Bleu de Chine (1924)

Launched in 1924, Bleu de Chine by Isabey emerged during a time of intense fascination with the exotic and the mysterious—particularly with the Orient, as it was romantically imagined by the West. The name Bleu de Chine is French, pronounced roughly as “bluh duh sheen,” and it translates to “China Blue.” This phrase evokes not just a color, but an entire visual and emotional world: the pale cobalt glaze of antique Chinese porcelain, the shimmering silks of imperial robes, and the misty blue hues of lotus-filled rivers at dawn. Isabey’s choice of name was deeply in line with the era’s aesthetic tendencies—specifically, a fascination with East Asian art, design, and symbolism that was reaching a fever pitch in the wake of colonial expositions and the rise of chinoiserie in fashion and interiors.

The 1920s—particularly in Paris—were a time of radical cultural transformation. The First World War had ended just a few years earlier, and society was embracing modernity with open arms. Known as Les Années Folles (“The Crazy Years”), this period saw a flourishing of the arts, a revolution in women’s fashion, and the birth of modern perfumery. Women were casting off corsets, cutting their hair into bobs, and asserting new independence through work, leisure, and self-presentation. In fragrance, this translated into bold new scents that defied the dainty florals of the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Oriental fragrances—those that combined floral notes with exotic resins, spices, and sensual warmth—became the epitome of modern sophistication.

Bleu de Chine, classified as a floral oriental fragrance, perfectly captured that moment. It was said to be “rich with the essence of the lotus flower fragrance as it blooms in waxen beauty in Oriental rivers, its blossoms quivering in the dawn.” The lotus, sacred in Chinese and other Eastern cultures, symbolized purity, enlightenment, and rebirth. But in perfumery, the lotus was more of a fantasy than a botanical reality. There is no true essential oil or absolute derived from the sacred lotus (Nelumbo nucifera) that could be used in commercial fragrance. Instead, perfumers of the era crafted “lotus” accords through a blend of naturals and synthetics to evoke its imagined scent.

image created by Grace Hummel (Cleopatra's Boudoir).

Typical lotus-type formulas of the period included a base of patchouli, benzoin, and storax—resins that contributed depth, warmth, and a hint of incense-like richness. These were paired with floral elements such as rose and jasmine to maintain femininity, and then enhanced with emerging synthetic molecules that were transforming perfumery at the time. Phenylacetaldehyde added a green, hyacinth-like sharpness; phenylethyl alcohol contributed a soft rosy facet; cinnamic alcohol brought a sweet, spicy warmth; linalool added a delicate floral freshness; methyl anthranilate gave a grapey, orange blossom-like sweetness; and coumarin, with its hay-like, almondy softness, provided a powdery finish. Together, these materials created an impression of something that never truly existed in nature—a dreamy, stylized scent of the lotus as imagined through Western lenses.

In the context of perfumery at the time, Bleu de Chine was both on-trend and distinctive. Oriental floral perfumes were in vogue, particularly after the blockbuster success of Guerlain’s Shalimar in 1921, and houses were racing to produce scents that blended the feminine with the sensual. But Isabey’s take was more poetic, leaning into an ethereal interpretation of exoticism. The fantasy of Bleu de Chine would have appealed to women of the 1920s who were captivated by the romance of faraway lands and the allure of modern femininity. It offered them not just a perfume, but a dream—a cool blue veil of scent that conjured visions of moonlit rivers, trembling lotus petals, and silk sleeves brushing against porcelain.

Bleu de Chine may not have been the only fragrance of its kind, but its concept, name, and composition captured a unique intersection of fashion, fantasy, and innovation. It stands as a reflection of a time when perfume became not just a luxury, but a storytelling medium—conjuring whole worlds with a single breath. 

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Bleu de Chine by Isabey is classified as a floral oriental fragrance for women. Described as "rich with the essence of the lotus flower fragrance as it blooms in waxen beauty in Oriental rivers, its blossoms quivering in the dawn." "Bleu de Chine seems to have a curious subtle note of fresh fruits mingled with its flowers and Oriental spiciness."

• Top notes: phenyl acetaldehyde, phenyl ethyl alcohol, cinnamic alcohol, linalool
• Middle notes: Grasse rose, Egyptian jasmine, Madagascar ylang ylang, methyl anthranilate, Portuguese tuberose absolute, Swiss lily, Zanzibar clove
• Base notes: Penang patchouli, Siam benzoin, Syrian storax, ambergris, Abyssinian civet, Mexican vanilla, coumarin

Scent Profile:

To inhale Bleu de Chine by Isabey is to enter a perfumed dream of the East, as imagined through the romantic lens of 1920s Paris. This floral oriental fragrance is steeped in artifice and allure—its heart is the lotus flower, not in its natural, unscented form, but recreated in full, poetic fantasy using a mélange of florals, spices, resins, and modern synthetics. The result is rich, glistening, and hauntingly exotic, like moonlight on lacquered porcelain.

The opening is green, floral, and slightly aldehydic. Phenylacetaldehyde leads with its distinctive hyacinth-like brightness—green, sharp, and dewy, immediately suggesting petals just unfurled in morning mist. It’s piercing but brief, like the first flash of light at dawn. Supporting this is phenyl ethyl alcohol, a cornerstone of rose accords, which brings a gentle, rosy warmth—soft, clean, and subtly sweet. Cinnamic alcohol adds a honeyed-spicy lift, connecting the fresh floral notes to something deeper and resinous to come. It gives off a subtle warmth, a reminder of sun on blossom. Linalool, naturally occurring in many florals but often added synthetically for its elegant transparency, imparts a soft, lavender-like brightness—floral, airy, and quietly diffusive. This quartet of aroma chemicals forms an artificial bouquet that evokes the idea of lotus in bloom—glassy, soft, and impossibly smooth.

The heart of the perfume is a sumptuous floral arrangement, plush and intensely feminine. Grasse rose, cultivated in the perfume capital of southern France, is prized for its nuanced, honeyed character. It brings body and elegance to the composition. Egyptian jasmine follows—lush, radiant, with an unmistakable animalic undertone. This jasmine, harvested by hand at night when its scent is strongest, adds a sultry warmth. Then comes Madagascar ylang ylang, the floral chameleon: creamy, slightly banana-like, almost metallic in its brightness. It adds a narcotic richness and helps to round out the sharper florals. Interwoven is methyl anthranilate, a synthetic that smells of Concord grapes and orange blossom—it injects a shimmering, juicy sweetness that feels almost childlike in its charm, offsetting the sultriness of the white florals.

Portuguese tuberose absolute stands out in this medley—potent, creamy, and ever so slightly rubbery. It’s a provocative flower, thick with indoles and often used to conjure intimacy. Grown in Portugal’s temperate climate, the tuberose here feels especially languid and buttery, binding the floral bouquet in sensuality. The Swiss lily, though not specific to a single species, evokes a cool, damp floralcy—suggesting cleanliness and purity. It balances the lushness of the jasmine and tuberose. And at the heart’s edge lies Zanzibar clove, which introduces a soft but spicy sharpness—clove's warm bite giving contour and exotic structure to the floral theme.

As the scent settles, the base reveals its luxurious, ambery depth. Penang patchouli, from Malaysia, brings a dark, earthy richness that is smoother and more refined than its Indonesian counterpart. It hums softly beneath the flowers, grounding them. Siam benzoin, a resin from Thailand, lends a balsamic sweetness, like golden syrup over warm skin. Syrian storax, deeper and smokier than other balsams, adds a leathery undertone, bringing drama and shadow. These resins together form a foundation that is velvety and resinous, glowing like the inner lacquer of an antique box.

Laced through the base is a touch of ambergris, a rare material historically sourced from ocean-aged whale secretion. Whether natural or replicated with synthetics like Ambreine, it adds a salty, musky sheen that gives the perfume lift and longevity—mimicking the subtle radiance of skin. Abyssinian civet, once derived from the civet cat but now recreated synthetically, lends a creamy, animalic warmth—softly carnal, never harsh. This sensual backdrop is sweetened with Mexican vanilla, rich and smoky, with a bourbon-like roundness, and the final touch is coumarin—one of perfumery’s earliest synthetics. It smells of freshly mown hay and almond, powdery and comforting, a dry-down that softens the weight of the resins with a gentle hand.

Together, these materials do not present the lotus flower as it truly is, but as it was imagined—a blossom of myth, floating in a blue porcelain world, at once distant and intimate. Bleu de Chine was not merely a fragrance, but a fantasy of the East made wearable. Its blend of rare naturals and inventive synthetics represents the height of early 20th-century perfumery—a time when scent sought not just to decorate, but to transport.

Bottle:

Bleu de Chine appeared in a variety of bottles during its years of production, but its most luxurious parfum presentation was an exceptional flacon designed and produced by Julien Viard. Known as a lampion, or lantern-style bottle, it was made of clear pressed and molded glass in a compact cylindrical form. Its eight panels were molded with foliage and enriched with small turquoise enamel florets set against a softly grey-patinated ground. Coral-colored enamel cabochons supplied bright points of color between the panels, while eight gadroons—rounded ornamental ribs—gave the body a richly sculptural, jewel-like texture. The matching disk-shaped frosted-glass stopper repeated the bottle’s decorative language, creating a remarkably complete Art Deco object. The bottle bears the molded signature “J. Viard,” with a circular label beneath the base, and stands approximately 7.4 cm high.

The presentation was as important as the flacon itself. Bleu de Chine was housed in a drawer-style box decorated with Asian-inspired imagery, including a Buddha-like figure at the threshold of the little case. In a 1927 Art et Industrie description, Isabey associated China with legend, dream, mystery, and uncertain boundaries between reality and imagination. The writer described the flacon as resting within a “small, luxurious temple,” guarded by an ironic yet benevolent Buddha. The figure was said to reproduce an eighteenth-century Chinese porcelain from the collection of Baron Henri de Rothschild, linking the perfume not only to fashionable chinoiserie but to the Rothschild family’s own connoisseurship.

This elaborate presentation transformed Bleu de Chine into an object of fantasy and collecting desire. Its turquoise, coral, grey, and frosted-glass decoration suggested the colors of enamel, porcelain, carved jade, and antique Chinese ornament, while the lantern-like form reinforced the fragrance’s imagined Eastern atmosphere. Contemporary advertising also offered a larger 1⅔-ounce presentation in a charming “forget-me-not” bottle, described as especially beautiful for the dressing table. Whether in its lavish Viard flacon or one of its alternate forms, Bleu de Chine was clearly intended to be experienced as perfume, ornament, and miniature work of decorative art at once.

 

Perle Flacon:

Like most of Isabey’s perfumes of the 1920s, Bleu de Chine was also offered in the luxurious Perle flacon, a small pearl-shaped bottle that became one of the house’s most recognizable presentations. In a 1927 article, Art et Industrie explained that Isabey had created “La Perle” for all of its perfumes, treating the pearl as a symbolic link between the ancient Far East, where it had long been cherished, and the Western world, which continued to seek it as a precious luxury. The pearl represented gentleness, refinement, breath-like softness, and the pleasure of living—qualities beautifully suited to a perfume called Bleu de Chine. Its luminous rounded form gave the fragrance a different kind of luxury from the elaborate Viard lantern bottle: quieter, softer, and more universally elegant, while still expressing Isabey’s conviction that a delicate perfume deserved an equally carefully conceived flacon.

Moser Bottle:

In 1926, Isabey presented Bleu de Chine in an elegant dark violet-tinted crystal flacon made by Moser of Karlovy Vary, the renowned Czech glasshouse long celebrated for its brilliantly colored, precisely cut luxury crystal. The bottle has a faceted body with a lozenge-shaped cross-section, giving it a crisp jewel-like silhouette that catches and refracts the light through its deep violet glass. Its matching stopper continues the same sharply cut geometric design, creating a compact but exceptionally refined Art Deco presentation. The flacon is signed “Moser Karlovy Vary” on the underside, an important mark of its quality and origin. This rare Isabey presentation is illustrated in Christie Mayer-Lefkowith’s Masterpieces of the Perfume Industry on page 275.

signed Moser Karlovy Vary.

 

 

 

Stock Bottles:

Fate of the Fragrance:

Bleu de Chine by Isabey was eventually discontinued, though the exact date of its withdrawal from the market remains unknown. What is certain, however, is that the fragrance was still being sold as late as 1942—nearly two decades after its initial launch in 1924. Its longevity on the market speaks to its enduring appeal during a period when perfume trends evolved rapidly, and many fragrances had relatively short lifespans.

To still find Bleu de Chine available in 1942 is notable, especially given the global circumstances of the time. With World War II underway and widespread material shortages affecting everything from alcohol to packaging supplies, the continued presence of this fragrance suggests it had a loyal following or occupied a favored place in Isabey’s range. It may have persisted in limited distribution, particularly in markets like North America, where Isabey had maintained an export presence since the 1920s.

As perfumery entered the wartime era, many earlier scents faded into obscurity, replaced by more modern, practical compositions that reflected the austere mood of the time. That Bleu de Chine lingered through this transition marks it as a fragrance that perhaps carried a sense of nostalgia or offered a dreamy, luxurious escape at a time when the world was anything but serene. Its eventual discontinuation may have been a quiet one—without much fanfare—typical for many perfumes of the early 20th century whose production was ultimately curtailed by war, changing tastes, and the restructuring of perfume houses in the postwar years.