Zen by Shiseido (1964)

Shiseido’s original Zen (1964) was an unusually thoughtful international statement: a fresh green floral that translated a Japanese cultural idea into the language of mid-century luxury. It is generally credited to the American perfumer Josephine Catapano, celebrated for such important compositions as Estée Lauder Youth-Dew and Guy Laroche Fidji. Shiseido itself was already a remarkably distinguished house. Founded by Arinobu Fukuhara in Ginza, Tokyo, in 1872 as Japan’s first private Western-style pharmacy, it became famous for joining Western scientific research with Japanese aesthetics, design, and ideals of beauty. That synthesis—modernity softened by refinement—was central to Zen.  

The name was a particularly apt choice for a fragrance intended to introduce Shiseido beyond Japan. Zen is the Japanese reading of a word ultimately derived from Sanskrit dhyāna, meaning meditation; its Chinese counterpart is Chán. In plain English, pronounce it “zen,” rhyming with “when.” It does not literally mean “peace” or “calm,” though in Western usage it has come to evoke stillness, simplicity, clarity, self-possession, contemplation, and a harmonious relationship with nature. Shiseido used those associations beautifully: Zen promised not merely adornment, but a private mental space—an invitation to “open her heart and free her mind.” The advertising’s language, “soft as a whisper,” “precious as gold,” and “to be worn on your body—and in your mind,” makes scent feel like an intimate ritual rather than a conspicuous accessory.  

Strictly speaking, “aromachology” is a later term, rather than one in general circulation in 1964. Yet it is a useful modern way to describe the idea behind Zen: fragrance presented as emotionally restorative, balancing the wearer’s inner life with the outer world. In 1964, this was refined and forward-looking language. Zen’s claimed status as Shiseido’s first perfume issued outside Japan made its name doubly meaningful: it offered an international audience something recognizably Japanese, but without resorting to a literal souvenir-style interpretation of Japan.

Zen arrived in the early, optimistic phase of the 1960s, a period often called the Swinging Sixties in Britain and associated in the United States with the beginning of the youthquake. Society was increasingly energized by youth culture, new music, travel, art, design, the Space Age, changing ideas of femininity, and growing challenges to social convention. Fashion stood between polished early-sixties elegance and the sharper, younger Mod look that would soon dominate: clean-lined sheath dresses, shift dresses, geometric prints, sleek hair, graphic cosmetics, bright color, and an increasingly casual, modern silhouette. Women were still expected to look impeccably groomed, but beauty was beginning to express individuality, movement, and independence rather than only formal glamour.  

image restored & enhanced by Grace Hummel (Cleopatra's Boudoir).

For a woman of 1964, a perfume called Zen could have suggested sophisticated worldliness: Tokyo modernism, quiet luxury, and an alternative to the overtly French idea of perfumery. Its name also offered a poised counterpoint to a decade becoming faster, brighter, and more demanding. A woman might have worn it as she wore a beautifully cut suit, a silk blouse, or a minimalist black dress—not to overwhelm a room, but to feel composed within it. The word promised an elegant inner equilibrium, while still retaining enough mystery to feel exotic and glamorous to Western consumers.

In olfactory terms, “Zen” suggests not incense-heavy temple smoke, but clarity, air, greenery, clean petals, and the soft finish of cosmetic powder. The original’s fresh green opening can be imagined as the sensation of snapped stems, cool leaves, and morning light; its green-floral heart makes the flowers feel alive, upright, and slightly dewy rather than sweet or voluptuous. Beneath this, the feminine powdery base would have supplied softness, warmth, and a skin-like finish. Thus, the scent’s “Zen” was not austerity. It was controlled sensuality: nature disciplined into a graceful, lingering composition.

Within its perfume-era context, Zen was both timely and distinctive. Green floral perfumes were not unprecedented—Pierre Balmain’s influential Vent Vert had established the fashionable appeal of emphatically green florals in 1947—but fresh, cool, less sugary compositions suited the growing mid-sixties appetite for modernity and clean lines. Zen therefore followed an existing green-floral current, rather than inventing one. What made it special was its point of view: a Japanese house with a sophisticated international identity, a quietly philosophical name, and a freshness tempered by a soft, feminine powderiness. It was neither the grand aldehydic floral of an earlier generation nor a hippie-natural perfume of the later 1960s and 1970s. Instead, Zen stood at the threshold between them—polished, modern, serene, and subtly enigmatic.

 

Original Version:

 

image restored & enhanced by Grace Hummel (Cleopatra's Boudoir).

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? The original version of Zen (now called Classic Zen) is classified as a fresh floral fragrance for women. It starts off with a fresh green top, followed by a green floral heart, layered over a feminine powdery base.

• Top notes: bergamot, orange blossom, hyacinth, galbanum, gentian, bamboo 
•  Middle notes: carnation, rose, narcissus (daffodil), orris, jasmine, mimosa, violet
• Base notes: patchouli, oakmoss, cedar, sandalwood, musk, ambergris

Scent Profile:

Zen (1964), now often called Classic Zen, is best understood as a poised green floral with a subtly chypre-like, powdery woody foundation. Its reported note structure—bergamot, orange blossom, hyacinth and galbanum above a heart of cool flowers and a mossy-woody base—is consistently documented, though the extra “bamboo” and “gentian” nuances are best treated as interpretive facets rather than proven literal materials in the vintage formula. Vintage-note listing

It opens with a flash of bergamot, its peel expressing a bright, bitter-green citrus oil rather than the sweetness of an ordinary orange. Fine bergamot traditionally comes from Calabria, Italy, where the coastal climate gives the fruit its particularly vivid, lightly floral bitterness; it clears the air around the composition and keeps the flowers from becoming heavy. Orange blossom follows with a creamy, honeyed whiteness—sunlit petals, warm skin, and a faint soapiness. It is a natural material, obtained either by distillation as neroli oil or by solvent extraction as orange-flower absolute; the latter is deeper, more indolic, and more voluptuous. Here it reads as polished rather than tropical, giving Zen femininity without syrupiness.

The distinctive green character comes from galbanum, a gum-resin traditionally associated with Iran and Central Asia. Its effect is startlingly vivid: crushed stems, snapped leaves, bitter sap, and the cool dampness of a florist’s bucket. Galbanum is what makes the opening feel alive and almost architectural. The apparent hyacinth note adds a cool, moist floral sweetness, like blossoms in a glass conservatory after rain. Hyacinth cannot be satisfactorily distilled into a true perfumery essence, so its recognizable scent is generally recreated with aroma materials and natural floral supports. That constructed accord can capture the flower’s green, waxy, lightly spicy, almost watery quality more reliably than an extract could.

If perceived, gentian would lend a rooty, bitter alpine nuance—less a conventional flower than the suggestion of bruised petals, medicinal roots, and mountain air. Likewise, bamboo is normally an accord rather than a distilled bamboo essence: crisp, watery-green, lightly woody, and transparent. Perfumers build it from materials that suggest fresh stems, dewy leaves, watery air, and pale woods. In Zen, these facets make sense as descriptive shorthand for the fragrance’s clean Japanese-modernist mood rather than proof that literal gentian or bamboo materials were present.

The heart is a stately, cool floral arrangement. Carnation supplies a pink-petaled, clove-like warmth, a floral spice that gives the bouquet structure without making it gourmand. A true carnation effect is usually an accord: natural clove-derived materials and floral molecules evoke its eugenolic, slightly peppery petal character. Rose softens it with a velvety, graceful bloom—suggesting the citrusy freshness of Bulgarian rose or the more honeyed richness of Turkish or Moroccan rose, though the specific source is not published. Rose oil or absolute brings body and natural complexity; carefully chosen synthetics extend its airy petal effect and keep it from becoming dense.

Narcissus, or daffodil, darkens the flowers with a remarkable contrast: green stems, wet pollen, hay, leather, and a faint animalic shadow beneath its golden petals. Natural narcissus absolute is costly and intensely characterful, and even a trace can make a floral perfume feel more alive and less cosmetic. Orris then introduces its unmistakable violet-like powder. This is not the flower itself but the aged rhizome of iris—traditionally prized from Iris pallida grown in Italy—and it smells cool, buttery, rooty, and softly cosmetic, like antique face powder with an earthy undertone. It is the note that turns Zen’s flowers from a bouquet into a composed fragrance.

Jasmine brings a quiet indolic radiance: creamy white petals, tea-like freshness, ripe fruit, and a subtle animal warmth. Jasmine absolute—whether imagined in the style of Egyptian or Indian material—would make the heart breathe, while supporting aroma molecules brighten and prolong the floral glow. Mimosa offers a soft yellow haze of pollen, suede, honey, and heliotrope-like powder. Its absolute is naturally delicate and expensive, so it is commonly supported with synthetic floral and powdery materials. Violet gives a cool, shadowy purple-petal effect. Since violet flowers yield little usable oil, perfumery traditionally relies on ionones—aroma materials with a fragrant, violet-orris, gently woody sweetness—to make the note bloom. In Zen, those constructed effects would beautifully reinforce the natural orris, giving the fragrance its refined cosmetic-powder finish.

The base grounds all this light and greenery. Patchouli, classically sourced from Indonesia, supplies a dark, damp, woody earthiness—more polished and discreet here than the later counterculture patchouli style. Oakmoss contributes the dry, velvety scent of forest bark, lichen, ink, and old chypre perfumes. It is one of the defining structural materials in the chypre family, giving the composition its shadow and persistence. On oakmoss’s central role in chypre structure Modern versions must use restricted or low-allergen oakmoss fractions and replacement materials, but the original’s mossy character would have been more classically pronounced.

Cedar sharpens the base with dry pencil shavings and clean timber, while sandalwood adds a creamier, milky, softly rosy woodiness. Vintage sandalwood would likely have had the especially plush character associated with Indian Santalum album, though Zen’s exact sourcing is not recorded. Musk supplies warmth, softness, and diffusion rather than an obvious animal smell; it helps the perfume cling to skin and turns the floral powder into something sensuous. The original formula’s precise musk is unpublished, so it would be unsafe to name one, but modern perfumery uses synthetic musks for this clean, skin-like, lasting effect rather than animal musk.

Finally, ambergris lends a saline, mineral, subtly animalic glow—like sun-warmed skin, sea air, and smooth old wood. Natural ambergris was historically used in fine perfumery but was never a dependable standard ingredient; even in vintage work it could be represented by a constructed ambergris accord. In Zen, it would not smell overtly marine. Instead, it would give the powdery woods a whisper of skin, salt, and lingering warmth.

The overall effect is a fragrance of controlled contrasts: bitter green sap against creamy orange blossom; cool hyacinth and orris against warm carnation and jasmine; mossy darkness beneath pale, powdered flowers. Zen does not smell “minimal” in the modern watery sense. It is serene because everything is held in balance—green, floral, woody, powdery, and softly sensual.

 

Bottles:

Zen’s presentation was as carefully composed as the perfume itself. The original fragrance appeared in graceful opaque black bottles with a soft matte, lacquer-like presence, each enlivened by a scattering of calligraphic gold flowers. Vogue captured their appeal in 1969, calling Zen “a swoony perfume in graceful black bottles with a dollop of round stopper,” and noting that the various sizes were “dashed with a scattering of calligraphic golden flowers.” The description perfectly conveys their effect: not merely bottles, but small, precious objects whose rounded black stoppers and gold ornament made them feel intimate, tactile, and quietly luxurious.

Shiseido’s design drew upon traditional Kyoto lacquer imagery and floral motifs associated with the Rinpa, or Rimpa, tradition. Rinpa artists transformed the natural world—flowers, grasses, birds, water, and seasonal change—into bold, rhythmic decoration, often set against lavish grounds of gold or silver leaf. The style also looked back to the refined poetry, courtly culture, and imagery of the Heian period, while its best-known expression flourished in Kyoto during the seventeenth-century Edo period. Zen’s gilded blossoms translate that artistic inheritance into modern perfume packaging: the black ground suggests lacquer, night, and ink; the gold flowers appear like a flowering branch caught in moonlight.

By 1970, the packaging had also been adapted for the 2-ounce Spray Eau de Cologne. Soap, Cosmetics, Chemical Specialties described a “black plastic-coated bottle” screened in gold and finished with a black-and-gold cap, with both bottles and boxes imported from Japan. This practical update preserved the essential Zen identity—the dark, glossy-to-matte black field, the restrained gold decoration, and the sense of Japanese craftsmanship—while making it suitable for a modern spray format.

Together, the bottle and fragrance formed one unified idea. Zen’s cool green flowers, powdery softness, and subtle mossy depth were made visible in black and gold: darkness relieved by blossoms, restraint warmed by ornament, and an air of mystery made elegant rather than severe.

Original Formula Product Line:

The original Zen collection allowed the same green-floral signature to be experienced at different intensities and in different textures, rather than as a single fixed perfume. At its heart was the contrast between cool green florals—galbanum, hyacinth, orange blossom, narcissus, violet, and orris—and the quieter, powdery shadow of woods, moss, musk, and ambergris. Across the range, Zen would have retained that poised, slightly mysterious identity, but the brighter notes, floweriness, powder, and warmth would have appeared in different proportions according to concentration and medium.

The tiny 0.22-ounce and 0.5-ounce Parfum bottles would have offered Zen at its richest and most complete. Here, the sharp green lift of galbanum and bergamot would be present only briefly before the fragrance settled into a dense, velvety flower-and-orris heart. The rose, jasmine, narcissus, mimosa, carnation, and violet would feel less like separate blossoms and more like a cool, abstract floral tapestry. On skin, the drydown would be the deepest: patchouli, oakmoss, cedar, sandalwood, musk, and ambergris becoming softly powdery, dark, and intimate. The Parfum de Toilette would have offered a similarly elegant floral-woody character, but with more movement and radiance—less concentrated than parfum, yet rounder and more lasting than cologne.

The various Eau de Cologne formats—1.6-ounce and 2.6-ounce bottles, the purse spray, the 2-ounce Cologne Spray, and the 2.7-ounce Zen Pure Mist—would have made Zen more immediately fresh and wearable. In these forms, one would notice the bergamot, orange blossom, hyacinth, and green stemminess more clearly: a brisk, polished, almost chilled floral freshness, softened by the faintly cosmetic-powder character of violet and orris. The Pure Mist would likely have felt especially airy and enveloping, intended to scent the skin and clothing with a fine, graceful cloud rather than a concentrated point of perfume. The small 0.5-ounce Eau de Cologne Spray Concentrate would have been the more travel-friendly, intensified interpretation—still bright and green, but with a fuller floral heart and a more persistent mossy-powdery trail.

The 60 ml Eau de Parfum Splash and 20 ml Eau de Parfum would have sat between the sparkling lift of cologne and the close richness of parfum. Their effect would be more floral and skin-warm: orange blossom and hyacinth becoming creamier, narcissus and jasmine more apparent, and the orris-wood base more softly persistent. A splash application would create a generous, old-fashioned veil over the body, while the smaller eau de parfum would be ideal for more deliberate use at pulse points. Eau de Zen was likely intended as a lighter, refreshing companion expression of the Zen idea—something more fluid and immediately reviving than the formal perfume, with the green, floral, and clean-powdery impression placed ahead of its deeper base.

Zen’s scented body products would have made the perfume feel more personal and tactile. Seer of Zen Silken Lotion, the 4-ounce and 7.8-ounce Body Lotions, and the Milk Bath would translate the fragrance into a gentler, creamier version: orange blossom, violet, orris, and soft musk would seem more prominent, while the galbanum and oakmoss would become a discreet green shadow beneath freshly moisturized skin. The 0.74-ounce Bath Oil would have been warmer and more enveloping, with the sandalwood, patchouli, and ambergris-like base seeming to bloom in bathwater and linger afterward as a silky floral-woody aura.

The bath and powder products would make Zen feel especially refined and distinctly mid-century. The 3.5-ounce Bath Powder, 5-ounce and 8-ounce Bath Crystals, and Dusting Powder would emphasize the fragrance’s orris, violet, mimosa, and musk facets—the delicate, dry, almost vintage face-powder aspect of Zen. Bath crystals would release the brighter citrus-green and floral tones into warm water, while a dusting powder would leave a softer, more muted finish: clean skin, dry petals, pale woods, and the faintest mossy shadow. The soap would naturally be the crispest and most fleeting form, emphasizing orange blossom, floral cleanliness, and the cool green sparkle of the composition.

The 1980 solid perfume, housed in its black fan-shaped compact, would have been Zen at its most intimate and collectible. Solid perfume is carried in waxes and emollients rather than alcohol, so it typically suppresses the volatile bergamot and green flash while accentuating the softer materials. On the skin, it would likely smell like a quiet residue of Zen: violet-orris powder, warm woods, a little patchouli and oakmoss, and a delicate floral memory rather than a projecting bouquet. The Fancy Powder, a pressed face powder, would not smell quite like a perfume application at all; its scent would be deliberately sheer, cosmetic, and close to the face—suggesting the powdery violet, orris, and floral-musky side of Zen in a way that complemented makeup rather than competing with fragrance.

 

Spirit of Zen:

Introduced in 1987, The Spirit of Zen was Shiseido’s more sensual, long-lasting interpretation of the Zen idea, designed especially for the North American market. Its promise was tranquility without austerity: a polished floral fragrance meant for women whose lives were busy and outwardly demanding, but who wanted their perfume to create a private feeling of calm. Unlike Classic Zen’s cool green-floral, mossy-powder character, Spirit of Zen appears to have been a radiant floral-woody composition. Diffusive flowers, delicate fruity accents, chrysanthemum, creamy white blossoms, rare woods, and mosses gave it a presence that was elegant and enveloping rather than merely fresh.

The fragrance would open with a soft fruity shimmer—not a candy-like fruit note, but a translucent, petal-bright sweetness that lifts the floral accord and makes it feel modern. Chrysanthemum gives this opening a particularly distinctive character: dry, aromatic, slightly bitter-green, and faintly herbal, as though the cool scent of crushed leaves and pollen were woven through the fruit. It would prepare the way for lily of the valley, which contributes a dewy, fresh, green-white floral effect. Since lily of the valley does not yield a practical natural perfume oil, its scent is recreated through an accord of aroma materials; this gives it its beautifully transparent, bell-flower freshness and lets it glow above the richer flowers.

At the heart, gardenia, tuberose, and orange blossom create the fragrance’s sensuality. Gardenia would smell creamy, velvety, and slightly green, suggesting white petals with a lush, buttery softness. Tuberose would bring a more nocturnal bloom: waxy white petals, sweet nectar, warm skin, and a discreetly indolic, almost animalic richness. Orange blossom adds brightness to both, its honeyed floral radiance keeping the bouquet luminous rather than heavy. Together, these white flowers would give Spirit of Zen its “exotic” character—not incense in a literal religious sense, but an impression of flowers glowing in warm air, softened by woods and the faint dryness of moss.

The rare scented woods and mosses would provide its long-lasting structure. The woods would likely read as smooth, creamy, and polished rather than smoky or rugged, giving the flowers a silken, skin-like surface on which to rest. Mosses would bring a quieter counterweight: dry, shadowy, slightly earthy and forest-like, with the elegant bitterness associated with classic chypre perfumery. This balance is why Spirit of Zen could be described as delicate yet enduring. Its florals would remain apparent for hours, but their persistence would be supported by the woods and mosses rather than by blunt sweetness or overwhelming perfume strength.

The 0.67-ounce Eau de Parfum Pure Mist purse spray would have been the most convenient expression of this lingering floral aura. Its fine mist would place a luminous veil of chrysanthemum, lily of the valley, orange blossom, and white flowers over the skin, with the woods becoming more apparent as the day progressed. Small enough to carry, it would allow the wearer to refresh the fragrance without changing its quiet, elegant character. The larger 2.7-ounce Pure Mist Spray would offer the same airy application in a more generous format, suitable for scenting the body, hair, or clothing with a wider, more diffusive cloud.

The 2.7-ounce Eau de Parfum Splash would likely have worn more intimately but with greater depth. Applied by hand to the neck, wrists, and décolletage, it would allow the creamy gardenia and tuberose to settle directly into the warmth of the skin. The fruity brightness and chrysanthemum would fade first, leaving a softer white-floral warmth touched with polished woods and moss. It would be the most traditional and luxurious way to wear Spirit of Zen: less airy than the mist, more personal, and more likely to reveal the fragrance’s slow, sensual drydown.

The 8.4-ounce Moisturizing Body Lotion would turn Spirit of Zen into a softer, creamier skin scent. In lotion form, the sharper green and fruity effects would be subdued, while orange blossom, gardenia, lily of the valley, and the smooth woody base would feel more prominent. It would leave the skin smelling freshly moisturized, floral, and quietly warm—ideal beneath the eau de parfum, where it could help extend the fragrance’s presence without making it louder.

The richer 8.9-ounce Body Treatment Cream would have been more sumptuous still. Its heavier emollient base would make the fragrance feel warmer and more velvety, emphasizing gardenia’s creamy petals, tuberose’s soft floral sensuality, and the lingering woods and mosses. It would not project like perfume; instead, it would create a close, luxurious aura, released gradually as the skin warms. This would be the most cocooning form of Spirit of Zen, suited to evening or to quiet personal rituals.

The tiny 0.34-ounce Perfumed Gel would offer a concentrated, cooling touch of scent. Gel textures tend to make a floral fragrance feel fresh and immediate at first, so the chrysanthemum, lily of the valley, and delicate fruit facets would likely be especially apparent on application. As it dried down, the white flowers and woods would remain as a discreet, close-to-the-skin scent. It could be used on pulse points or layered with lotion and eau de parfum for a more durable effect.

Finally, the Spirit of Zen Room Fragrance, a potpourri in sold form, translated the perfume from a personal accessory into an atmosphere. Rather than reproducing the intimate skin warmth of the eau de parfum, it would likely emphasize the more spacious aspects of the composition: airy florals, dry chrysanthemum, orange blossom brightness, and the serene hush of scented woods and mosses. In a room, it would suggest a polished, softly floral interior—calm but not empty, sensual but never intrusive—and express the collection’s central idea of creating a moment of tranquility within modern life.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Around 1992, Shiseido appears to have streamlined and reformulated its fragrance offerings, including Zen, to reflect changing consumer tastes, updated production practices, and the increasing use of modern perfumery materials. The original Zen Pure Parfum was discontinued, ending the most concentrated and richly nuanced expression of the classic green-floral composition; subsequent versions would likely have felt cleaner, brighter, and less mossy or animalic than the vintage formula.  It is important to note that this version was still housed in the black bottles.

At roughly the same time, The Spirit of Zen line—introduced only a few years earlier as a longer-lasting, sensual floral for the North American market—also seems to have been withdrawn. No firm discontinuation date has been documented, but its disappearance from later listings strongly suggests that it was discontinued around 1992, leaving both the original parfum and Spirit of Zen as comparatively short-lived chapters in Shiseido’s fragrance history.

 

Zen's Second Version:

At the beginning of the new millennium, Shiseido reimagined Zen as a fragrance of modern serenity. The 2000 reformulation, now often called White Zen to distinguish it from the original black-bottle version, arrived in sculptural white packaging that looked toward the future rather than to the lacquer-inspired classicism of 1964. Its purpose was equally modern: Zen was conceived as a prestige floral woody musk that could suggest inner balance amid the pressures of contemporary life. As Shiseido executive Debbie Diamond expressed it, the perfume was intended to recognize “the connection of all things” and bring peace and awareness to the heart.

This new Zen was created by Nathalie Lorson of International Flavors & Fragrances and positioned as an example of Shiseido’s work in aromachology—the study of how fragrance influences emotion, perception, and a sense of well-being. The idea was not that Zen functioned as medicine or that it could treat stress clinically, but that carefully selected scent materials might help create a subjective impression of clarity, calm, warmth, or mental focus. Shiseido’s own research and marketing described the fragrance as a bridge between Japanese scent traditions and modern sensory science: an invisible luxury intended to feel restorative as well as beautiful.

One of the technology-led materials was modified valerian. In its raw state, valerian root can smell quite earthy, medicinal, animalic, and even slightly sweaty—far too rough for the tranquil floral image Shiseido wanted. Through modification and careful use in the accord, its grounding root-like character was retained while its more pungent facets were softened. Shiseido stated that its testing associated the material’s aroma with reduced stress-hormone levels in saliva. Whether or not one accepts that conclusion as broadly applicable, the perfumery purpose is clear: modified valerian gives the fragrance an understated sense of earth, stillness, and quiet stability beneath the brighter floral notes.

Shiseido similarly used a Ryukyu kyara accord to evoke the contemplative side of Japanese incense culture. Kyara is the most prized category of fragrant agarwood, revered in Japan for its deep, refined, resinous-woody scent. Rather than relying on costly and variable quantities of literal kyara, Shiseido developed a proprietary aroma reconstruction that suggested its effect: polished dark wood, subtle balsamic warmth, a faint sweetness, and the dry, meditative atmosphere of fine incense—without turning Zen into a smoky incense perfume. The company reported that brain-wave studies associated the kyara scent with increased alpha-wave activity, which it interpreted as a more relaxed, receptive mental state. In fragrance terms, the accord gives White Zen a quiet warmth and spiritual gravity beneath its cool florals.

The composition was designed around contrasts that support this idea of balance. Gentian and hyacinth provide a cool, green, water-fresh opening, while the valerian accord grounds that freshness with a subtle rooty undertone. Eastern moss and hair-cap moss create an impression of shaded gardens, damp stone, and woodland stillness. Violet and iris soften this greenery with a pale, powdery floral texture, while the warm musk in the base gives the entire fragrance a gentle, skin-like finish. The result is not a literal temple scent, nor a copy of historical Buddhist incense, but a modern perfumer’s interpretation of quietness: transparent flowers, mossy air, smooth woods, and warmth held close to the body.

Perhaps its most futuristic technology was Space Rose. In 1998, the miniature rose Overnight Scentsation was grown aboard Space Shuttle Discovery during the STS-95 mission, which included Japanese astronaut Chiaki Mukai and NASA astronaut John Glenn. The important point is that the rose’s scent was not brought home as a conventional extracted essential oil. Instead, its airborne aroma was sampled and analyzed by headspace technology: a technique that captures the volatile molecules surrounding a living flower without destroying it. Perfumers then recreated that molecular profile as a fragrance accord. Microgravity altered the flower’s production and release of aromatic compounds, producing a scent profile different from that of roses grown on Earth.  

Space Rose therefore gave Zen an abstract, luminous rose impression rather than a traditional rich rose oil. It would have contributed a sheer, airy floral radiance—something like pale petals suspended in cool air—while the synthetic reconstruction allowed the perfumer to make that fleeting effect stable, repeatable, and compatible with the violet, iris, moss, bamboo, and kyara accords. With White Zen, Shiseido used technology not to make the perfume feel artificial, but to create a fragrance that seemed both natural and otherworldly: a quiet garden imagined through Japanese aesthetics, sensory research, and the optimism of the space age.

2nd Version's Fragrance Composition:

The second version (reformulated) from 2000:

• Top notes: gentian, bergamot, wallflower, hyacinth, and modified valerian
• Middle notes: lilac, Space Rose accord, oakmoss, eastern and hair cap moss, violet and iris
• Base notes: amber, tonka bean, bamboo, pear wood, patchouli, musk and ryukyu kyara

2nd Version's Scent Profile:

White Zen begins with the cool, slightly austere beauty of gentian. It smells less like a conventional sweet flower than a blue-violet bloom growing among wet roots and mountain grasses: bitter, green, earthy, and faintly medicinal. Bergamot brings the light. The finest traditional bergamot oil comes from Calabria, Italy, where the sea-influenced climate gives the peel its uniquely radiant mixture of citrus brightness, floral softness, and pleasantly bitter zest. It freshens gentian’s darkness, as though a clear shaft of sunlight has entered the garden.

Wallflower lends a warmer floral shading, somewhere between a clove-spiced carnation, honeyed petals, and dry spring air. It is generally represented by a perfumery accord rather than a literal essential oil, since its fragile floral scent is not commonly available as a dependable natural extract. Hyacinth adds the watery green smell of a flower stalk freshly cut for a vase: cool petals, damp leaves, faint spice, and the clean chill of early spring. Like wallflower, hyacinth is usually recreated through an accord. Carefully selected aroma materials give it a more vivid, lasting green-floral presence than a natural extraction could provide.

The unusual modified valerian accord gives the opening its grounded, quietly meditative character. Raw valerian root can be intensely earthy, medicinal, animalic, and rather rough; Shiseido’s modified material was designed to retain its rooty, calming depth while smoothing away its more pungent aspects. It does not make Zen smell medicinal. Instead, it provides a muted suggestion of cool soil, dried roots, and tranquil herbal warmth beneath the gentian and hyacinth. This is one of the materials associated with Shiseido’s aromachology concept: used not as therapy, but as part of an aesthetic impression of stillness and balance.

The heart opens into a pale, misted floral world. Lilac smells like spring air around purple blossoms—cool, lightly creamy, pollen-like, and green at the stem. Lilac flowers do not give perfumery a practical natural oil, so the note is built from floral molecules and natural supports. This is an advantage rather than a limitation: the constructed lilac accord can reproduce the flower’s fleeting, breezy character and hold it in the composition long after real lilac would have vanished.

The luminous Space Rose accord gives White Zen its most futuristic flower. It was reconstructed from headspace research into the scent of Overnight Scentsation roses grown aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery in 1998. Rather than being a conventional rose absolute or rose oil, it is an aroma-chemical reconstruction of the volatile molecules observed around the living rose. The effect is likely sheer and transparent: cool petals, a faint rosy sweetness, moist air, and a quality of weightless diffusion. It does not replace natural rose; it expresses a different idea of rose—less velvety or wine-dark, more luminous, airy, and almost suspended in space.

Oakmoss gives the florals their shaded, classical foundation. Its scent is dry, velvety, bitter, and forest-like: lichen on bark, damp leaves, old paper, and the quiet darkness of a woodland floor. The natural material traditionally helped define chypre perfumes, although modern formulas must use restricted moss extracts or reconstructions because of allergen regulations. Eastern moss and hair-cap moss deepen this garden impression with a more mineral, humid, and coniferous feeling—cool stones, low green growth, shaded roots, and moist air. These names may indicate specialized accords rather than literal large-scale botanical extracts, but their purpose is unmistakable: they turn the floral heart inward, making it feel silent and contemplative.

Violet softens this mossiness with a delicate purple-flower powderiness. Violet blossoms themselves yield very little usable oil, so their characteristic perfume is traditionally made with ionones and related materials. These aroma chemicals smell gently floral, powdery, woody, and slightly sweet; they create the recognizable old-fashioned-violet effect while also blending naturally with iris. Iris, more accurately the scent of aged iris rhizome or orris, brings cool rootiness, butteriness, and the subtle scent of fine face powder. Together, violet and iris make the heart feel smooth and tactile—like pale silk, cosmetic powder, and petals laid over moss.

The base begins to warm with amber and tonka bean. Amber is not a single raw material but a constructed accord, traditionally suggesting golden resins, balsams, warmth, and skin-like persistence. Here, it would act as a soft glow rather than a heavy oriental effect. Tonka bean contributes natural coumarin, with its dry hay, almond, vanilla, tobacco, and faintly powdery facets. It makes the floral heart feel warmer and more comforting, as though sunlight has reached the cool moss beneath it.

Bamboo supplies an impression of green transparency: wet stalks, pale wood, leaf sap, and clean air. Bamboo is typically an accord, because it is not a conventional distilled perfume essence; modern materials allow perfumers to create its watery, smooth, vegetal quality without making a fragrance smell aquatic or sharp. Pear wood adds a delicately sweet, pale woody note—not the juicy scent of pear fruit, but the subtle, almost fruity warmth of a freshly cut branch. Together, they give White Zen its characteristic uncluttered, Japanese-inspired sense of space.

Patchouli quietly darkens the pale woods. Traditionally associated with Indonesia, especially Sumatra, high-quality patchouli can smell deep, earthy, camphoraceous, cocoa-like, and damply woody. In White Zen, it is not used in the loud, bohemian manner of a 1970s patchouli perfume. Instead, it acts like dark soil beneath a garden: it strengthens the mosses, adds quiet depth, and stops the bamboo and pear wood from becoming too weightless.

Musk gives the drydown warmth, diffusion, and a softly skin-like finish. In a modern perfume it would almost certainly be a synthetic musk, rather than animal musk: a clean, lasting material that can make florals bloom, smooth rough woody edges, and leave a gentle veil on the skin. Finally, Ryukyu kyara evokes the most precious category of Japanese fragrant agarwood. Real kyara is rare, costly, and highly variable, so White Zen’s effect was likely created through a proprietary aromatic accord. It suggests polished dark wood, faint resin, delicate balsamic sweetness, and the refined quietness of Japanese incense—without becoming smoky or overtly oud-like.

The whole fragrance therefore feels like a modern garden in meditation: bitter gentian brightened by Calabrian bergamot; wet hyacinth and imagined wallflower over cool roots; lilac, space-born rose, violet, and iris drifting above deep moss; then bamboo, pear wood, tonka, amber, patchouli, musk, and kyara wood slowly warming the skin. Its synthetic accords do not compete with the naturalistic elements. They make the impossible flowers bloom, give the Space Rose its gravity-free transparency, and render the elusive stillness of bamboo, moss, and sacred wood in a form that can last for hours.

2nd Version's Product Line:

The second Zen collection extended the 2000 fragrance’s white, quietly futuristic identity into a small personal ritual. Its bottle, designed by Tetsuo Togazawa, was conceived as two hands meeting palm to palm: a rounded white form that suggests stillness, connection, and protection rather than display. The unadorned whiteness gave the packaging an almost sculptural purity, expressing what Togazawa described as an “inner-feeling of transparency.” In this context, the fragrance was not simply worn; it was layered through the body, bath, and home as a modern interpretation of calm.

The 0.33-ounce Perfumed Essence would have been the collection’s most intimate expression. “Essence” generally suggests a concentrated, close-wearing format, possibly richer or more emollient in feel than an alcohol-based spray. On the skin, the volatile green sparkle of bergamot, gentian, and hyacinth would be quieter, allowing the powdery violet-and-iris heart to emerge quickly. Its drydown would feel especially soft and personal: mossy air, bamboo, warm musk, tonka, and the polished incense-wood impression of kyara. It would smell like Zen reduced to its calmest, most private signature.

The limited-edition 1.6-ounce Parfum Aromatique would have been the most concentrated and luxurious alcohol-based form of White Zen. Its opening would be less brisk than the eau de parfum, but more textural and enduring. The gentian and green florals would soon become veiled by iris, violet, and moss, while the amber, patchouli, musk, and kyara accord would remain for many hours as a warm, powdery, quietly woody aura. The term aromatique underscored Shiseido’s aromachology concept: not a clinical promise, but a fragrance designed to suggest focus, equilibrium, and composure.

The 1.6-ounce Eau de Parfum Aromatique Splash would have offered much of the parfum’s character with a lighter, more fluid application. Dotted or smoothed onto the wrists, neck, and décolletage, it would make the fragrance feel more skin-warm and less diffusive than a spray. The rose-like Space Rose accord, lilac, and hyacinth would likely appear softer and more translucent, while the mosses and pale woods would reveal themselves gradually. It would be a contemplative, traditional way to wear Zen—more like a private ritual than a visible plume of scent.

The larger 3.3-ounce Eau de Parfum Aromatique Splash would have invited a more generous application. Used after bathing, it would create a broader veil of green florals and cool powder: bergamot and gentian brightening the first moments, then violet, iris, and moss settling into a serene, softly woody finish. The increased quantity does not make the fragrance intrinsically stronger than the smaller splash, but it permits lavish use, allowing the scent to surround the body more fully and develop its bamboo, pear wood, musk, and kyara facets over time.

The 3.3-ounce Eau de Parfum Aromatique Spray would have been the most outwardly radiant version. A fine spray disperses fragrance more evenly, so its transparent florals, Space Rose accord, green mosses, and bamboo would seem brighter and more atmospheric at first. It would create a clean, suspended cloud rather than a dense perfume trail—like walking through cool garden air—before drawing closer to the skin as the iris, tonka, musk, patchouli, and kyara wood emerge. This would be the ideal format for those who wanted Zen’s calming freshness to be immediately perceptible, yet still elegant and understated.

The 50-gram Pressed Body Powder would emphasize the perfume’s most delicate cosmetic facets. Pressed powder naturally softens the sharper bergamot, gentian, and green notes, leaving the wearer with a dry, velvety impression of violet, iris, soft musk, and warm pale woods. It would smell less like a full perfume application and more like freshly powdered skin touched by a trace of moss and incense wood. Applied after bathing or over body cream, it would provide a discreet, polished finish and gently extend the fragrance without adding obvious projection.

The 200 ml Body Cream would translate Zen into its most comforting texture. Cream tends to round off floral sharpness and enhance warmth, so the bamboo, pear wood, amber, tonka, and musk would likely seem especially prominent. The violet and iris would become softer and more skin-like, while the moss and patchouli would remain as a quiet green shadow. Worn alone, it would leave a close, freshly moisturized scent; layered beneath the eau de parfum, it would give the fragrance greater depth and persistence.

The Shower Gel would offer the brightest, most fleeting form of Zen. In warm water, the bergamot, hyacinth, and fresh green aspects would rise first, producing a clean, lightly floral, almost watery freshness. The deeper moss, iris, and kyara nuances would be more restrained, but a subtle musky-woody softness would remain on the skin after rinsing. It would transform the fragrance’s “purifying” theme into a literal bathing experience: less about perfume intensity than about beginning the day with a feeling of clarity.

The accompanying incense set, containing eighteen sticks and a ceramic tray, carried Zen beyond personal fragrance into the atmosphere of the home. Burned incense would not reproduce the eau de parfum exactly; heat would naturally emphasize the dry, woody, mossy, and kyara-like aspects of the composition. The bamboo, amber, patchouli, and musk would likely read as a warm, clean, softly resinous background, while the floral notes would become more abstract—less like identifiable blossoms than a pale, fragrant haze. Presented in the same restrained white aesthetic, it completed the collection’s central idea: Zen as a quiet moment of scent, skin, air, and reflection.

 

Fate of the 2nd Fragrance:

The second Zen, widely known as White Zen for its softly sculptural white packaging, was discontinued in 2006. Its departure ended Shiseido’s millennium-era interpretation of Zen: a translucent floral woody musk created by Nathalie Lorson that paired gentian, hyacinth, violet, iris, moss, bamboo, musk, and a kyara-wood accord with Shiseido’s aromachology-inspired message of calm and balance. Although it had moved far from the mossy black-bottle classic of 1964, White Zen developed a following for its quietly unusual character—cool, powdery, woody, and serene rather than overtly sweet or conventionally floral.

Third Version:

Launched in 2007, Shiseido’s third Zen was created by Michel Almairac of Robertet. It drew upon the enduring mystery of the blue rose—a flower long associated with rarity, imagination, and the impossible. Rather than preserving a literal extinct bloom, Zen translated that elusive ideal into perfume: the image of a rose rendered cool, luminous, and slightly unreal, suspended between nature and fantasy.”

3rd Version's Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? The 3rd version of Zen is classified as a floral woody musk fragrance for women. 

• Top notes: bergamot, orange, grapefruit, pineapple, blue rose, hyacinth
• Middle notes: red apple, white freesia, gardenia, lily of the valley, lotus blossom, violet, Chinese rose
• Base notes: marine plants, patchouli, cedarwood, musk, white musk, amber, frankincense

3rd Version's Scent Profile:

The 2007 Zen, created by Michel Almairac, is a radiant floral woody musk that takes the house’s Zen idea in a brighter, more openly sensual direction. Where the 2000 White Zen was cool, mossy, and meditative, this version begins in a burst of citrus and fruit, fills out into a luminous bouquet of transparent flowers, then settles into warm woods, musks, amber, and incense. It is constructed like light passing through a garden: vivid at first, floral at its center, and softly glowing long after the first brilliance has faded.

The opening begins with bergamot, whose most celebrated perfumery oil comes from Calabria in southern Italy. Calabrian bergamot is prized because it is not simply lemony; it has a bitter, sparkling, subtly floral quality that can make a perfume seem polished and alive. Here it is joined by orange, which adds rounder, sunnier citrus pulp and peel, and grapefruit, which gives a tart, slightly sulfurous, brisk bite—like breaking open the pale pink flesh of the fruit. These three citruses make Zen feel immediate and modern, but the addition of pineapple shifts the effect away from traditional cologne. Pineapple in perfume is usually an accord, built from fruity esters and green, sulfurous, or lactonic materials rather than from a simple natural pineapple essence. It brings a juicy, sparkling, tropical sweetness and gives the opening a flash of playful brightness.

The mysterious blue rose is necessarily an imaginative perfumery accord. A naturally blue rose does not provide a conventional perfume oil, and even a genetically modified blue rose would not produce a commercially practical “blue rose essence.” The note is therefore created from rose materials and cool floral molecules, often with violet, watery, green, or lightly metallic facets to make rose feel bluer, paler, and more ethereal. It does not smell like a dark red rose dripping with nectar; it suggests a rose seen at twilight—cool petals, silvery air, and a faintly unreal floral glow. Hyacinth carries that coolness forward with its wet green stems, waxy petals, and spring-garden freshness. Because hyacinth is not normally available as a faithful distilled oil, it too is built as an accord, allowing perfumers to heighten its dewy, green, floral character.

At the heart, red apple continues the fruit theme in a crisper, more succulent form. It is generally an aroma-chemical construction: juicy, fresh, slightly tart, and often touched with rosy or green facets to recreate the scent of apple skin and freshly bitten fruit. This brightness is softened by white freesia, a delicate, peppery, clean floral note. Freesia does not yield a widely used natural essence, so its scent is reconstructed from floral materials; the resulting accord can be transparent, airy, and lightly citrus-floral, helping the fragrance’s fruit notes feel polished rather than syrupy.

Gardenia introduces a creamier, more sensual white flower. Its effect is velvety and petal-rich, with a green edge and a suggestion of warm, buttery blossoms. Although gardenia extracts can exist, its scent in fine fragrance is commonly supported or recreated with natural floral materials and synthetics because the living flower’s perfume is complex and difficult to capture. Here, that constructed gardenia accord gives the bouquet body and softness. Lily of the valley brings a different white-floral texture: cool, dewy, bell-like, and clean. It has no practical natural perfumery oil, so it must be composed from aroma materials. Those synthetic materials are essential to its effect, allowing Zen to evoke the flower’s transparent freshness and slightly soapy innocence.

Lotus blossom adds an aquatic-floral hush. Its perfume is often imagined through an accord rather than a literal flower extraction: watery petals, soft green stems, faint tea-like facets, and a pale, meditative floral sweetness. It prevents the bouquet from becoming too dense, giving it the feeling of flowers reflected on water. Violet introduces a cool, powdery purple nuance, usually built with ionones and related aroma chemicals because violet flowers give very little usable natural oil. These materials smell floral, slightly woody, soft, and cosmetic, and they help connect the blue-rose fantasy to the fragrance’s musky base.

The listed Chinese rose gives the heart a fuller, more classical rose presence. The phrase is best understood as a stylistic reference rather than proof that the perfume used rose oil sourced exclusively from China. It suggests a rose accord with a delicate, fresh, perhaps tea-like character—less dark and jammy than a heavy rose absolute, and more graceful than overtly fruity. Natural rose materials give a perfume depth, petal complexity, and a living floral unevenness; synthetic rose molecules enhance that effect by adding diffusion, freshness, and an airy impression that lasts longer on the skin. In Zen, the rose seems designed to unite the juicy fruit, blue-rose fantasy, gardenia, and lotus into one bright floral field.

The base begins with marine plants, an accord rather than a literal extract of ocean vegetation. It evokes salt-wet leaves, seaweed, cool water, mineral air, and the faintly green scent of an ocean shoreline. This aquatic-vegetal effect gives Zen a modern, expansive quality and echoes the transparency of lotus. Patchouli then grounds it with a darker, earthy note. Fine patchouli has traditionally been associated with Indonesia, particularly Sumatra, where it can smell damply woody, camphoraceous, cocoa-like, and rich. In this fragrance it is likely restrained, functioning as depth beneath the fruit and flowers rather than as a dominant earthy statement.

Cedarwood adds dry, clean, pencil-shaving brightness and gives the base a more tailored, architectural shape. Musk and white musk create the fragrance’s soft, lasting aura. These would be modern synthetic musks: materials chosen not to smell animalic, but to suggest warm, clean skin, laundered fabric, and a smooth, almost cashmere-like softness. White musk is generally the more transparent and freshly washed impression, while the broader musk accord gives body and persistence. Together, they blur the edges of the fruit and flowers so that Zen feels luminous rather than sharply segmented.

Amber gives the drydown a warm golden glow. In perfumery, amber is an accord rather than a single material: a constructed impression of resin, warmth, soft sweetness, and lingering skin-like depth. Finally, frankincense gives the composition its quiet shadow. Genuine frankincense is distilled from the resin of Boswellia trees; prized Omani material, particularly Hojari frankincense, is often valued for its especially bright, lemony, silvery-resinous clarity. Since no particular origin is published for Zen, it is safest to understand the note generally: dry incense smoke, pale resin, cool mineral air, and a faint peppery brightness. It prevents the base from becoming merely sweet or musky, lending the perfume a final sense of mystery and poise.

The whole effect is a vivid contrast of sunlit fruit, impossible blue petals, cool watery flowers, and warm incense-wooded skin. Bergamot, orange, grapefruit, pineapple, and apple make it bright and extroverted; blue rose, hyacinth, freesia, lily of the valley, lotus, violet, and Chinese rose make it transparent and floral; patchouli, cedar, amber, musk, marine plants, and frankincense make it linger with a serene, slightly sensual depth. The synthetic accords are crucial to its beauty: they create flowers too delicate to distill, recreate the fantastical blue rose, give the fruit its vivid sparkle, and make the fragrance’s airy, luminous character possible.

Product Line:

The third Zen collection presented Michel Almairac’s 2007 floral woody musk in a square bottle designed by Taisuke Kikuchi, its gold-toned presence inspired by the Japanese golden room of the tea ceremony. The shape is more graphic and architectural than the rounded White Zen bottle: a small, luminous block that suggests a screened room catching warm light. It suits this version of Zen, which is brighter and more contemporary than its predecessors—sparkling fruit and citrus at first, transparent flowers in the heart, and a warm base of woods, musk, amber, and frankincense.

The 30 ml Eau de Parfum offers the same composition as the larger bottles, not a weaker formula, but in a compact size suited to a more personal application. A few sprays would make the bergamot, grapefruit, orange, pineapple, and apple facets feel vivid and immediate, followed by the cool blue-rose, freesia, hyacinth, and lotus effects. As it settles, the musk, cedarwood, amber, patchouli, and frankincense would remain close to the skin in a smooth, softly sensual trail. It is the most convenient way to wear Zen as a small, bright daily luxury.

The 50 ml Eau de Parfum is the classic personal size: generous enough to wear regularly while still feeling considered and intimate. It would allow the perfume’s full transition to be appreciated—from juicy citrus and fruit, through the airy floral bouquet of gardenia, lily of the valley, violet, lotus, and Chinese rose, into the warmer wood-and-musk base. On skin, this Zen would feel polished rather than heavy: fruity at the opening, floral and transparent at the center, then gently ambery and incense-touched as the day progresses.

The 100 ml Eau de Parfum gives the wearer the same concentration in a more lavish format. The larger bottle does not alter the scent itself, but it encourages broader application—on the neck, wrists, hair, and clothing—so that Zen’s bright, diffusive character can surround the wearer more fully. Sprayed generously, the marine-plant accord, lotus, blue rose, and pale musks would make the fragrance seem more spacious and airy, while patchouli, cedar, amber, and frankincense create a warm, lingering halo.

The 100 ml and 6.7-ounce Shower Gels translate Zen into its freshest, most fleeting form. In warm water, the bergamot, orange, grapefruit, and green-water floral effects would rise first, giving the shower a bright, almost luminous feeling. The creamy gardenia, lily of the valley, and lotus would become softer and soapier, while the deeper amber, musk, patchouli, and incense notes would remain only as a discreet warmth after rinsing. The shower gel would not replace the eau de parfum’s long drydown; instead, it would prepare the skin with a clean, lightly floral, citrus-bright version of Zen.

The 100 ml Perfumed Body Cream would be the collection’s most comforting, skin-centered interpretation. Cream naturally mutes the perfume’s sharpest citrus and fruit notes while emphasizing its softer floral and base materials. On moisturized skin, the freesia, gardenia, lotus, violet, and rose facets would feel creamy and velvety, while cedarwood, white musk, amber, and frankincense would become more prominent and enduring. Worn alone, it would leave a quiet, polished floral-woody scent; layered beneath the eau de parfum, it would make Zen feel warmer, smoother, and more long-lasting without making it louder.

Zen Concentrated for Women (2009):  

A limited edition flanker 'Zen'. A floral oriental fragrance for women. Available as 50ml Eau de Parfum. Discontinued.

• Top notes: magnolia, grapefruit, bergamot, peach, rose, grape, pineapple
• Middle notes: jasmine, freesia, gardenia, violet, hyacinth, lily of the valley, lotus blossom, China rose
• Base notes: sea water accord, leather, vanilla, patchouli, cedar, musk, amber and incense

 .

 

Zen for Men (2009):

Woody spices, exotic fruits, and masculine musk with a touch of leather and patchouli—a blend of endless passion. Available as 50 and 100 ml Eau de Toilette.  Zen by Shiseido, Blue plus silver: -the masculine colors- of the bottle symbolize life and energy. Expression of infinite possibilities.

• Top notes: kumquat, orange, bergamot, Nashi pear,
• Middle notes: violet, rhododendron, nutmeg
• Base notes: leather, patchouli and musk

Zen Purple (2010) 

A limited edition flanker 'Zen'. Zen Purple was inspired by a summer night.

The fruity floral fragrance was created by Michel Almairac. Available as 50 ml Eau de Parfum Discontinued.

• Top notes: freesia, yuzu, lime, lily-of-the-valley
• Middle notes: tuberose, almond blossom, lotus, mimosa, jasmine, rose
• Base notes: musk, Virginia cedar, amber

Zen White Heat for Women (2011) 

A limited edition flanker to Zen for women. Available as 50 ml Eau de Parfum. Discontinued. It is classified as a floral woody musk fragrance for women." Zen White Heat Edition. Awaken to the joy of infinite possibility. Pure and sensual - experience a chic floral bouquet."

• Top notes: bergamot, black currant, raspberry, coriander
• Middle notes: peony, magnolia, freesia, blue rose, hyacinth, jasmine
• Base notes: patchouli, sandalwood, musk and amber

 

Zen White Heat for Men  (2011) - Limited edition flanker to Zen for men."Zen White Heat Edition for Men. Fresh yet spicy. Wickedly seductive from start to finish." This woody aromatic fragrance for men is available as a 50ml Eau de Parfum. Discontinued.

• Top notes: mandarin, lime, mint, hassaku citrus, Granny Smith green apple, Nashi pear
• Middle notes: rhododendron, juniper, cardamom
• Base notes: green ginger, absinthe, sage, sandalwood and musk

 

 

Zen Secret Bloom (2012):

This the second of three limited editions launched to celebrate Shiseido's 140th anniversary. Created by Michel Almairac, this elegant floral chypre fragrance for women blends together jasmine, freesia, patchouli, incense and black vanilla for floral freshness and mysterious warmth. It was available as a 50 ml Eau de Parfum Intense. Discontinued.

• Top notes: pink pepper, blue rose, mandarin orange, grapefruit, bergamot
• Middle notes: freesia, jasmine, gardenia
• Base notes: patchouli, black vanilla, incense, tonka bean, musk, sandalwood, vetiver

 

Zen Gold Elixir (2013) - A limited edition edp created by Michel Almairac; with notes of jasmine sambac, magnolia, vanilla, patchouli and amber. Presented in a 50 ml bottle. Disc.

Zen Sun for women (2013) - A fresh sparkling fruity floral edt Fraîche created by Michel Almairac, with bergamot, mango, cherry blossom, musk and amber. Presented in a red 100 ml bottle, pink ombre to clear. Disc.

Zen Sun for men (2013) - An aquatic woody citrus edt Fraîche created by Françoise Caron, with yuzu, white pepper, mint, bergamot, amber and woods. Presented in a blue 100 ml bottle. Disc.

Zen Moon Essence (2014) -  A woody floral edp created by Michel Almairac; with notes of bergamot, pineapple, grapefruit, rose, pear, jasmine, magnolia, freesia, tuberose, violet, raspberry, patchouli, cashmere wood, white musk, vanilla and amber. Ramped up white flowers from the 2007 edition, with a new base of warm patchouli and amber.  Presented in a 50 ml bottle.

Zen Sun for women (2014) -  A limited edition fruity floral edt Fraîche, created by Michel Almairac, with notes of bergamot, mango, cherry blossom, musk and amber. Presented in a 100 ml bottle

Zen Sun for men (2014) - A limited edition aquatic woody citrus edt Fraîche, created by Françoise Caron, with notes of yuzu, white pepper, mint, bergamot, amber and woods. Presented in a 100 ml bottle.