pink-white floral fragrance with a faintly fruity, honeyed, green freshness, but there is no true apple-blossom oil used in classical perfumery. Its effect is created through an accord, here supported by the honeyed, petal-like character of phenylacetaldehyde and the smooth fruity-floral tone of n-butyl phenylacetate. Phenylacetaldehyde has a tender scent of hyacinth, green leaves, rose petals, and warm nectar; it makes the apple blossom seem alive, as though there were pollen clinging to its stamens. N-butyl phenylacetate gives a more rounded, sweetly floral-fruity body, preventing that green floral freshness from becoming too sharp or watery.

Neroli and orange blossom absolute add the natural soul of bitter-orange flowers to this imagined orchard. Neroli is distilled from the blossoms and smells radiant, green, lightly citrusy, and delicately bitter, with the freshness of crushed orange leaves beneath white petals. Orange blossom absolute, extracted rather than steam-distilled, is deeper and more sensual: honeyed, indolic, warm, and almost animalic, with a waxy richness that clings to the skin. The two are beautifully complementary. Neroli supplies lift and brightness, while the absolute provides depth, making the cool floral opening feel more dimensional and less abstract.

Terpineol and terpinyl formate create much of the perfume’s airy, lilac-like freshness. Terpineol occurs naturally in a number of aromatic plants and essential oils, but it has also long been manufactured or isolated for use in perfumery; it has a fresh floral scent with faint lilac, pine, and lavender tones. Terpinyl formate is softer and sweeter, with a light fruity-lavender nuance that helps the opening feel breezy and cologne-like. Anisic aldehyde brings a more powdery, almondy, faintly spicy sweetness, suggestive of anise, hawthorn, and heliotrope. Although related materials occur in nature, it is generally supplied synthetically, which allows the perfumer to use its distinctive anisic warmth in exact proportion. It acts as a bridge between the fresh floral top and the powdery lilac heart.

Hyacinth adds a moist, green, slightly spicy floral impression—the scent of tightly clustered blossoms with cool stems and dark earth beneath them. Like lilac and apple blossom, hyacinth is generally represented by a reconstitution rather than a literal essential oil. Acacia adds a soft yellow-floral, honeyed, almost powdery warmth, while wintergreen introduces an unexpected briskness: a sweet, medicinal-green, minty coolness that supports the “frosty” suggestion of the name. Mace gives a final, delicate seasoning of dry, warm spice, its nutmeg-like character preventing the top from becoming too pastel and placid.

The heart is an elaborate reconstruction of lilac. Real lilac blossoms are famously difficult to capture; the flower does not provide a practical natural essence that truly reproduces its living fragrance. Here, heliotropin—or piperonal—provides much of its velvety, almond-like, cherry-powder character. It smells like soft violet face powder, marzipan, and delicate floral sweetness, making the lilac seem creamy and slightly cosmetic. Bitter almond reinforces this effect with a more pronounced marzipan-like warmth, while violet introduces a cool, candied-petal softness. Violet, too, is largely a perfumer’s illusion, since the fresh flowers yield little useful scent material. Ionone, a family of aroma chemicals with silky violet, woody, raspberry-like, and powdery facets, supplies the missing bloom and gives the floral accord its polished elegance.

Hydroxycitronellal is equally essential to the perfume’s cool floral character. This synthetic aroma chemical has a fresh, moist, green-white floral scent strongly associated with lily-of-the-valley. Because muguet does not yield an extractable essential oil, hydroxycitronellal became one of the classic materials used to create its bell-like, dewy, springtime effect. In Frosty Mist, it brightens the sweeter heliotropin, almond, and violet facets, making the imagined lilac feel as though it were surrounded by cool stems and freshly opened lily-of-the-valley. Orris adds a different form of iris beauty: not the scent of the flower itself, but the aged rhizome, with its dry, buttery, rooty, suede-like powderiness. It gives the heart a refined, silvery finish.

Jasmine absolute and tuberose absolute give the heart living floral depth. Jasmine is petal-rich, creamy, and faintly indolic, with a warm, human quality that makes the other flowers feel more natural. Tuberose adds a lush white-floral creaminess, greener and more narcotic, like waxy petals breathing sweetness into the evening air. Ylang-ylang oil contributes golden richness, with banana-like fruit, exotic flowers, and a softly spicy warmth. Linalool keeps these fuller florals from weighing down the composition; it brings a transparent, lightly citrusy floral freshness found naturally in many aromatic materials but also available in perfumery as an isolated or synthesized material.

The rose facet is created through rose rhodinol and geraniol. Rhodinol is a rose-like fragrant fraction, typically rich in citronellol and geraniol, and smells dewy, lemony-rosy, and softly green. Geraniol adds a brighter, more petal-like rosy lift with a faint geranium freshness. Together, they keep the lilac and muguet accord from becoming too almondy or cosmetic, lending it the impression of pink roses opening in the same garden. Tagetes, or marigold, adds a fascinating green-bitter, leathery, slightly fruity accent, while coriander introduces a cool, aromatic spiciness. Lavender contributes a blue herbal cleanliness that echoes the terpineol in the top and reinforces the fragrance’s cologne-like freshness.

Several smaller materials give the heart its unexpected complexity. Cinnamic alcohol smells softly spicy, balsamic, and floral, contributing warmth without turning the fragrance into a spice perfume. Amyl valerianate has a fruity, apple-like, banana-pear character that supports the apple blossom fantasy and gives it a subtle, juicy liveliness. Methyl anthranilate adds a vivid grape-like, orange-blossom and jasmine sweetness; used with restraint, it makes the white flowers smell nectarous and sun-warmed. These aroma chemicals do not obscure the natural jasmine, tuberose, orange blossom, and ylang-ylang. They give those materials the spectral, idealized character of a flower garden seen through a pale, perfumed mist.

The dry-down reveals Frosty Mist’s more luxurious and sensual side. Benzyl acetate, with its sweet jasmine, pear-drop, and faintly banana-like floral scent, carries the white-flower theme into the base. Cedar introduces dry, clean, pencil-shaving woodiness, while bois de rose, or rosewood, gives a smoother rosy-linalool wood tone. Historically, rosewood oil was associated with Amazonian Aniba rosaeodora, prized for its naturally high linalool content and its graceful blending of rose, lavender, and polished wood. Its presence would have softened the cedar and created a quiet floral echo beneath the resins.

Vanilla and vanillin contribute two related but distinct effects. Natural vanilla has a dark, rich, bean-like scent, with hints of rum, tobacco, dried fruit, and balsamic sweetness. Vanillin is the molecule chiefly associated with vanilla’s familiar creamy sweetness; it occurs naturally in vanilla beans, but it was usually manufactured synthetically for perfumery because it is stable, economical, and easily controlled. Along with tonka bean and coumarin, it creates a warm, hay-like, almondy softness. Tonka has a scent of dried grass, tobacco, almonds, and sweet hay, while coumarin gives the distinctive freshly mown-hay sweetness that makes the base feel smooth and enveloping rather than sticky.

Storax and styrax provide a darker resinous shading—leathery, balsamic, slightly smoky, and faintly medicinal. Their naming can refer to related resinous materials or different preparations, but their shared role here is to lend depth and a polished leather-like warmth. Tolu balsam and Peru balsam add cinnamon-like sweetness, vanilla, soft leather, and a gentle medicinal richness, while benzoin is warmer and softer: honeyed resin, vanilla, amber, and a faintly powdery comfort. These balsams transform the perfume’s initial chill into a golden, skin-warmed glow.

Finally, ambergris, musk, musk ketone, musk ambrette, and civet create the scent’s lasting animalic halo. Natural ambergris has a salty, mineral, softly marine warmth that lends remarkable diffusion and persistence. Civet is intensely fecal, leathery, and musky in concentration, but when diluted it gives flowers a warmer, more human, almost breathing quality. The unspecified musk may have represented a natural musk material, a synthetic alternative, or both; musk ketone and musk ambrette were synthetic nitro musks, valued in period perfumery for their sweet, powdery, slightly animalic warmth and long-lasting effect. They do not make Frosty Mist overtly animalic. Instead, they allow the dew-damp apple blossom, lilac, rose, muguet, jasmine, and violet to linger as a warm floral cloud—frosted at first, but slowly becoming velvety, balsamic, and quietly sensual on the skin.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown.

Flamme (1932)

Flamme by Bourjois was launched in 1932. Created by Constantin Mikhailovich “Kot” Weriguine and Henri Robert." Relaunched in 1976.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? It is classified as a fresh floral oriental fragrance for women with a dominant geranium note. It begins with a fresh green top, followed by a light green floral heart, layered over a subdued powdery base.

• Top notes: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, hyacinth
• Middle notes: Reunion geranium, ylang ylang, rose, jasmine, orris, carnation, narcissus
• Base notes: Mysore cedar, sandalwood, oakmoss, musk, amber 

Fashions of the Hour, 1932:

"Bourjois' Flamme perfume is a delightful bouquet of marvelously blended flower scents in an amusing geranium-trimmed bottle."

Drug & Cosmetic Industry, 1935:

"BOURJOIS is offering their new perfume, La Flamme, in a most attractive container. The round box is flowered, and the striking bottle rests on a base."

Fate of the Fragrance:

Flamme was discontinued for many years.

1976 Reformulation & Relaunch:

In 1976, Flamme was reformulated with modern ingredients by Jacques Polge and relaunched in new packaging. 

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? It is classified as a fresh aldehydic floral fragrance for women. It starts with fresh green aldehydic and citrus fruit top notes, followed by a light, green floral heart of hyacinth, jasmine, rose and orris, resting on a subdued, powdery base of oriental woods. Flamme by Bourjois is a floral, green fragrance built around a rich and expressive character. Its composition blends floral notes—hyacinth, rose, jasmine, and ylang-ylang—with Oriental woods, oakmoss, and musky nuances. Extremely present and long-lasting, it offers a persistent harmony of floral and woody accords. Its purpose is simple and confident: a perfume designed to please—pure and uncomplicated.

• Top notes: aldehydes, hyacinth, bergamot, lemon, galbanum, mandarin
• Middle notes: orris, jasmine, rose, ylang ylang, carnation, narcissus
• Base notes: Mysore sandalwood, musk, oakmoss, cedar, ambergris

Scent Profile:

Flamme by Bourjois unfolds like a vivid olfactory tableau, each note announcing itself with clarity before blending into a seamless, glowing whole. From the first breath, the fragrance opens on a shimmering flash of aldehydes—those effervescent, slightly metallic, champagne-like molecules that sparkle on the skin. Aldehydes smell abstract yet familiar: clean linen warmed by sunlight, citrus peel snapped sharply in the fingers. Here they magnify the freshness of bergamot and lemon, lending them lift and radiance. Bergamot contributes its refined bitterness—greener and more floral than lemon—while lemon brings a bright, zesty clarity that feels brisk and optimistic. Mandarin softens this brightness with gentle sweetness, juicy and rounded rather than sharp. 

Threaded through the citrus is galbanum, unmistakably green and resinous, evoking crushed stems, sap, and wet leaves; it anchors the opening in verdancy and gives Flamme its unmistakable green-aldehydic signature. Hyacinth adds a cool, aqueous floral tone—dewy, slightly earthy, like spring soil beneath blossoms—bridging the top into the heart.

As the fragrance settles, the floral heart blooms with elegance and nuance. Orris (iris root) appears first, powdery and refined, with a soft, cosmetic warmth reminiscent of violet petals, suede gloves, and fine face powder. True orris is prized for its long aging process—often several years—which deepens its complexity and gives it that luxurious, almost buttery softness. Jasmine follows, luminous and indolic, its white-flower richness suggesting warm skin and evening air; it adds sensuality without heaviness.

Rose, classic and balanced, offers a full-bodied floralcy—petaled, slightly honeyed, and faintly spicy—acting as the emotional center of the bouquet. Ylang-ylang, creamy and exotic, introduces a languid, tropical warmth, its banana-like sweetness and floral spice smoothing the sharper green edges. Carnation contributes a clove-like spiciness, adding structure and a faint peppery warmth, while narcissus brings a darker, more complex floral tone—green, hay-like, and faintly animalic—suggesting wild flowers warmed by the sun.

The base of Flamme is where the fragrance finds its lasting resonance and quiet authority. Mysore sandalwood, once considered the gold standard of sandalwood due to its creamy, milky richness and exceptional longevity, envelops the composition in smooth, velvety woodiness. Unlike sharper modern sandalwoods, Mysore is soft, warm, and faintly sweet, lending depth without dryness. 

Oakmoss introduces a shadowy, forest-floor dampness—earthy, green, and slightly bitter—providing the classic chypre-like backbone that grounds the florals and enhances their sophistication. Cedar adds a dry, pencil-wood clarity that sharpens the structure, while musk—clean yet subtly animal—acts as a skin-like whisper, diffusing the entire composition and ensuring persistence. Finally, ambergris, with its salty, mineral warmth and faint sweetness, ties everything together, enhancing longevity and giving the perfume a softly glowing, almost tactile finish.

Together, these elements create Flamme’s distinctive personality: fresh yet expressive, floral yet green, elegant yet approachable. The interplay of natural materials and carefully chosen aroma chemicals allows the aldehydes to heighten the freshness of the florals, the woods to deepen their warmth, and the musks to fuse everything seamlessly with the skin. The result is a fragrance that feels confidently present—radiant without excess, refined without restraint—a perfume that pleases simply because it is beautifully, assuredly itself.

Product Line:

In 1977/1978, Flamme was available in the following formats:

• Parfum Presentation: Original bottles (8ml to 125ml); Purse atomizer (10ml)
• Related Products: Eau de Toilette splash bottle; Eau de Toilette atomizer (65ml); Eau de Cologne

Fate of the Fragrance:

Still sold in 1978. This version is also discontinued.

Endearing (1946)

Endearing by Bourjois: launched in 1946. Created by perfumer Constantin Mikhailovich “Kot” Weriguine. In 1949, it was renamed "Ramage" for export to other countries to avoid trademark

 violations. 

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? It is classified as a leathery floral semi-oriental (chypre) fragrance for women.. Acute notes of aldehydes and jasmine, oak moss, vetiver, patchouli, amber and exotic balms. A peppery scent, rich scent and contrast, warm and sensual with amber and wood notes.

• Top notes: bergamot, lemon, petitgrain, aldehydes, mint, watercress
• Middle notes: jasmine, pepper, rose, hyacinth, orris root, lily of the valley, daffodil, wisteria
• Base notes: vanilla, leather, vetiver, labdanum, sandalwood, oakmoss, leather, ambergris, musk, patchouli

Scent Profile:

Combat, 1954:

"Eau Ramage by Bourjois: She appears laughing under her little parasol. And the flowers of her printed dress give off their scents of tender daffodils, vanilla quarantines and wisteria, in the clusters of which the twilight lingers. finely musky background emanates from her... A hint of mint and watercress refreshes everything. envelop them in mist, to taunt the tropical gravity there together."

The Endearing line included the following:

• Parfum in three sizes
• Eau de Cologne 
• Cologne Stick
• Dusting Powder 

 

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. Endearing was still being sold in 1962.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. Ramage was still sold in 1978.

Evening in Paris Gift Sets (1941)

Evening in Paris Gift Sets (1941)

1863 Eau de Cologne (1963)

1863 by Bourjois: launched in 1963. Available in both Eau de Lavande and Eau de Cologne Chypree.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? It is a masculine fragrance based on a floral composition accented with fresh citrus and aromatic herbs. Floral compositions. Citrus notes and aromatic herbs. Freshness and vitality. For men and women, it stimulates and invigorates, relaxes, and brings a wonderful feeling of well-being. Ideal after bathing and after sports.  

Product Line:

In 1972/1973, 1863 was available in bottles containing: Eau de Cologne (80°); Eau de Lavande; Eau de Chypre.

Fate of the Fragrance:

The production was discontinued.

On the Wind (1956)

On the Wind was a beautifully chosen name for a summer fragrance. Literally, it suggests something carried lightly through the air: a passing floral breath from a garden, a woman’s perfume caught in a breeze, or the clean, elusive scent left behind after she has gone. It is not a French phrase but an English poetic expression, and Bourjois used it to make fragrance feel less like a heavy, formal adornment and more like an atmosphere—free, mobile, refreshing, and quietly romantic. Alongside the lilac-tinted Frosty Mist and the more playful, contrasting Spice ’N Ice, it formed a small vocabulary of summer weather: breeze, mist, and coolness.

It was created by Constantin Mikhailovich “Kot” Weriguine, the Franco-Russian perfumer associated with both Bourjois and Chanel, whose work brought a refined French polish even to accessible, everyday fragrance formats.

In 1956, the United States and much of Western Europe were living in the confident, consumer-minded postwar years often remembered as the Eisenhower era or the high 1950s. Daily life increasingly celebrated leisure, holidays, domestic comfort, travel, beauty routines, and the pleasure of looking impeccably put together. Fashion still reflected Dior’s postwar ideal of femininity: defined waists, rounded shoulders, full skirts and polished accessories—although sleeker sheath dresses, cotton shirtwaists, and practical summer separates offered a fresher, more relaxed alternative. A light cologne was perfectly suited to this world: something to splash on after a bath, wear with a sun dress or tailored playsuit, and reapply generously in warm weather without the gravity of an evening parfum.

For women of the period, On the Wind would likely have suggested youthful independence within the era’s polished ideals of femininity. Its name feels outdoorsy without being rustic, romantic without being cloying, and modern without being severe. It conjures white curtains lifting at an open window, flowers stirred by a summer breeze, pale dresses, seaside afternoons, garden parties, and the sensation of freshly washed skin cooled by air. Rather than projecting the lush, voluptuous glamour of a heavy oriental or a formal floral bouquet, it promised an easier kind of elegance—one that seemed to belong naturally to the wearer.

In scent terms, “on the wind” implies diffusion rather than density. A cool, crisp floral would be interpreted as airy, clean, lightly green, and transparent: flowers not pressed into a rich bouquet, but imagined at a distance, their petals and pollen carried through moving air. If the reported aldehydic-floral materials are representative—aldehydes above ylang-ylang, iris, lily, vanilla, and tonka—the effect would have joined a sparkling, almost windblown freshness to a soft floral-powdery warmth. Aldehydes were already a well-established symbol of modern, freshly laundered, luminous femininity, giving the fragrance lift and a faintly effervescent “whoosh” rather than literal coldness.

It was not wholly unusual for 1956. Postwar perfumery was moving toward fresh florals and aldehydic compositions even while richer chypres, orientals, and white-flower scents remained important. Dior’s Diorissimo, also introduced in 1956, is a useful parallel: it exemplified the era’s fascination with a cool, clear, idealized floral effect. What distinguished On the Wind was less a radical new perfume style than Bourjois’s accessible, explicitly seasonal framing. In a market still full of more ceremonious perfumes, it offered a persuasive summer fantasy: fragrance as a light, personal breeze rather than a dramatic perfume statement.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? On The Wind is classified as a cool, crisp aldehydic floral fragrance for women, meant to be worn during the summer months.

• Top notes: aldehydes, mint, lemon, lavender, galbanum, violet leaf
• Middle notes: ylang ylang, iris, lily, jasmine, lily of the valley, hyacinth
• Base notes: tonka bean, vanilla, sandalwood, oakmoss, vetiver, musk, orris

 

Scent Profile:

On the Wind unfolds like the moment a summer window is opened after a light rain: cool air enters first, carrying greenery, crushed leaves, citrus peel, and the pale shimmer of flowers rather than a dense, heady bouquet. It is a crisp floral built for heat—fresh enough to feel almost windblown at the opening, yet softened by a quiet, creamy, mossy warmth that gives it grace and persistence on the skin.

The first impression would be an airy flash of aldehydes, those sparkling aroma materials that lend a perfume its characteristic lift: waxy-clean, faintly citrusy, and at times suggestive of cool linen, soap, or champagne bubbles. Rather than smelling like a flower themselves, aldehydes make the whole floral accord seem more luminous and diffuse, as though its petals were scattered on the breeze. Mint sharpens this sensation with a green, chilled leafiness—not necessarily the sweetness of mint candy, but the clean snap of a crushed garden sprig. Lemon adds a bright, sunlit peel note, while lavender contributes an aromatic, lightly herbal softness, giving the opening a clean, almost freshly laundered character.

Galbanum deepens the green effect. Derived from the resinous gum of a plant in the Ferula family, it has an unusually vivid odor: bitter-green, sappy, leafy, and slightly earthy, like snapped stems and wet garden foliage. It prevents the fragrance from becoming merely pretty or soapy. Violet leaf reinforces that naturalistic greenery with its cool, aqueous, cucumber-like facet and a faint metallic edge. Together, the aldehydes, mint, lemon, galbanum, and violet leaf make the perfume feel less like flowers arranged indoors than flowers encountered outdoors, their scent lifted through leaves and moving air.

At the heart, the cool green opening begins to bloom. Ylang-ylang introduces a soft, creamy floral warmth, redolent of waxy yellow petals, ripened banana, and a discreet sweetness. It rounds the sharper materials without turning the composition tropical or heavy. Iris gives the heart its refined, silvery-powdered texture. In perfumery, iris is generally obtained not from the flower but from the aged rhizome of certain iris species, known as orris; its scent is dry, cool, earthy, and faintly violet-like, with the elegance of face powder and suede gloves. Here, the iris note gives On the Wind poise and a soft, misted quality.

The floral heart is especially intriguing because several of its flowers cannot yield their true perfume as a conventional essential oil. Lily, lily-of-the-valley, and hyacinth are therefore traditionally recreated through perfumery materials rather than extracted directly from the blossoms. A lily accord suggests pale petals, cool pollen, and a transparent, almost watery floral radiance. Lily-of-the-valley—often called muguet in French perfumery—brings a dewy green sweetness, like bell-shaped flowers in a shaded spring garden; it has long depended on carefully composed synthetic accords. 

Hyacinth adds a greener, more humid floral character, touched with earth, stem, and the faint narcotic sweetness of flowers growing close together in a garden bed. Jasmine then supplies the living floral pulse: soft white petals, warm skin, a whisper of fruitiness, and the slight indolic depth that makes a bouquet feel alive rather than decorative. The natural richness of jasmine and ylang-ylang would make the more abstract lily, muguet, and hyacinth accords seem believable, while the synthetic floral materials would give the natural flowers greater diffusion and freshness.

As the fragrance settles, the breeze becomes warmer and more tactile. Tonka bean contributes a hay-like sweetness with nuances of almond, tobacco, and coumarin-rich dried grass. Vanilla adds a creamy, balsamic softness, but in a restrained composition like this it would not read as dessert-like; instead, it cushions the cool florals and gives them a gently sun-warmed finish. Sandalwood supplies a smooth, milky woodiness, while

On the Wind would have opened like a breath of air through an open summer window—bright, green, cool, and almost dewy in character. The aldehydes give the first impression its lift: not a flower in themselves, but a family of aroma chemicals that can smell sparkling, waxy, citrusy, or cleanly soapy depending on the member and dosage. Here they would create the fragrance’s crisp, windblown radiance, making its floral notes seem brighter and more diffusive than natural materials alone could achieve. Their lively shimmer is sharpened by lemon, whose tart, sunlit peel brings immediate freshness, and by mint, with its cool, aromatic breath—like crushed leaves against damp skin on a hot day. Lavender contributes a soft herbal cleanness, less barbershop-like than in a masculine cologne and more like a fragrant blue haze beneath the citrus.

The greenery is especially important. Galbanum has a vivid, snapped-stem odor: bitter-green, slightly resinous, and suggestive of the white sap released when a leaf or stalk is broken. It keeps the opening from becoming merely pretty or sweet, lending it the fresh, outdoor quality promised by the name. Violet leaf deepens this impression with a watery, cucumber-like green scent, touched by the faint metallic coolness of rain on leaves. Together, galbanum and violet leaf create the sensation of flowers encountered at a distance in a breezy garden rather than arranged in a dense bouquet.

As the sharp brightness settles, the floral heart emerges in pale, softly colored layers. Ylang-ylang brings a creamy, golden floral richness, with hints of banana-like fruit and sun-warmed petals; it gives the cool composition a discreetly sensual undercurrent. Iris contributes a refined, powdery elegance, dry and silvery rather than overtly sweet, as though the flowers had been dusted with the finest violet-tinted face powder. The listing of both iris in the heart and orris in the base makes particular sense: iris suggests the floral idea, while orris—derived from the aged rhizome of certain iris species—adds its rooty, buttery, suede-like powderiness and anchors the fragrance’s elegant violet-inflected character.

The lily, lily-of-the-valley, and hyacinth notes would give On the Wind much of its cool floral illusion. These flowers are not normally represented by a usable essential oil: their living scent is too delicate and complex to be captured satisfactorily by ordinary extraction. Instead, perfumers construct them from aroma materials. A lily accord can suggest smooth, petal-like whiteness and a touch of green pollen; lily-of-the-valley is often built with fresh, transparent floral molecules that recall moist bells, crushed stems, and the clean sweetness of spring air; and hyacinth is recreated with greener, earthier, faintly spicy facets that evoke a dense cluster of blossoms just beginning to open. Their synthetic construction is not a compromise but an artistic advantage—it allows the perfumer to make these naturally elusive flowers feel unusually clear, cool, and airborne.

Jasmine softens this crystalline floral accord with a living, petal-rich warmth. Rather than becoming indolic or voluptuous, it would likely be used here as a gentle bridge between the radiant ylang-ylang and the chilly, green floral accords. The effect is of white and pale-blue flowers stirred together by a breeze: elegant, feminine, and softly romantic, yet never heavy. This was a floral perfume designed for heat, when richer orientals and deep chypres might feel too enveloping.

The base gives the fragrance its lingering softness. Tonka bean has the scent of warm hay, almonds, tobacco, and coumarin-rich dried grass; it lends a mellow, lightly sweet, sun-warmed quality to the otherwise cool floral structure. Vanilla adds a delicate creaminess, but ideally only enough to round the sharper aldehydic and green edges—not enough to turn the perfume into a gourmand. Sandalwood supplies a smooth, milky woodiness, while vetiver offers a dry, rooty, faintly smoky green earthiness that recalls grass after rain. Oakmoss contributes shadow and texture: damp woodland earth, lichen, and a mossy, slightly salty darkness that prevents the fragrance from floating away entirely.

Finally, musk would give the dry-down its intimate, skin-like warmth, allowing the florals to linger as a soft haze rather than disappear abruptly. Whether the original used animalic musk, one of the period’s nitro musks, or a combination is not established by this note list; in scent terms, its role is to blur the edges of the woods, moss, tonka, and flowers into a smooth, sensual finish. On the Wind therefore seems to have been more sophisticated than its breezy name initially suggests: a cool aldehydic-green floral lifted by citrus and mint, shaded by powdery iris and reconstructed spring flowers, then quietly held to the skin by moss, vetiver, sandalwood, vanilla, and musk.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown.

Glamour (1953)

When Bourjois launched its own Glamour in 1953, the name already had a Chanel precedent: Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel had introduced a perfume of the same name in 1933. The reuse was less surprising than it might seem, however, because the Wertheimer family had long-standing interests in both companies. Pierre and Paul Wertheimer controlled Bourjois and, through Parfums Chanel, became Chanel’s business partners in the commercialization and distribution of her fragrances. Within this closely connected perfume world, the return of the name Glamour to the market was far less unusual than it would have been between two entirely unrelated houses.

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Bourjois’s Glamour was named for an idea rather than a flower, place, or romantic heroine. The word is English, pronounced GLAM-er, and carries a much older sense of enchantment. It entered English through Scots, where glamour originally meant a spell or bewitching illusion before evolving into its modern meaning of mysteriously exciting attractiveness. For Bourjois, it was an ideal name: short, international, fashionable, and suggestive of polished femininity. It evokes satin, candlelight, jewels, pale gloves, soft furs, cocktails, theatre premières, and the quiet confidence of a woman who has attended to every detail of her appearance.

Launched in 1953, Glamour belonged to the mature postwar years, when Paris had reclaimed its position as the center of fashion and Dior’s New Look still defined the ideal of feminine elegance. Fitted bodices, narrow waists, full skirts, gloves, stoles, pearls, hats, and carefully chosen accessories made dressing for a dinner, cocktail party, theatre performance, or intimate gathering at home feel like an occasion. Fashion favored a highly composed femininity, romantic but disciplined, decorative but impeccably tailored. A perfume called Glamour would have appealed to women who wanted more than a pleasant scent; it promised an aura of refinement, youthfulness, and social assurance.

 

Created by Henri Robert and Constantin Mikhailovich “Kot” Weriguine, Glamour was an aldehydic floral chypre that expressed this ideal in scent. Its fresh, green-fruity opening and springlike floral heart gave it an easy brightness, while its mossy, balsamic, woody base provided the depth and polish expected from a serious French perfume. Here, glamour would not mean something heavy, theatrical, or overtly seductive. It would be a sheen: sparkling aldehydes making the flowers seem more luminous; citrus and Provençal herbs suggesting sun-warmed hills and open air; then moss, woods, musk, and ambergris giving the composition a graceful, dressed-up finish. It was the fragrance equivalent of a well-cut cocktail dress—radiant at first glance, yet carefully structured beneath the surface.

The image of Provence added an appealingly French pastoral note to the perfume’s elegance. Rose, jasmine, and ylang-ylang would suggest flowers warmed by sunlight, while the herbal, mossy, and woody elements kept the scent from becoming merely sweet or cosmetic. The advertising claim that Glamour particularly suited blondes should be understood as the beauty language of its period: it positioned the fragrance as radiant, airy, and softly golden, appropriate to pale fabrics, pearls, and hostess gowns. Yet its chypre foundation gave it substance. This was not innocence, but youthful sophistication.

Within the perfume market of 1953, Glamour followed an established but fashionable direction rather than attempting a radical break from it. Aldehydic florals had long been associated with modern French luxury, while green floral chypres—built on moss, woods, balsams, and sometimes leathery undertones—were especially admired in the postwar period. Glamour’s distinction was its softer, more sunlit interpretation of that style: less severe than a sharply leathery chypre, less lavish than a grand oriental, and more suited to cocktails, premières, and small dinners than to the boudoir. It captured a central ideal of the early 1950s: a woman who appeared effortlessly elegant, while every element of her appearance had been chosen with care.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Glamour is classified as an aldehydic floral chypre fragrance for women. It starts off with a fresh green and fruity top, followed by a green floral heart, layered over a mossy, balsamic, woodsy chypre base. Press materials read: "It evokes the warmth of the Provencal hills. Chypre type, fruity (citrus), green and woody perfume. Rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, mosses and herbs of Provence, musk, and ambergris. Spring-like and youthful, it stands out for its subtlety and elegance. With its carefree freshness, it is said to suit blondes particularly well. A “dressed-up” perfume, ideal for cocktails, premières, and small dinners in a hostess gown."

• Top notes: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, neroli, orange, gardenia, peach
• Middle notes: jasmine, rose, ylang ylang, carnation, narcissus, Provencal herbs
• Base notes: ambergris, oakmoss, musk, styrax, vetiver, benzoin

Scent Profile:

Glamour is an aldehydic floral chypre composed as a vision of Provence made elegant enough for cocktail hour: fresh sunlight and fruit at first, flowers and aromatic greenery in the middle, then the cool shadow of oakmoss, roots, resins, skin warmth, and ambergris. Although its advertising evokes the Provençal hills, no individual countries of origin are specified for the raw materials, so it would be unsafe to assign a particular bergamot, jasmine, rose, or vetiver provenance. Its “Provence” is better understood as an atmosphere—a perfumer’s landscape of citrus groves, herbs warmed by the sun, flowers, and dry woodland.

The opening begins with aldehydes, which lend the perfume its unmistakable vintage radiance: a bright, fizzy impression like citrus peel, polished wax, cool air, and silk freshly lifted from tissue paper. These aroma chemicals do not imitate a single flower; instead, they make the natural materials around them feel larger, cleaner, and more luminous. Bergamot adds its refined bittersweet green citrus character, more floral and tea-like than lemon, while lemon contributes a brisk flash of sharp, sunlit peel. Neroli, distilled from bitter-orange blossom, softens these citrus oils with a delicately green, honeyed floral quality. Orange rounds the opening with sweeter, juicier flesh and peel, preventing the aldehydes from becoming too austere.

The fruity element is completed by peach, which would almost certainly have been an accord rather than a literal peach essence. Fresh peaches do not yield an essential oil that faithfully preserves their soft, velvety aroma, so perfumers create the impression with aroma materials—often lactones that suggest cream, fruit skin, and the tender golden flesh near the stone. This synthetic peach effect gives Glamour a gentle, youthful warmth beneath its sparkling citrus. Gardenia is similarly best understood as an accord. The living flower has a lush, creamy, waxy, green-white perfume, but it does not provide a practical essential oil that captures that smell fully. Carefully selected synthetic floral materials would have made its creamy bloom more diffusive and lasting, enhancing the naturalistic richness of the jasmine, rose, and ylang-ylang to come.

At the heart, jasmine unfurls with its warm, creamy, faintly fruity sensuality, giving the composition a living, petal-soft depth. Rose follows with a dewy, lemony, wine-like bloom that brings poise and classical femininity. Ylang-ylang adds a more exotic shade—banana-like creaminess, sweet solar petals, and a lightly spicy floral richness—making the bouquet feel warmer and more languid without losing its springlike freshness. Carnation lends a dry, clove-like spice, the impression of red or pink petals dusted with pepper. Its distinctive character is often reinforced with aroma chemicals such as eugenol and isoeugenol, which naturally occur in clove but allow a perfumer to give the flower a clearer, more enduring spicy-floral profile than natural extracts alone could provide. Narcissus contributes an unusually beautiful green-gold facet: honeyed pollen, crushed stems, damp earth, hay, and a faint leathery bitterness. It draws the flowers toward the chypre base and keeps Glamour from becoming a simple, sweet floral composition.

The advertised Provençal herbs are not individually identified, so they should not be treated as a confirmed list. The effect most likely suggests an aromatic accord in the spirit of lavender, rosemary, thyme, and perhaps sage: lavender’s clean, softly camphoraceous flowers; rosemary’s piney, silvery sharpness; thyme’s dry, peppery warmth; and sage’s velvety, bitter-green herbal tone. Whether or not each material appeared literally in the formula, the intention is clear—an impression of a hillside garden, crushed beneath the sun, with aromatic leaves releasing their scent into warm air. These herbs would sharpen the fruit and florals, giving Glamour its distinctive green, outdoorsy elegance.

In the base, ambergris would have supplied a warm, saline, mineral glow, making the fragrance feel alive on skin rather than simply sweet or resinous. In a historic formula it may have been natural ambergris; today, its effect is generally recreated with aroma materials that provide the same airy, musky, ocean-warmed radiance without depending on the rare natural substance. Oakmoss gives the perfume its chypre identity: cool, inky, mossy, leathery, and faintly salty, like shaded earth after rain. Vetiver reinforces this with the scent of dry roots, smoke, bitter grass, and elegant woods. Together they make the bright floral heart feel tailored and sophisticated.

Musk lies beneath the entire structure as a soft, skin-like haze of powder, clean fabric, and quiet warmth. While historical perfumery once used animal musk, modern perfumery relies on synthetic musks for ethical and legal reasons; these materials are valuable because they make delicate florals and fresh citrus effects linger seamlessly on the skin. Styrax adds a darker, balsamic resinous touch—sweet, leathery, smoky, and slightly medicinal—while benzoin provides a smoother, more vanillic balm, like warm amber-colored resin with a trace of almond and incense. Together, these materials turn Glamour’s green fruit, flowers, and Provençal herbs into something more polished and enveloping: a perfume that begins like a bright morning on a southern French hillside, then ends as a softly glowing chypre against warm skin and evening silk.

The New Yorker - Volume 32, 1954: "Bourjois has put forth a little charmer called Glamour. In this one, a fillip of orange is added to the sharp, clean tang of jasmine; at Altman, $5.50 buys three-fourths of an ounce, in an oval bottle with a gold plastic cover."

Bottles: 

Glamour was housed in various bottles over the years, including green glass bottles with gold tops.

Product Line:

The Glamour Parfum would have been the richest, most complete expression of this aldehydic floral chypre. Its first impression would still have a touch of bright citrus and aldehydic sparkle, but the concentration would allow the opening to settle quickly into a smooth floral warmth. Jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, gardenia, narcissus, and carnation would feel deeper and more velvety, while the peach effect would give the bouquet a soft, golden glow. On the skin, the mossy base would become especially important: oakmoss, vetiver, styrax, benzoin, musk, and ambergris creating a dry, balsamic, softly leathery finish. The Parfum would feel dressed-up and intimate rather than overtly loud—ideal for the hostess gown, a theatre premiere, or a small dinner where the fragrance could be discovered close to the skin.

The Eau de Toilette would present Glamour in a brighter, more animated form. Its alcohol-forward diffusion would make the aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, neroli, and orange appear first as a brisk, champagne-like citrus lift, softened by the velvety fruitiness of peach. The floral heart would feel greener and more open, as though the jasmine, rose, and gardenia were carried on a breeze across sun-warmed Provençal herbs. Carnation and narcissus would contribute their spice and green-gold depth without becoming heavy, while the oakmoss and vetiver would remain as an elegant, dry afterimage. It would be the most versatile form of Glamour: refined enough for cocktails, but fresh enough for daytime wear.

The Eau de Cologne would be the lightest and most refreshing version of Glamour, intended more as a fragrant revitalizer than a long-lasting perfume. The citrus materials would take center stage: bergamot’s green bitterness, lemon’s brisk peel, neroli’s airy blossom, and orange’s sunny sweetness, all made more radiant by the fizzy aldehydic note. The peach and floral notes would appear as soft touches rather than a full bouquet, while the herbs would give the scent a cooling, aromatic suggestion of lavender, rosemary, and crushed green leaves. Oakmoss, vetiver, benzoin, and musk would likely remain only as a discreet, clean, woody trace after the brighter top notes had faded. It would suit morning dressing, warm weather, post-bath use, or a quick refreshment before leaving the house.

The Glamour friction lotion would have offered the perfume as part of the daily toilette. Applied after bathing, it would likely smell cool, clean, and lightly aromatic at first, with the sparkling citrus, aldehydes, and Provençal-herb impression rising from warmed skin. As the lotion dried, the floral notes would become more subdued and powdery—suggesting rose, jasmine, and gardenia rather than announcing them—and the moss, vetiver, and musk would leave a faintly woody, softly perfumed finish. It would be less formal than the Eau de Toilette or Parfum, but beautifully useful as a first layer, making the later application of fragrance seem more continuous and natural.

The Glamour soap would translate the composition into a creamy, polished bath scent. Lather naturally emphasizes freshness, so the aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, neroli, and orange would become especially vivid, giving the soap a brisk, sunny, almost sparkling character. The gardenia, jasmine, rose, and ylang-ylang would soften the foam with a floral creaminess, while carnation and herbs would add a delicate spicy-green accent. Once rinsed away, the darker chypre materials—oakmoss, vetiver, balsams, ambergris, and musk—would remain only as a refined trace on the hands and skin. It would turn an ordinary bath into a small expression of early-1950s glamour: fresh, floral, clean, and subtly elegant.

 In 1972/1973, Glamour was available in the following:

• Parfum Presentation: In original bottles; purse and travel atomizers and refills; and gift sets.
• Related Products: Eau de Toilette, Eau de Cologne, lotion (friction lotion)
• Ancillary Products: soap

In 1977/1978, Glamour was available in the following:

• Parfum Presentation: Original bottles (from 5ml to 82ml); Purse spray (10ml)
• Related Products: Eau de Toilette; Eau de Toilette atomizer (65ml); Eau de Cologne; Gift sets
• Ancillary Products (Bath & Body): Soap

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. Still being sold in 1978.