Ramage (1949)

Ramage by Bourjois was introduced in 1949 and reached the United States by 1951. In certain export markets it was renamed Endearing, most likely because Ramage was unavailable or potentially vulnerable to trademark conflict. The original name is French, pronounced roughly rah-MAHZH—the final sound like the s in “measure.” In literary French, le ramage means the song or cheerful chirping of birds among branches and foliage. Its older associations also include leafy branchwork and floral ornament, making it an unusually rich name for a fragrance. The French Academy defines it specifically as birdsong in trees and bushes, and notes its famous appearance in La Fontaine’s Le Corbeau et le Renard: “Si votre ramage se rapporte à votre plumage…”—“if your song is as fine as your plumage.” 

Bourjois’s use of lovebirds on Ramage packaging and in its advertising was therefore more than decorative. The name suggests a private exchange of calls between birds: flirtation, courtship, companionship, and the animation of a spring garden. It feels lighthearted and romantic, yet distinctly French rather than childish—a perfume name that implies one is not simply wearing a scent, but is becoming more expressive, more noticeable, and perhaps more open to love. The advertising promise—“the fragrance of lovers” that makes one “feel like a love bird”—turns this poetic word into a small act of self-transformation.

Ramage arrived at the beginning of the optimistic, highly feminine postwar period often associated with Dior’s New Look. After the severity, shortages, and practical tailoring of the war years, fashion embraced curved shoulders, tightly defined waists, fuller skirts, gloves, pearls, hats, and a renewed pleasure in decorative luxury. Dior’s 1947 collections helped restore Paris’s central fashion authority and made romantic femininity a dominant ideal of the early 1950s. A woman encountering Ramage in 1949 could have understood it as an invitation to re-enter a world of beauty, sociability, and personal adornment: appropriate for a day of shopping or bridge, polished enough for the office, but still carrying the more intimate suggestion of evening romance beneath a tailored suit or a fur stole.

In scent terms, Ramage would not suggest a literal bird-note. Rather, it suggests movement: a bright, animated opening like light flashing through leaves; the quick, peppery freshness of a bird stirring in a green garden; then a deeper, more sensual shelter of moss, woods, balsams, and ambergris. Its bold aldehydic effect would give that “sparkle” an almost audible quality, while oakmoss and vetiver supply the shadowed foliage implied by the name. Jasmine lends softness and femininity, but the leathered, woody, ambery foundation prevents the fragrance from becoming merely pretty. Ramage is birdsong heard from a dark, elegant garden—not a simple bouquet in daylight.

Created by Henri Robert with Constantin Mikhailovich “Kot” Weriguine, Ramage was classified as a leathery floral semi-oriental chypre. Its character—green, woody, peppery, ambery, and mossy—was very much in step with the sophisticated direction of late-1940s perfumery. The era prized fragrances with strong architecture and contrast: radiant aldehydes above naturalistic flowers, then dry chypre materials, leather, woods, and warm balsamic undertones. Dior’s 1947 Miss Dior, for example, was also a floral chypre with leather and green facets, while the period had already seen daring green and leather statements such as Balmain’s Vent Vert and Robert Piguet’s Bandit. 

So Ramage was not an outlier, but it was a particularly expressive variation on its moment’s taste. Its originality lay in the tension between the tender, almost coquettish lovebird name and a scent said to be assertive enough for furs and flattering to brunettes: sparkling aldehydes against dark moss; fresh pepper against exotic balsams; jasmine’s softness against leathered woods. It offered the postwar woman romance without fragility—an endearing name, certainly, but a fragrance with poise, presence, and a distinctly grown-up shadow.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Ramage is classified as a leathery floral semi-oriental (chypre) fragrance for women. Press materials read: "Ramage, the fragrance of lovers...It makes you feel like a love bird ..It makes you want to fall in love ...Ambery, green, and woody type perfume. A bold aldehydic note, oakmoss, vetiver, jasmine, warm and sensual with ambergris, wood notes and exotic balms. Peppery yet fresh in character. A rich, captivating fragrance with strong presence and striking contrasts, enhancing the personality of brunettes. Ideal with furs. Suitable for shopping, bridge, as well as for the office."

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

Scent Profile:

Ramage unfolds as a floral leather chypre with the glamour and contrast of late-1940s perfumery: bright and animated at first, then green, peppery, and flower-filled, before settling into moss, polished wood, soft leather, and sensual amber. It has the character suggested by Bourjois’s “fragrance of lovers” campaign, but this is not an innocent little lovebird scent. Its romance has depth and poise—something that could brighten a daytime suit, yet become almost ceremonial against fur, velvet, or a dark evening dress. No countries of origin are given for these materials, so it would be speculative to assign them; their quality would have depended greatly on the particular oils, absolutes, and bases available to the perfumers.

The opening is a flash of aldehydes, those famously vintage materials that can seem to fizz like cold champagne, freshly ironed linen, waxed citrus peel, and clean air caught in a silk scarf. In a perfume such as Ramage, the aldehydes would not replace the natural citrus oils; they magnify them, making the bergamot feel brighter, more airy, and more diffusive. Bergamot brings its own bittersweet green-peel freshness—less sugary than orange, softer than lemon—while lemon gives a brisk, sunlit sharpness, like twisting the peel over one’s fingers. Petitgrain, distilled from the leaves and twigs of the bitter-orange tree, adds a leafy, lightly woody bitterness that bridges citrus and chypre. The coolness of mint comes next: crushed green leaves, faintly sweet and camphoraceous, giving the opening a breezy, almost sparkling lift. Watercress supplies an unusual peppery-green bite, evocative of wet stems, peppery leaves, and the mineral freshness of a garden stream. It is best understood as an accord rather than a literal watercress essence; its effect would normally be built with natural green materials and aroma chemicals, since watercress is not a standard source of a stable, recognizable perfumery oil.

The floral heart makes Ramage feel like a garden alive with movement rather than a formal vase of flowers. Jasmine opens creamy and sun-warmed, at once floral, fruity, and faintly animalic—its indolic undertone lending the soft, living sensuality that makes white flowers feel like skin rather than decoration. Pepper pricks through the sweetness with a dry, aromatic sparkle, keeping the floral notes alert and lending a teasing, almost tactile warmth. Rose contributes petal-like fullness, lemony freshness, and a wine-like softness; it smooths the sharper green materials and gives the composition a more classically feminine line.

Then comes the more stylized flowerwork. Hyacinth suggests green sap, damp petals, and a sweet, almost waxy floral note with a slight earthy chill. Natural hyacinth materials are exceptionally scarce and costly, with low yield; in fine perfumery its recognizable personality has usually been enhanced—or largely recreated—with aroma chemicals. This is not a compromise but a creative advantage: synthetics can heighten the flower’s fresh green diffusion and preserve its delicate bloom longer than a fragile natural extract could alone. Orris root, derived from aged iris rhizomes, adds an elegant, powdery coolness: violet-like, woody, faintly carroty, and suede-soft. It is the note that makes the floral heart feel dressed rather than merely blossoming.

Lily of the valley brings the crystalline, dewy brightness of white bells in spring—fresh, green, watery, and gently soapy. It does not yield a practical essential oil or absolute that reproduces its living scent, so its note must be composed from aroma chemicals. These materials give Ramage a lift that natural flower extracts alone could not provide: a transparent, almost luminous floral air around the richer jasmine, rose, and orris. Daffodil adds a more unusual golden-green hue, with nectar, crushed stems, pollen, and a slight leathery or hay-like shadow. It is a wonderfully apt bridge to Ramage’s deeper base. Wisteria suggests cascading lilac-violet blossoms, soft sweetness, and a cool, airy floral haze. Like lily of the valley, wisteria is generally interpreted through an accord rather than a readily available natural essence; carefully selected synthetics allow the perfumer to suggest its fragile, elusive perfume without weighing down the composition.

As the flowers darken, vanilla brings its familiar warmth—creamy, balsamic, softly edible, and quietly powdery—but here it would be used as velvet rather than dessert. Natural vanilla absolute offers a deep, dark, almost rum-like richness, while vanillin, the principal aroma molecule associated with vanilla, can make that warmth more radiant and enduring. Labdanum, the resin of the rockrose, supplies the ambery glow: leathery, dry, resinous, slightly smoky, and touched with dried herbs. It deepens the fragrance’s semi-oriental character and gives the florals a burnished, golden shadow.

Sandalwood smooths the base with a creamy, milky woodiness—soft, warm, and almost skin-like—while patchouli brings darker earth: damp soil, cocoa-like richness, camphor, and aged wood. Vetiver provides the dry, elegant counterweight, smelling of roots, smoke, bitter grass, and cool earth. Together with the green bitterness of oakmoss, they form the classical chypre backbone. Oakmoss smells like a shaded forest floor after rain: inky, salty, mossy, leathery, and quietly marine. It gives Ramage its tailored, slightly austere sophistication, preventing the amber and flowers from becoming too soft or sweet.

The leather note would almost certainly have been an accord rather than a literal leather extract: a perfumer’s construction of supple glove leather, suede, tobacco-like warmth, smoke, woods, and sometimes animalic materials. It is this note that makes the advertising reference to furs so persuasive. Leather turns the fragrance from simply romantic into polished and commanding, as though the wearer’s floral corsage were pinned to a beautifully cut jacket. Ambergris, if genuine in an original vintage formula, would contribute a salty, warm, skin-like radiance—less a strong odor than an extraordinary glow that makes the whole perfume feel more alive and expansive. Modern versions generally recreate this effect with synthetic ambergris materials, which supply the same luminous, mineral-amber diffusion without relying on the rare natural substance.

Finally, musk provides the soft, warm blur beneath everything: clean skin, powder, fabric, and a lingering animal warmth. Historical perfumery once used natural animal musk, but modern perfumery uses synthetic musks for ethical, legal, and conservation reasons. These molecules are especially useful in Ramage because they bind the bright aldehydes, fragile florals, moss, woods, and balsams into one long-lasting trail. The unspecified balsams would complete the effect with resinous sweetness—suggestions of warm sap, polished wood, incense, vanilla-like softness, and a subtle medicinal glow.

The result is a perfume of deliberate contrasts: fizzing aldehydes against dark oakmoss, crisp watercress and pepper against creamy jasmine and vanilla, dewy spring flowers over leather, roots, resins, and animalic warmth. Ramage may speak the language of birdsong and falling in love, but its scent would have made that message sophisticated: a lovebird in a shadowed garden, plumage gleaming, song bright, and the earth beneath it deep and fragrant.

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 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."

Bottles:

Ramage was presented in clear, pressed-glass bottles known as the modèles fusée, or “rocket models,” their streamlined silhouette giving the fragrance a modern, forward-looking postwar elegance. Available in both splash and atomizer formats, the bottles were crowned with ribbed Beetleware caps made from urea-formaldehyde resin, produced in jewel-like shades of gold, cobalt blue, or green. The otherwise colorless glass allowed the perfume and its handsome cap to provide the visual accent, while the packaging carried Bourjois’s romantic message still further. 

Lovebirds commonly appeared as the central motif, linking the French name Ramage—the song of birds in the branches—to courtship and affectionate companionship; gift sets expanded this imagery with sentimental scenes and decorative symbols of romance.

Product Line:

The Ramage Parfum would have been the fullest and most intimate expression of the fragrance: a concentrated, slow-unfolding veil in which the bright aldehydic sparkle and green citrus opening would quickly melt into jasmine, rose, hyacinth, and the cool powder of orris. On skin, its real emphasis would be the lingering base—oakmoss, vetiver, patchouli, labdanum, sandalwood, leather, balsams, musk, and ambergris—giving the perfume a warm, fur-like richness. It would feel less like a sharply defined floral bouquet than a soft, darkly glowing floral-leather chypre, with the peppery green freshness still flickering above it. Applied sparingly at the throat, wrists, or beneath clothing, it would have been the most sensual and personal Ramage.

The Eau de Toilette would likely have made Ramage more animated and wearable during the day. Its alcohol-rich format would send up the aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, petitgrain, mint, and watercress with greater speed, creating an immediate impression of brisk, green, peppered freshness. The floral heart would be clearer and more buoyant here—jasmine, rose, lily-of-the-valley, and hyacinth seeming brighter and more garden-like—while the leather, moss, and balsams would arrive later as a graceful, dry finish. It would have retained the perfume’s sophistication, but with more movement and daylight around it: ideal for a tailored dress, office wear, shopping, or an afternoon of bridge.

The Eau de Cologne would have been Ramage at its most refreshing and fleeting. Rather than emphasizing the dark, plush chypre base, it would likely open in a broad cool cloud of citrus, green petitgrain, mint, and aldehydic brightness, with the peppery watercress effect making it especially invigorating after bathing. The florals would appear as a light, fresh suggestion rather than a dense bouquet, while the oakmoss, vetiver, and woods would remain as a faint, elegant afterimage on the skin. It would have offered the scent’s romance in a more casual, reviving form—appropriate for warm weather, morning dressing, or a quick fragrant refreshment before going out.

Ramage’s friction lotion would have been a scented body rub intended to freshen and tone the skin after washing. Its fragrance would probably feel cooler and more aromatic than the parfum: a brisk rush of citrus, green leaves, mint, and spicy pepper over a soft floral trace. As the lotion dried, its light residue of vetiver, oakmoss, sandalwood, and musk would leave the skin subtly perfumed rather than formally scented. Used across the arms, neck, shoulders, or legs, it would have made Ramage feel less like an accessory and more like part of one’s daily toilette—a clean, invigorating layer beneath the more lasting Eau de Toilette or Parfum.

The Ramage soap would translate the fragrance into a polished, creamy lather. Soap naturally amplifies the cleaner facets of a composition, so the aldehydic sparkle, bergamot, lemon, petitgrain, and lily-of-the-valley effect would likely come forward first, making the bathroom smell crisp, floral, and freshly laundered. Jasmine and rose would give the foam a gentle romantic softness, while the deeper leather, moss, amber, and balsamic notes would remain more understated—perhaps only a warm, woody trace on the hands and skin after rinsing. It would be the most domestic and accessible form of Ramage: a small daily reminder of the lovebird fantasy, elegant enough to turn an ordinary bath into a perfumed ritual.

In 1972/1973, Ramage was available in the following formats:

• Parfum Presentation: Original bottles; Purse and travel atomizers and refills; Gift sets. 
• Related Products: Eau de Toilette; Eau de Cologne; Lotion
• Ancillary (Bath & Body): Soap.

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

• Parfum Presentation: Original bottles (from 7ml to 206ml); Purse atomizer (10ml)
• Related Products: Eau de Toilette; Toilet Atomizer (61ml); Eau de Cologne; Gift Sets
• Ancillary Products (Bath & Body): Soap

Fate of the Fragrance:

Discontinued, date unknown. Still sold in 1978.