Petales Froisses (1926)

Pétales Froissés by Lanvin was launched in 1926, a time when the world was intoxicated by modernity, glamour, and the artistic freedom of the interwar years. The name, Pétales Froissés (pronounced “peh-TAL froi-SAY”), is French and translates to “crushed petals” or “creased petals.” It’s an evocative and deeply poetic name—suggestive of something once pristine and beautiful, now slightly rumpled or bruised by emotion, passion, or time. This phrase conjures a vision of soft flower petals strewn across a silk chaise, touched by longing or memory. There’s an air of faded romance, perhaps even the suggestion of intimacy—petals crushed underfoot, or pressed between the pages of a love letter. It evokes vulnerability, sensuality, and quiet drama.

The mid-1920s was the height of Les Années Folles—France’s version of the Roaring Twenties. Paris was the epicenter of fashion, art, and avant-garde culture. Women were embracing new freedoms: bobbed hair, shorter skirts, and bolder makeup. Coco Chanel’s little black dress had just entered the scene. Jazz echoed from smoky clubs, surrealism was beginning to take root, and perfumery itself was undergoing a revolution. Fragrance was no longer simply about capturing the scent of a single flower—it was becoming a form of olfactory storytelling, layered, abstract, and richly emotive.

Jeanne Lanvin, one of the most refined couturières of the era, understood the nuanced language of femininity. With Pétales Froissés, she wasn’t offering just a floral perfume—she was inviting women into a moment, a mood. The title itself may have resonated with modern women of the time who were balancing independence with introspection. These were women who had just lived through the trauma of the First World War, yet now found themselves dancing in Art Deco ballrooms and pondering the fragility of beauty and time.

Created by master perfumer André Fraysse, Pétales Froissés is classified as a woody floral. This was a relatively modern construction for the 1920s. While aldehydic florals like Chanel No. 5 (1921) and powdery blends such as Arpège (Lanvin, 1927) were gaining popularity, woody florals still had an air of mystery and sophistication. The wood accord would have given Pétales Froissés an unexpected depth, grounding the softness of the floral heart with something more shadowed and sensual. This contrast mirrored the dual nature of its name—beauty that has been touched, slightly disordered, but made even more intriguing because of it.

In the context of other fragrances on the market in the 1920s, Pétales Froissés stood out not only for its poetic name but for its unusual composition. It neither followed the bright clarity of soliflores nor conformed strictly to aldehydic trends. Instead, it occupied a more moody, tactile space—a fragrance that could feel like a memory, something worn close to the skin. For women of that era, it likely felt both modern and nostalgic, resonant with the emotional complexity of the times.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? Pétales Froissés by Lanvin is classified as a woody floral fragrance for women.

• Top notes: aldehydes, Calabrian bergamot, Tuscan violet leaf, green leafy accord
• Middle notes: Grasse rose de mai, Grasse jasmine absolute, Nossie-Be ylang ylang, Zanzibar carnation, Swiss lily of the valley, Florentine orris 
• Base notes: Mysore sandalwood, Maltese labdanum, Bourbon vanilla tincture, Siamese benzoin, Tyrolean oakmoss, Java vetiver, Tibetan musk

Scent Profile:

Pétales Froissés by Lanvin opens with a shimmering veil—an aldehydic whisper that rises like sunlit mist above a crushed bouquet. These aldehydes—those airy, slightly waxy molecules first made famous by Chanel No. 5—bring a crisp, champagne-like effervescence, giving the illusion of cool silk and filtered morning light. They don’t exist in nature, but they mimic the sparkle of citrus peel or the fizz of cold air on skin, preparing the senses for what follows.

Almost immediately beneath the aldehydes, the bright tang of Calabrian bergamot unfurls—a citrus with more nuance than lemon, less sugary than orange. Bergamot from Calabria, southern Italy, is prized for its complexity: fruity with a peppery green edge, yet floral and round. Its essence is extracted from the rind of nearly-ripe fruit, and in Pétales Froissés, it brightens the green floral tone like a shaft of sunlight cutting through foliage.

Threaded within the citrus comes a fresh, dewy breath of Tuscan violet leaf—not the flower, but the verdant, almost metallic leaves. Italian violet leaf is softer, with a light cucumber-celery quality that evokes damp green stems freshly snapped. It merges seamlessly with a green leafy accord, which likely includes galbanum or other sharp green notes, conjuring crushed stems, wild hedgerows, and that nostalgic, rain-dampened scent of a florist’s workroom. The top is neither sweet nor powdery but fresh, brittle-green, and alive with tension.

As the aldehydes lift, the heart opens like a fan of layered silk petals: Grasse rose de mai—rich, powdery, almost honeyed—blooms at the center. Grown in the fields around Grasse, France, Rosa centifolia is famous for its depth and softness. Unlike Turkish or Bulgarian roses, which are spicy or lemony, the Grasse rose smells like petal jam and soft wax, luxurious and maternal. It’s met with the equally exquisite Grasse jasmine absolute—a scent that’s warm, animalic, and just slightly indolic, lending a carnal undercurrent beneath the rose’s refinement.

Nossi-Bé ylang ylang, harvested from Madagascar’s smaller sister island, brings a tropical creaminess. Ylang from this region is highly sought after for its balanced profile—neither too medicinal nor too fruity. Its floral scent leans toward banana and custard, softening the spicier Zanzibar carnation, which adds clove-like piquancy and a subtle peppery heat that peeks through like an unexpected laugh in a hushed room.

The heart is further cooled by Swiss lily of the valley, not a true distillation (the flower doesn’t yield oil), but recreated with green floral aroma chemicals like hydroxycitronellal. It brings an innocence and spring-like freshness, a breath of white blossoms. Beneath it lies Florentine orris, among the most costly perfume ingredients, aged and ground from the roots of Iris pallida. Its powdery, suede-like texture provides a sense of vintage luxury—like gloves pulled from an antique bureau, faintly perfumed and impossibly soft.

The base of Pétales Froissés is where the fragrance settles, sighing into the skin. Mysore sandalwood, creamy and resinous, forms the backbone. Unlike modern Australian substitutes, true Mysore sandalwood—now scarce—is milkier, more complex, with nuances of rose and buttered wood. It’s wrapped in the resinous richness of Maltese labdanum, a leathery amber note with sweet balsamic density, and Siamese benzoin, which adds a silky, vanilla-amber glow.

Enhancing this warmth is Bourbon vanilla tincture, extracted in alcohol rather than just a vanilla absolute, offering more subtlety and tonality. It’s soft, creamy, and true to the pod, layering sweetness without veering into gourmand territory. Grounding the entire composition is Tyrolean oakmoss, earthy and forest-like, tinged with damp bark and lichen. It contributes both structure and shadow, deepening the florals into something quietly dramatic.

The final trail lingers with Java vetiver, its smoky, rooty tone anchoring the airy top with a dusky, unisex earthiness. And then—just when you think the scent is complete—a ghost of Tibetan musk remains, a skin-like note, warm and slightly animalic. Whether recreated with macrocyclic musks or an accord meant to simulate the now-banned natural musk, it adds sensuality and longevity, making the fragrance feel almost alive on the skin.

Together, these ingredients paint a tactile story: petals bruised between pages, softness crumpled into warmth, a tension between refinement and raw nature. Pétales Froissés is not a clean floral—it’s a poetic, imperfect, timeworn bouquet, captured in a bottle.

Bottles:

Early Lanvin bottles were clear crystal, square shaped and had flat disk style stoppers emblazoned with the Lanvin mother and daughter logo in blue or black enamel.

c1927 (credit: Ministère de la Culture France)

Boule Flacons (Ball Flacons):

The "boule" (ball) bottles were inspired by those used by Henriette Gabilla for her perfumes My Sin and Amour Americain. The round black glass bottles featured molded and gilded floral decoration around middle and rested on a square shaped foot. Name of perfume in gold lettering above floral band and matching stopper. The flacons were designed by Julien Viard. The bottle was also available in colorless crystal with the gold decor.  You can see the progression from the Gabilla bottles to the Lanvin bottles below. The Lanvin bottles lack the foot seen on the Gabilla flacons and their stoppers are different. 

Boule flacons, ball shaped, black glass or clear glass, gilded raspberry/pine cone stoppers, changed to ribbed ball stoppers in the 1920s as evidenced by some vintage newspaper ads. From 1925 to 1947, these had the Jeanne Lanvin name, from 1947-1958, they had the name Lanvin Parfums (though you may find some oddball bottles with the old raspberry stoppers, probably old stock), from 1958 onward they had the name Lanvin or Lanvin Paris (on some late 1950s bottles).

The sizes ranged from 1/4 oz all the way up to a massive 32 ounces!!!

Here is a quick guide to your bottle sizes if it is missing labels or boxes. Please note that this is a work in progress, more info will be added as info becomes available to me.

Raspberry stopper boule flacons:

• 1 oz = 2.25" tall
• 2 oz = 3.25" tall

Boule with ribbed stopper (original, not fully gilded ground glass stopper):

• 4.5" tall 
• 5.25" tall
• 32 oz 

Boule with ribbed stopper (fully gilded ground glass stopper):

• 0.25 oz = 2" tall
• 2 oz = 3 1/8" tall

Boule with ribbed stopper (fully gilded stopper with plastic plug):

• 0.5 oz = 2.5" tall

"Pétales Froissées" - (1926) Présenté dans son coffret cubique en carton gainé de papier beige titré et siglé, flacon «boule dorée» en verre opaque noir habillé de laque or, siglé et titré sur sa panse, coiffé de son bouchon «framboise» laqué or, avec son étiquette sous sa base. Modèle dessiné par Armand Rateau et édité par la verrerie de Romesnil. h: 6 cm.

You could also get a luxurious gift of a Lanvin atomizer in 1927, these were detachable atomizers apparatuses that were sold along with a stopper. These were also sold during the perfume's lifetime up until the 1980s. Notice the shape of the atomizer head shown in the 1927 ad below.

Square Bottles (Carre Flacons):

The demi-cristal square bottles (known as carre flacons) were usually reserved for parfum (extrait) but you can also find them used for Eau de Lanvin as well. Bottles will either be fitted with black glass stoppers or with black bakelite screw top caps. the black glass stoppers have gold baudruchage cording wrapped around the neck, the screw caps are black plastic with a gold ring around the neck. This guide will give you an idea what size you have if your bottle is missing it's label or the bottle does not say the size:

Black glass stopper parfum flacons:

• 4" tall
• 3.75" tall
• 3 oz stands 
• 1.9 oz (54g) stands 3.5" tall
• 1 oz (28g) stands 2.5" tall

Screw Top square parfum flacons:

• 1.9 oz stands 3.25" tall
• 1 oz (28g) stands 2.5" tall
• 1/2 oz (15g) stands almost 2.25" tall
• 1/4 oz stands almost 1.75" tall

Fate of the Fragrance:

In 1931, Jeanne Lanvin’s perfume house was at the height of its creative expression, and her latest olfactory creations captured the attention of international audiences. The Capital Times that year announced the arrival of three of Lanvin’s newest perfumes—L'Âme Perdue (Lost Soul), Comme Ci Comme Ça (Like This, Like That), and Pétales Froissés (Crushed Petals). Each name spoke to a different emotional landscape—L'Âme Perdue hinted at longing and melancholy, Comme Ci Comme Ça evoked a sense of playful nonchalance, while Pétales Froissés conjured a tactile, romantic image of crushed flowers and delicate decay. The trio reflected Lanvin’s deep understanding of the emotional power of fragrance—each scent acting as a poetic statement, a bottled mood.

Just days later, The Straits Times further affirmed Lanvin's influence in a glowing mention that praised the indescribable charm of her perfumes. Highlighted among the brand’s iconic offerings—Arpège, La Jea, and My Sin—was Pétales Froissés, underscoring its place within the prestigious Lanvin line. The article noted that these fragrances were not only celebrated for their scents but also for their presentation. Housed in exquisitely designed bottles, they held an “exclusively appealing” quality, suggesting refinement, luxury, and the sense that each flacon was a personal treasure. This was perfume as an art form, not merely a product.

For women in 1931, a fragrance like Pétales Froissés was more than a cosmetic accessory—it was an emotional and aesthetic experience. Amidst a world still reeling from the effects of the Great Depression, perfumes like these offered a kind of intimate escapism, a return to beauty, subtlety, and self-adornment. Lanvin’s ability to evoke emotion, memory, and texture through scent ensured that her creations—especially one as poetically named and delicately constructed as Pétales Froissés—would resonate far beyond the era in which they were made.

Pétales Froissés by Lanvin, introduced in 1926, embodied the delicate sensuality and refinement of interwar French perfumery. Its evocative name—meaning “Crushed Petals”—hinted at softness, romantic decay, and the fleeting nature of beauty. By the mid-1930s, it had earned a place alongside Lanvin’s most beloved perfumes, appreciated for its sophisticated woody-floral construction and elegant presentation. However, like many fine things from that gilded era, Pétales Froissés would not survive the disruptions of global conflict.

Although the fragrance was still available in the United States as late as 1942, it was being sold at significantly reduced prices—a clear sign that retailers were attempting to clear out their remaining stock. This was not due to a lack of popularity, but rather to circumstances beyond the brand’s control. As World War II engulfed Europe, luxury goods—particularly those imported from France—became increasingly difficult to obtain. Transatlantic trade was severely disrupted by wartime embargos, shipping restrictions, and the looming threat of attacks on cargo vessels. Even if perfumes could be shipped, American importers were no longer able to reliably restock French fragrances.

Back in France, Lanvin and other perfume houses faced mounting challenges. Wartime rationing made it nearly impossible to acquire essential raw materials—both natural and synthetic. Flowers used for extraction were difficult to harvest due to labor shortages and the militarization of agricultural lands. Key perfume ingredients like Mysore sandalwood, jasmine absolute from Grasse, and orris root from Florence became scarce or impossible to import due to disrupted trade routes and colonial upheaval. In addition, glassmakers such as Pochet et du Courval struggled to produce perfume bottles, as resources like sand, fuel, and labor were diverted to the war effort. Even alcohol, vital for dilution, was rationed or redirected to pharmaceutical or military use.

Thus, Pétales Froissés quietly disappeared from the shelves. No official discontinuation was ever announced—its disappearance was gradual, shaped by a complex network of shortages, restrictions, and the unraveling of the luxurious pre-war world. What remained were the last few precious bottles, sold at clearance prices in American department stores—a poignant end to a perfume that once captured the poetic softness of a crushed petal between silk-gloved fingers.