This wasn’t just a matter of resale; it was an underground operation. Counterfeiters would have boxes and labels professionally printed, sometimes using slightly altered logos or brand fonts, then refill inexpensive generic perfume into nondescript bottles. These were presented as “rare editions,” “European exclusives,” or “discontinued treasures,” often with a vague backstory. In some cases, the fakes were surprisingly convincing. In others, they bordered on the absurd—misapplied branding, incorrect packaging types, or invented fragrance names altogether.
To address this enduring problem, I have compiled a comprehensive guide to vintage perfume counterfeits, spanning from the 1920s through the 1970s. This guide is the result of meticulous research and firsthand investigation—much of the information I uncovered is not available elsewhere. It aims to demystify the grey areas of vintage perfume collecting and answer questions about those elusive and supposedly “one-off” bottles that raise eyebrows among seasoned collectors.
A large portion of the guide is dedicated to what I term “fantasy fakes.” This is my own classification for bottles and perfume names that were never part of any legitimate perfume house’s catalog. These include items like “Ce Soir Ou Jamais” labeled as a Christian Dior fragrance—despite no historical record of such a release by the brand. These fakes often emerge from rebottlers or hobbyists attempting to cash in on the allure of French couture by crafting their own interpretations. While some of these fantasy fakes were made with aesthetic care, they still mislead buyers and distort perfume history.
My guide also explores topics like rebottlers—companies or individuals who legally or semi-legally decanted genuine perfumes into new containers—and the false pricing schemes that accompany many counterfeits. Whether it’s inflated provenance or concocted rarity, these tactics manipulate collectors into spending far more than the object’s true worth.
Before investing hundreds—or even thousands—on what appears to be a rare “Paul Poiret” bottle or an obscure house with a famous name slapped onto a sticker, I urge collectors to consult this guide first. You may find surprises. You may find answers. And perhaps, you’ll avoid being taken in by perfume’s more shadowy past.
Rebottlers and Outright Counterfeits:
Throughout the 20th century, the perfume industry faced an ongoing and costly battle against counterfeiters, rebottlers, and fraudulent sellers. As early as the 1920s, cases were already being reported where fake perfumes—often just colored water or synthetic mixtures—were passed off as luxury French imports. In a 1922 article, two men were arrested for distributing such bogus products, their schemes driven by the high profit margins from duping unsuspecting buyers with imitation scents bearing the names of iconic houses like Coty or Guerlain.
By 1925, the problem had grown to such an extent that “perfume bootlegging” became a recognized term. In Chicago, Edward Lee and Arthur Kaplan were apprehended for selling colored water as imported French perfumes. Their operation was far-reaching, with warrants out for their arrest in cities nationwide. According to attorney Harry C. Adams, representing the Perfumery Importers Association, these fraudsters would use tightly cemented stoppers—forcing the buyer to break the bottle before realizing they had been conned, by which point the seller had vanished.
The N.A.R.D. Journal of 1925 issued a similar warning, specifically targeting fake Coty perfumes. W.R. Steinberg, Coty's Chicago representative, reported that counterfeiters were refilling authentic Coty bottles—purchased empty for up to fifty cents each—with wood alcohol and selling them as genuine. These operatives would even use real Coty advertising materials to reinforce the illusion. The same year, the notorious practice of “sales by the dram” (bulk decanting into small bottles) came under scrutiny as it enabled further deception.
In 1927, Richard Ives was arrested in Manhattan for selling perfume falsely advertised as a Coty product. He had forged labels, brochures, and packaging materials to mimic those of the renowned French house. His case was part of a broader crackdown on counterfeiters who had become increasingly sophisticated in their tactics—relying on fake invoices, invented brand names, and mock French credentials to give legitimacy to their scams.
The problem persisted into the 1930s. In 1933, the Better Business Bureau warned Los Angeles consumers about door-to-door perfume peddlers who marketed well-known trademarked names, but whose wares were nothing more than low-grade toilet waters. One woman paid $25 for what was later revealed to be a 25-cent scent. A 1933 article revealed Coty was leading a “perfume racket war” against such fraudsters, some of whom soaked corks in genuine perfumes to trick customers into believing what they were buying was real.
By 1934, the Perfumery Importers Association launched a full campaign to stamp out counterfeiting, which had surged during the economic depression. In 1935, consumers were cautioned against allowing servants or employees to buy from street vendors, as the goods were often soft soap or colored water in decorative bottles. These deceptive practices were well established by the time World War II disrupted supply chains and made authentic perfume even harder to find—further fueling the black market.
In 1946, postwar warnings circulated to avoid any perfume whose origin was vague or accompanied by a too-good-to-be-true price. The Chicago Tribune issued a piece on the “enormous amount of perfume counterfeiting” that had escalated during the war years. By the early 1950s, suitcase salesmen were targeting workers in factory districts, selling scented water as high-end perfume for exorbitant prices.
One of the most aggressive defenders of perfume authenticity was Edouard Cournand, chairman of Lanvin-Charles of the Ritz. As early as 1952, Cournand was speaking out against rampant counterfeiting, estimating that 70 million bottles of fake perfume entered the U.S. annually—twice as much as what was legally sold. The company spent over a million dollars pursuing legal action against counterfeiters.
To combat the threat, the Bureau of Ethical Security was established, financed by Lanvin and Evyan Perfume Companies. Directed by former FBI agent John Power Daley and his colleague A. Robert Swanson, the bureau tracked counterfeiters nationwide. Daley noted that most fakes had darker liquid or smaller font print on the label than genuine products. Sometimes, perfumes were watered down versions of authentic scents, rebottled with sediment or blended with inferior oils. These rebottlers would acquire large bottles of real toilet water, pour them into smaller flacons labeled “parfum,” and mark up the prices exponentially.
In 1957, this practice peaked again during the holiday season. Consumers were duped by counterfeiters selling bottles that mimicked luxury brands like Arpège, Tabu, Chanel No. 5, and Joy. Perfume operations were even discovered in makeshift “bathtub” labs, often located in hidden warehouses or residential homes. One major bust in 1959 in Brooklyn revealed an operation selling perfumes made for 60 cents per bottle and sold for as much as $10 on the street—mostly to office workers and street buyers in Manhattan.
Lanvin’s Cournand continued to issue warnings through the 1960s. In 1962, he identified Cuba, Mexico, and Caribbean islands as key sources of counterfeit production. It was easier for counterfeiters to operate there, where obtaining alcohol permits and evading regulation was more manageable than in the U.S.
Even into the 1970s, fake perfume remained a major racket, often connected to organized crime. A 1974 report noted that counterfeit perfumes were distributed through mob-owned establishments and sold by street vendors. Common targets included Joy by Jean Patou, Shalimar by Guerlain, My Sin by Lanvin, Youth Dew by Estée Lauder, and more. These were sold in “regulation” bottles, purse-sized sprays, or decanted into expensive-looking flacons with suggestive French names and packaging.
By 1925, the problem had grown to such an extent that “perfume bootlegging” became a recognized term. In Chicago, Edward Lee and Arthur Kaplan were apprehended for selling colored water as imported French perfumes. Their operation was far-reaching, with warrants out for their arrest in cities nationwide. According to attorney Harry C. Adams, representing the Perfumery Importers Association, these fraudsters would use tightly cemented stoppers—forcing the buyer to break the bottle before realizing they had been conned, by which point the seller had vanished.
The N.A.R.D. Journal of 1925 issued a similar warning, specifically targeting fake Coty perfumes. W.R. Steinberg, Coty's Chicago representative, reported that counterfeiters were refilling authentic Coty bottles—purchased empty for up to fifty cents each—with wood alcohol and selling them as genuine. These operatives would even use real Coty advertising materials to reinforce the illusion. The same year, the notorious practice of “sales by the dram” (bulk decanting into small bottles) came under scrutiny as it enabled further deception.
In 1927, Richard Ives was arrested in Manhattan for selling perfume falsely advertised as a Coty product. He had forged labels, brochures, and packaging materials to mimic those of the renowned French house. His case was part of a broader crackdown on counterfeiters who had become increasingly sophisticated in their tactics—relying on fake invoices, invented brand names, and mock French credentials to give legitimacy to their scams.
The problem persisted into the 1930s. In 1933, the Better Business Bureau warned Los Angeles consumers about door-to-door perfume peddlers who marketed well-known trademarked names, but whose wares were nothing more than low-grade toilet waters. One woman paid $25 for what was later revealed to be a 25-cent scent. A 1933 article revealed Coty was leading a “perfume racket war” against such fraudsters, some of whom soaked corks in genuine perfumes to trick customers into believing what they were buying was real.
By 1934, the Perfumery Importers Association launched a full campaign to stamp out counterfeiting, which had surged during the economic depression. In 1935, consumers were cautioned against allowing servants or employees to buy from street vendors, as the goods were often soft soap or colored water in decorative bottles. These deceptive practices were well established by the time World War II disrupted supply chains and made authentic perfume even harder to find—further fueling the black market.
In 1946, postwar warnings circulated to avoid any perfume whose origin was vague or accompanied by a too-good-to-be-true price. The Chicago Tribune issued a piece on the “enormous amount of perfume counterfeiting” that had escalated during the war years. By the early 1950s, suitcase salesmen were targeting workers in factory districts, selling scented water as high-end perfume for exorbitant prices.
One of the most aggressive defenders of perfume authenticity was Edouard Cournand, chairman of Lanvin-Charles of the Ritz. As early as 1952, Cournand was speaking out against rampant counterfeiting, estimating that 70 million bottles of fake perfume entered the U.S. annually—twice as much as what was legally sold. The company spent over a million dollars pursuing legal action against counterfeiters.
To combat the threat, the Bureau of Ethical Security was established, financed by Lanvin and Evyan Perfume Companies. Directed by former FBI agent John Power Daley and his colleague A. Robert Swanson, the bureau tracked counterfeiters nationwide. Daley noted that most fakes had darker liquid or smaller font print on the label than genuine products. Sometimes, perfumes were watered down versions of authentic scents, rebottled with sediment or blended with inferior oils. These rebottlers would acquire large bottles of real toilet water, pour them into smaller flacons labeled “parfum,” and mark up the prices exponentially.
In 1957, this practice peaked again during the holiday season. Consumers were duped by counterfeiters selling bottles that mimicked luxury brands like Arpège, Tabu, Chanel No. 5, and Joy. Perfume operations were even discovered in makeshift “bathtub” labs, often located in hidden warehouses or residential homes. One major bust in 1959 in Brooklyn revealed an operation selling perfumes made for 60 cents per bottle and sold for as much as $10 on the street—mostly to office workers and street buyers in Manhattan.
Lanvin’s Cournand continued to issue warnings through the 1960s. In 1962, he identified Cuba, Mexico, and Caribbean islands as key sources of counterfeit production. It was easier for counterfeiters to operate there, where obtaining alcohol permits and evading regulation was more manageable than in the U.S.
Even into the 1970s, fake perfume remained a major racket, often connected to organized crime. A 1974 report noted that counterfeit perfumes were distributed through mob-owned establishments and sold by street vendors. Common targets included Joy by Jean Patou, Shalimar by Guerlain, My Sin by Lanvin, Youth Dew by Estée Lauder, and more. These were sold in “regulation” bottles, purse-sized sprays, or decanted into expensive-looking flacons with suggestive French names and packaging.
The schemes were designed to fool the well-meaning gift buyer, especially during the holiday season. Sellers would present inflated price tags, photocopied ads, and fabricated backstories of European connections to legitimize the sale. “It’s just as good as the real thing,” they’d say. But in truth, it was often worth less than a dollar.
Despite raids, lawsuits, and ongoing vigilance by companies and regulators alike, these schemes reappeared with frequency. From bootlegged imports to outright fabrications, the counterfeiting of perfume has remained a persistent shadow in the luxury fragrance industry—a cautionary tale about the intersection of desire, deception, and the enduring allure of a beautiful bottle.
The Spurious Sales of Goldman & Marks:
The spurious perfume operations of Robert Bennett Goldman and Theodore Marks stand as one of the most notorious and long-running scams in American fragrance history. A 1946 newspaper article broke open their illicit business, revealing a swindle that had operated for over two decades, targeting diplomats, celebrities, and members of high society. The two men were arrested after their heavily perfumed trail led authorities to the Savoy Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue, where they had been presenting their counterfeit goods in an air of luxury and legitimacy. The police charged both men with grand larceny, estimating that they had defrauded their victims of millions of dollars.
At the heart of their operation was a deceptively simple formula: a concoction of rubbing alcohol, scented lubricating oils, and coloring agents that cost just fifty cents to produce, including the bottle. Yet these were sold for exorbitant prices, sometimes up to $250 per bottle. Their so-called “factory” was a rented space at 28 Columbia Street in Manhattan, costing just $17 a month. From this humble base, they produced counterfeit versions of some of the most famous perfumes in the world—Chanel No. 5, Dana’s Tabu, Schiaparelli’s Shocking, and Jean Patou’s Moment Suprême—all dressed in lavish labels bearing Parisian trademarks and foreign tax stamps.
The illusion was detailed and convincing. Police uncovered 350 ornate bottles, four one-gallon jugs of “perfume,” vats of rubbing alcohol and scented oils, along with 10,000 cancelled foreign postage and Cuban tobacco stamps—used to simulate genuine imports. These bottles, often featuring Cuban tax stamps, were sent around the country, deceiving even the most discerning clientele. Goldman and Marks operated not just in New York, but also in Washington D.C., Jacksonville, Palm Beach, and Miami, creating a distribution network so extensive that both the NYPD and the Toilet Goods Association of America named them as the central figures in a national counterfeiting ring.
Their confidence was almost as staggering as their crimes. “We sold this stuff to everybody but Adam,” Marks told authorities, adding that their scheme had been a “pushover.” Goldman, with equal bravado, admitted to running similar scams in the 1920s and 1940s—once mixing fake perfumes in a washtub in Revere, Massachusetts. In 1929, he and his younger brother Reuben were arrested in Boston while attempting to peddle bogus “imported” perfumes to working women in the business district, charging $4 a bottle for liquids of no real value.
Their victims were high-profile and international. Charles Mariani of the Chilean Consulate in New York revealed he had paid $250 for thirteen bottles of perfume that cost the conmen just 50 cents to produce. The scam wasn't limited to New York. In 1933, The Hartford Courant reported on a similar racket in Hollywood, where stars like Alice Brady and Dorothy Burgess fell prey to a man claiming to sell smuggled high-end perfumes—what they received instead was merely scented water.
Goldman’s web of deceit didn’t stop in the 1940s. In 1953, federal agents raided a basement workshop where a full-scale perfume still was discovered. The operation was orchestrated to reprocess toilet water, extracting alcohol and blending it with aromatic oils and coloring to simulate luxury fragrances. The counterfeit bottles bore labels of the world’s top perfumeries, including fake versions of Chanel No. 5 (misspelled as “Channel No. 5”), Patou’s Moment Suprême, and fictitious creations like “Foolish Virgin” by Schiaparelli and “Tonight or Never” by Christian Dior—neither of which ever existed.
Robert B. “Stinky” Goldman, as he came to be infamously known, was again behind it all. Remarkably, he was still charging the same inflated prices—between $75 and $110 per bottle—as he had nearly a decade earlier. Chief federal probation officer Frank A. Edwards remarked on this consistency, highlighting the brazen and unchanged nature of Goldman’s schemes. The operation's reach extended not just to major U.S. cities like New York, Cleveland, Detroit, and Chicago, but also to international locations including Havana, Cuba.
These elaborate counterfeits were not only financial frauds; they eroded consumer trust and posed potential health risks due to unknown and unregulated ingredients. Yet the charisma of conmen like Goldman and Marks—along with their sophisticated packaging and persuasive sales pitches—allowed them to continue duping the public for years. Their case is a cautionary tale from the annals of perfume history, a reminder that luxury can be easily faked, and that the glittering bottle doesn’t always tell the truth.
Fake Price Schemes:
Fake pricing schemes have long been a tactic employed by perfume counterfeiters to deceive unsuspecting buyers. These strategies not only manipulate the perceived value of the product but also exploit the psychology of bargain hunting. One of the most common scams—especially reported during the 1950s—involved affixing inflated, fraudulent price tags to bottles of inferior or counterfeit perfume. A seller might display a price tag suggesting the perfume retails for $18.75, only to offer it to a customer for $5. The dramatic “discount” creates a false sense of urgency and value, coaxing buyers into thinking they’re scoring an exclusive deal. In reality, they’re often purchasing nothing more than poorly scented alcohol, bottled and labeled to mimic luxury goods.
Newspaper investigations during the mid-20th century revealed that these scams were often bolstered by the clever use of so-called “tear sheets”—pages torn from respected fashion magazines featuring advertisements for genuine designer perfumes. These ads, often sourced from Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar, would list the fragrances at full price from upscale retailers, typically ranging between $15 and $18.75. The counterfeiters then used these legitimate ads as a sales prop, placing them in front of potential customers to lend credibility to their wares. Armed with slick, fast-talking pitches, these salesmen often convinced their targets that the perfumes they were selling were overstock or “direct from the factory” goods, thus explaining the suspiciously low price. The visual cue of a recognizable ad caused many shoppers to drop their guard, trusting the product based on the familiar imagery.
Another deceitful tactic involved placing deliberately misleading advertisements in national magazines. A lesser-known or even entirely fictitious perfume brand might buy a single-page ad in a summer issue of a well-known publication, pricing the perfume at $10. These advertisers had no intention of actually fulfilling orders at that price. Instead, they used the placement as a future marketing tool. Come Christmastime, these same sellers would approach shoppers with the claim, “Advertised in Such-and-Such Magazine,” showing the old ad as proof. The new asking price, often slashed to $3, was portrayed as a holiday special—again, luring in bargain seekers. Yet, the magazines were often years old, and the perfumes either never existed on store shelves or had been discontinued long before.
Among the names most commonly flagged for these practices were brands such as Faun, Pagan, Pagoda, and Muriel Hasbrouck—all distributed by a company called Ravel. These products were typically not stocked in reputable department stores, yet appeared to be widely available through mail order ads or peddled by traveling salesmen. In many cases, the brands themselves were constructed with just enough glamour and mystery to sound credible, yet vague enough to evade scrutiny. The perfumes, often containing synthetic or unstable compounds, lacked the refinement or quality of legitimate fragrances.
In essence, fake pricing is not merely a trick of the price tag—it’s a performance. From falsified magazine tear sheets to misleading ads and inflated suggested retail prices, it all feeds into an illusion designed to part consumers from their money under the guise of elegance and savings. For collectors, vintage perfume lovers, or even holiday shoppers, this historical context is a sobering reminder to verify provenance and purchase only from trusted sources.
A 1955 news article cast a spotlight on the elaborate schemes used by counterfeit perfume peddlers in mid-20th century America, particularly during the holiday season when unsuspecting consumers were most vulnerable. One of the primary tactics employed was the use of outdated advertisements—often clipped from national magazines—that portrayed certain perfumes as high-value luxury goods, retailing for $25 or more. The catch? These ads were frequently 30 to 35 years old, promoting products from companies that had long since gone out of business. Nevertheless, the presence of a polished ad lent the operation a veneer of legitimacy, persuading buyers that they were stumbling upon an extraordinary deal.
A key maneuver in this con game was to strategically plant a small quantity of the fake perfume in two or three local stores on consignment. The agreement allowed the stores to hold the product without paying upfront, with the understanding that payment would be rendered once the items sold. This gave the operation a local footprint and a sense of credibility. Once the product was in shops, peddlers were dispatched to nearby bars, factories, office buildings, and neighborhoods, often selling door-to-door or on busy sidewalks. If a customer showed hesitation, the salesperson would suggest they call one of the local stores that “carried” the product. The merchant, caught off guard by a sudden influx of calls, might believe they had signed on to a desirable product, unaware of the true nature of the scheme or the flood of false sales interest being generated.
College students were also frequently enlisted as foot soldiers in these perfume rackets, lured by promises of easy commissions. Armed with slick scripts, they were instructed to give fantastical explanations for why a French perfume advertised for $18.50 could now be purchased for a mere $1.50. Common claims included tales of a bankrupt perfume house liquidating its stock, a shipwreck recovery off the coast of France, or smuggled goods bypassing duty taxes. These narratives were meant to both excite and distract the buyer from asking deeper questions.
Another tactic, especially around the holidays, was to name the products with sentimental or seasonally evocative titles like White Christmas by Saravel. The name conjured warmth, nostalgia, and gift-giving, making it appealing for shoppers on a budget who wanted to present a luxurious-sounding gift. Others mimicked the names or packaging of known luxury perfumes, creating confusion among consumers.
In Detroit, one particular operation had gone so far as to advertise their perfume under a national trademark, suggesting authenticity and wide recognition. One bottle that was supposedly priced at $17.95 was being sold for just $1, while another listed at $6.50 could be had for only 50 cents. The pricing, coupled with convincing ads and word-of-mouth pressure, led to a booming business—until investigators intervened and halted the scam.
This pattern of deception demonstrates just how sophisticated and calculated the perfume counterfeit trade had become by the 1950s. The perpetrators preyed not only on consumer ignorance but also on emotional cues like holiday sentimentality, scarcity, and the allure of luxury at a bargain. While the specific brands and names may have changed over time, the underlying psychology of these cons remains remarkably consistent, serving as a warning for collectors, enthusiasts, and casual shoppers alike.
In 1953, a scandal erupted in North Miami Beach when Lewis Bruno, a sitting city councilman, was publicly named in connection with the sale of counterfeit perfume. The accusation came from city assistant tax assessor Mary Purdy, who alleged that Bruno sold her a bottle of White Christmas perfume for $6, despite its $18.50 price tag. Purdy submitted an affidavit to the U.S. Customs Service in Miami, stating that Bruno had claimed a friend brought the perfume in from Cuba. This detail is significant, as perfumes falsely claiming Cuban or French origins were often at the center of counterfeit operations.
Following the publication of Purdy’s story in The Miami Daily News, the paper received a flood of angry phone calls from other customers who had purchased perfume from Bruno, revealing that the issue was far more widespread than initially thought. Bruno, who also operated a bonding business and a tourist court, had reportedly sold fake perfume to several other city employees, who were also in contact with investigators.
One disillusioned customer described being shown a Vogue magazine advertisement for White Christmas and was persuaded by a door-to-door salesman to purchase twelve bottles at $2 each. "You certainly feel safe with anything advertised in Vogue," the man explained, bitterly admitting that he had intended to give the bottles as Christmas gifts but now felt ashamed to do so. Another buyer, a businessman, was convinced to purchase 36 bottles under the pretense that they were part of a "factory close-out" deal.
A representative from Vogue magazine later confirmed that the advertisement had indeed run in a September issue but stated that it had been accepted in good faith. After investigating, Vogue was unable to identify any legitimate entity connected with the perfume's production. This revelation underscored the vulnerability of even reputable publications to being misused in counterfeit marketing schemes.
That same year, Printers' Ink reported on a growing nationwide hoax involving counterfeit perfume sales bolstered by national magazine advertising. According to the National Better Business Bureau (NBBB), a coordinated network of fast-talking salesmen had purchased perfume for approximately $1 per bottle and were selling it door-to-door or in public places for anywhere between $2 and $5, using slick magazine tear sheets to justify the inflated price. The advertising created a sense of legitimacy that disarmed many consumers.
The NBBB specifically called out three brands at the center of these schemes: White Christmas by Saravel, Ecstacy by Ecstacy Perfumes, and Faun by Ravel. These products were marketed through full-color ads in respected fashion magazines such as Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, claiming prices of $15 to $18.50 per ounce at "better stores." However, the BBB’s investigation found that these same perfumes were being sold for pennies on the dollar in cities across the country—$1 in Chicago bars, $2.50 in New York, and as little as 75 cents per bottle in bulk wholesale offers.
Of particular note was J.J. Edelson, a New York wholesaler who circulated proofs of Ecstacy's ad—set to appear in Harper’s Bazaar—before the magazine even hit newsstands. In his accompanying circular, Edelson offered one-ounce bottles for just 75 cents, in minimum lots of 500, calling it “the greatest Christmas sale of all times.” When questioned, Edelson told BBB investigators that he purchased the perfume “from sources which he did not care to disclose,” a vague response that only deepened suspicions.
In Boston, a department store buyer was similarly misled when a salesman used a Harper's Bazaar advertisement for Faun perfume to justify a lowball offer of $1 per half-ounce bottle—despite the advertised price of $15 per ounce. These practices not only deceived consumers but also undermined legitimate perfumeries and retailers struggling to maintain brand integrity in a postwar economy flooded with counterfeit goods.
The White Christmas perfume, in particular, became emblematic of this trend: a sentimental name designed to appeal during the holiday season, paired with high-end advertising and bottom-shelf pricing. Together, these elements created a perfect storm of consumer confusion, misplaced trust, and mass exploitation—all fueled by fake price tags, misleading magazine ads, and a sales pitch too good to be true.
Newspaper investigations during the mid-20th century revealed that these scams were often bolstered by the clever use of so-called “tear sheets”—pages torn from respected fashion magazines featuring advertisements for genuine designer perfumes. These ads, often sourced from Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar, would list the fragrances at full price from upscale retailers, typically ranging between $15 and $18.75. The counterfeiters then used these legitimate ads as a sales prop, placing them in front of potential customers to lend credibility to their wares. Armed with slick, fast-talking pitches, these salesmen often convinced their targets that the perfumes they were selling were overstock or “direct from the factory” goods, thus explaining the suspiciously low price. The visual cue of a recognizable ad caused many shoppers to drop their guard, trusting the product based on the familiar imagery.
Another deceitful tactic involved placing deliberately misleading advertisements in national magazines. A lesser-known or even entirely fictitious perfume brand might buy a single-page ad in a summer issue of a well-known publication, pricing the perfume at $10. These advertisers had no intention of actually fulfilling orders at that price. Instead, they used the placement as a future marketing tool. Come Christmastime, these same sellers would approach shoppers with the claim, “Advertised in Such-and-Such Magazine,” showing the old ad as proof. The new asking price, often slashed to $3, was portrayed as a holiday special—again, luring in bargain seekers. Yet, the magazines were often years old, and the perfumes either never existed on store shelves or had been discontinued long before.
Among the names most commonly flagged for these practices were brands such as Faun, Pagan, Pagoda, and Muriel Hasbrouck—all distributed by a company called Ravel. These products were typically not stocked in reputable department stores, yet appeared to be widely available through mail order ads or peddled by traveling salesmen. In many cases, the brands themselves were constructed with just enough glamour and mystery to sound credible, yet vague enough to evade scrutiny. The perfumes, often containing synthetic or unstable compounds, lacked the refinement or quality of legitimate fragrances.
In essence, fake pricing is not merely a trick of the price tag—it’s a performance. From falsified magazine tear sheets to misleading ads and inflated suggested retail prices, it all feeds into an illusion designed to part consumers from their money under the guise of elegance and savings. For collectors, vintage perfume lovers, or even holiday shoppers, this historical context is a sobering reminder to verify provenance and purchase only from trusted sources.
A 1955 news article cast a spotlight on the elaborate schemes used by counterfeit perfume peddlers in mid-20th century America, particularly during the holiday season when unsuspecting consumers were most vulnerable. One of the primary tactics employed was the use of outdated advertisements—often clipped from national magazines—that portrayed certain perfumes as high-value luxury goods, retailing for $25 or more. The catch? These ads were frequently 30 to 35 years old, promoting products from companies that had long since gone out of business. Nevertheless, the presence of a polished ad lent the operation a veneer of legitimacy, persuading buyers that they were stumbling upon an extraordinary deal.
A key maneuver in this con game was to strategically plant a small quantity of the fake perfume in two or three local stores on consignment. The agreement allowed the stores to hold the product without paying upfront, with the understanding that payment would be rendered once the items sold. This gave the operation a local footprint and a sense of credibility. Once the product was in shops, peddlers were dispatched to nearby bars, factories, office buildings, and neighborhoods, often selling door-to-door or on busy sidewalks. If a customer showed hesitation, the salesperson would suggest they call one of the local stores that “carried” the product. The merchant, caught off guard by a sudden influx of calls, might believe they had signed on to a desirable product, unaware of the true nature of the scheme or the flood of false sales interest being generated.
College students were also frequently enlisted as foot soldiers in these perfume rackets, lured by promises of easy commissions. Armed with slick scripts, they were instructed to give fantastical explanations for why a French perfume advertised for $18.50 could now be purchased for a mere $1.50. Common claims included tales of a bankrupt perfume house liquidating its stock, a shipwreck recovery off the coast of France, or smuggled goods bypassing duty taxes. These narratives were meant to both excite and distract the buyer from asking deeper questions.
Another tactic, especially around the holidays, was to name the products with sentimental or seasonally evocative titles like White Christmas by Saravel. The name conjured warmth, nostalgia, and gift-giving, making it appealing for shoppers on a budget who wanted to present a luxurious-sounding gift. Others mimicked the names or packaging of known luxury perfumes, creating confusion among consumers.
In Detroit, one particular operation had gone so far as to advertise their perfume under a national trademark, suggesting authenticity and wide recognition. One bottle that was supposedly priced at $17.95 was being sold for just $1, while another listed at $6.50 could be had for only 50 cents. The pricing, coupled with convincing ads and word-of-mouth pressure, led to a booming business—until investigators intervened and halted the scam.
This pattern of deception demonstrates just how sophisticated and calculated the perfume counterfeit trade had become by the 1950s. The perpetrators preyed not only on consumer ignorance but also on emotional cues like holiday sentimentality, scarcity, and the allure of luxury at a bargain. While the specific brands and names may have changed over time, the underlying psychology of these cons remains remarkably consistent, serving as a warning for collectors, enthusiasts, and casual shoppers alike.
Following the publication of Purdy’s story in The Miami Daily News, the paper received a flood of angry phone calls from other customers who had purchased perfume from Bruno, revealing that the issue was far more widespread than initially thought. Bruno, who also operated a bonding business and a tourist court, had reportedly sold fake perfume to several other city employees, who were also in contact with investigators.
One disillusioned customer described being shown a Vogue magazine advertisement for White Christmas and was persuaded by a door-to-door salesman to purchase twelve bottles at $2 each. "You certainly feel safe with anything advertised in Vogue," the man explained, bitterly admitting that he had intended to give the bottles as Christmas gifts but now felt ashamed to do so. Another buyer, a businessman, was convinced to purchase 36 bottles under the pretense that they were part of a "factory close-out" deal.
A representative from Vogue magazine later confirmed that the advertisement had indeed run in a September issue but stated that it had been accepted in good faith. After investigating, Vogue was unable to identify any legitimate entity connected with the perfume's production. This revelation underscored the vulnerability of even reputable publications to being misused in counterfeit marketing schemes.
That same year, Printers' Ink reported on a growing nationwide hoax involving counterfeit perfume sales bolstered by national magazine advertising. According to the National Better Business Bureau (NBBB), a coordinated network of fast-talking salesmen had purchased perfume for approximately $1 per bottle and were selling it door-to-door or in public places for anywhere between $2 and $5, using slick magazine tear sheets to justify the inflated price. The advertising created a sense of legitimacy that disarmed many consumers.
The NBBB specifically called out three brands at the center of these schemes: White Christmas by Saravel, Ecstacy by Ecstacy Perfumes, and Faun by Ravel. These products were marketed through full-color ads in respected fashion magazines such as Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, claiming prices of $15 to $18.50 per ounce at "better stores." However, the BBB’s investigation found that these same perfumes were being sold for pennies on the dollar in cities across the country—$1 in Chicago bars, $2.50 in New York, and as little as 75 cents per bottle in bulk wholesale offers.
Of particular note was J.J. Edelson, a New York wholesaler who circulated proofs of Ecstacy's ad—set to appear in Harper’s Bazaar—before the magazine even hit newsstands. In his accompanying circular, Edelson offered one-ounce bottles for just 75 cents, in minimum lots of 500, calling it “the greatest Christmas sale of all times.” When questioned, Edelson told BBB investigators that he purchased the perfume “from sources which he did not care to disclose,” a vague response that only deepened suspicions.
In Boston, a department store buyer was similarly misled when a salesman used a Harper's Bazaar advertisement for Faun perfume to justify a lowball offer of $1 per half-ounce bottle—despite the advertised price of $15 per ounce. These practices not only deceived consumers but also undermined legitimate perfumeries and retailers struggling to maintain brand integrity in a postwar economy flooded with counterfeit goods.
The White Christmas perfume, in particular, became emblematic of this trend: a sentimental name designed to appeal during the holiday season, paired with high-end advertising and bottom-shelf pricing. Together, these elements created a perfect storm of consumer confusion, misplaced trust, and mass exploitation—all fueled by fake price tags, misleading magazine ads, and a sales pitch too good to be true.
Misleading Labels:
During the Christmas shopping season, unscrupulous perfume peddlers took full advantage of unsuspecting buyers—especially those unfamiliar with authentic luxury fragrances. One of the most deceptive tactics involved misleading labels that appeared to mimic or allude to well-known, high-end perfumes. These knockoff products were not only inferior in quality but also deliberately designed to confuse buyers with false branding cues and coded references.
Among the most common tricks were labels bearing initials or abbreviated identifiers, often printed directly on the bottle or packaging. These included:
Some sellers claimed that these initials were part of a secret identification system used by perfume houses—a fabricated story meant to lend credibility to the fake. In truth, no such codes were ever implemented by legitimate perfumeries, including Chanel. The infamous “C5” label, for example, had absolutely no connection to Chanel No. 5, despite claims made by salesmen.
A 1964 report in the Chicago Tribune revealed the scale of the problem, with Brazilian police confiscating nearly $2 million worth of counterfeit French perfume in Rio de Janeiro alone. The Pittsburgh Press, in a 1966 consumer alert, cautioned shoppers to beware of perfumes being sold for a fraction of their supposed value, such as bottles labeled $16 to $18 being offered for only $2 or $3. Charles R. Burke of the Pittsburgh Better Business Bureau warned that these were often nothing more than cheap alcohol-based concoctions that might "cause the recipient to reach for a deodorizing spray" rather than feel flattered by the gift. He added, “Giving this to your wife or girlfriend is more likely to bring you the cold shoulder than a warm embrace.”
By 1968, Consumer Bulletin echoed similar warnings, highlighting how male shoppers in particular were prime targets for these cons. Around the holidays, a bottle with vaguely perfume-colored liquid and a fancy label bearing initials like “C,” “A,” or “MS” might fool someone unfamiliar with real fragrances. The fakes were attractively packaged but poorly formulated, lacking the complexity, refinement, and longevity of genuine products.
This era saw not only outright counterfeit labels but also “look-alike” branding that skirted legality—phrases like “Chanel-type”, “Our Version of…”, or even deliberate misspellings like “Channel” with two Ns. These variants were often sold in discount stores, on sidewalks, or door-to-door, taking advantage of shoppers eager for a luxury gift at a bargain price. In reality, the buyer was getting a low-grade imitation often made from scented alcohol, colored water, and artificial oils.
These deceptive practices made clear that perfume counterfeiting was not just about copying the scent—it was also about psychological manipulation, exploiting brand prestige and consumer trust. The perfume peddlers knew that flashy packaging and a plausible story could lead to big profits, especially around the holidays. But as consumer watchdogs warned, these “bargains” came at a high cost—not just in dollars, but in disappointment and deception.
By 1974, counterfeit perfume trafficking had become an entrenched and increasingly bold problem, with Chanel No. 5 remaining the most frequently faked scent. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported on a flourishing underground trade, warning that “something smells in the perfume business.” The article detailed how con artists were targeting department store return counters by attempting to return fake Chanel bottles filled with sugar water—a cheap substitute that bore no resemblance in scent or quality. Although sugar prices were rising at the time, “sugar water just isn’t in the same league with Chanel,” the article dryly noted.
These refund scams had reportedly been operating along the East Coast for about a decade, and in Pittsburgh for at least three years. Initially, the forgeries were highly convincing—even experienced perfume counter staff had trouble telling them apart from the real thing. But over time, retailers began to detect certain flaws: phony bottles stamped with “Imported from France” (a red flag, since authentic Chanel boxes only carry size markings on the bottom), poorly executed seals, and the unmistakable absence of Chanel’s signature scent. At Kaufmann’s, assistant cosmetic buyer Charlene Shupbach recounted a woman seeking a refund on a forged bottle, which even to the untrained eye looked suspicious.
Over at Joseph Horne Co., cosmetic buyer Herb Mannion recalled several incidents, including two teenagers who tried to return three boxed bottles of fake Chanel. Their ruse unraveled when sales staff became suspicious and called store security—the teens bolted, and the bottles were discovered to have come from a misplaced shopping bag belonging to a woman who had purchased genuine Chanel. Ironically, the would-be scammers nearly got away with stealing the real product while trying to return counterfeits. Mannion added that waitstaff in upscale restaurants and even skating rink peddlers were known to deal in fake Chanel perfume. “Don’t ask me why skating rinks,” he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Meanwhile, North Carolina authorities were also sounding the alarm. In 1974, the Dispatch reported on a bulletin issued by Consumer Protection News under Attorney General Robert Morgan, which confirmed that counterfeit Chanel No. 5 had entered the state from a northern distribution hub. Between November 1973 and February 1974, over 80,000 bottles were seized in New York City, with a street value estimated at $1 million. Counterfeit sales had been reported statewide, with bottles appearing in legitimate stores as well as flea markets, including one near Asheville.
Morgan revealed that in underworld slang, a fake perfume bottle is known as a “gaff.” These “gaffs” were often sold by organized crime outlets or street vendors for around $2 per bottle, while real Chanel retailed at approximately $35 per ounce. Chief investigator Jim Blackburn offered detailed visual markers to help consumers identify fakes (in the 1970s):
In 1976, The Milwaukee Sentinel reported that local department stores were grappling with a flood of customer complaints and refund requests. Over 3,000 bottles of fake Chanel No. 5 and Arpège were seized by the district attorney’s office. The fake Chanel had been selling at $15 per ounce—roughly $25 less than retail. “We’ve got bottles all over the place,” said Deputy D.A. Richard Spriggs, who acknowledged that even those unfamiliar with perfume could detect the difference between the real and fake product.
The Chanel representative confirmed that the problem of perfume fraud peaked during high-gift holidays like Christmas, Mother’s Day, Easter, and Valentine’s Day. That year alone, police recovered 100,000 fake bottles between December and March, mostly in Manhattan. One inspection involved 30,000 counterfeit one-ounce bottles, underscoring just how massive the operation had become.
As the Chanel spokesperson explained, there was “no accurate way of estimating the financial losses” caused by the widespread sale of fakes—but the damage to the brand’s reputation and consumer trust was immense. Still, the appetite for a luxury bargain—no matter how questionable—meant that perfume fakery remained a persistent and growing threat.
Among the most common tricks were labels bearing initials or abbreviated identifiers, often printed directly on the bottle or packaging. These included:
- "C" or "C5" to imply Chanel No. 5
- "A" suggesting Arpège by Lanvin
- "MS" or "M" referencing My Sin by Lanvin
- "S" for Shalimar by Guerlain
- "E" for Youth Dew by Estée Lauder
- "J" for Joy by Jean Patou
- "I" indicating Indiscret by Lucien Lelong, Intoxication by D'Orsay, or Intimate by Revlon
- "N" for Norell by Norman Norell
- "ST" for Sortilège by Le Galion
- "T" for Tabu by Dana
- "WS" or "W" for White Shoulders by Evyan
- "X" to suggest Nuit de Noël (Christmas Night) by Caron
Some sellers claimed that these initials were part of a secret identification system used by perfume houses—a fabricated story meant to lend credibility to the fake. In truth, no such codes were ever implemented by legitimate perfumeries, including Chanel. The infamous “C5” label, for example, had absolutely no connection to Chanel No. 5, despite claims made by salesmen.
A 1964 report in the Chicago Tribune revealed the scale of the problem, with Brazilian police confiscating nearly $2 million worth of counterfeit French perfume in Rio de Janeiro alone. The Pittsburgh Press, in a 1966 consumer alert, cautioned shoppers to beware of perfumes being sold for a fraction of their supposed value, such as bottles labeled $16 to $18 being offered for only $2 or $3. Charles R. Burke of the Pittsburgh Better Business Bureau warned that these were often nothing more than cheap alcohol-based concoctions that might "cause the recipient to reach for a deodorizing spray" rather than feel flattered by the gift. He added, “Giving this to your wife or girlfriend is more likely to bring you the cold shoulder than a warm embrace.”
By 1968, Consumer Bulletin echoed similar warnings, highlighting how male shoppers in particular were prime targets for these cons. Around the holidays, a bottle with vaguely perfume-colored liquid and a fancy label bearing initials like “C,” “A,” or “MS” might fool someone unfamiliar with real fragrances. The fakes were attractively packaged but poorly formulated, lacking the complexity, refinement, and longevity of genuine products.
This era saw not only outright counterfeit labels but also “look-alike” branding that skirted legality—phrases like “Chanel-type”, “Our Version of…”, or even deliberate misspellings like “Channel” with two Ns. These variants were often sold in discount stores, on sidewalks, or door-to-door, taking advantage of shoppers eager for a luxury gift at a bargain price. In reality, the buyer was getting a low-grade imitation often made from scented alcohol, colored water, and artificial oils.
These deceptive practices made clear that perfume counterfeiting was not just about copying the scent—it was also about psychological manipulation, exploiting brand prestige and consumer trust. The perfume peddlers knew that flashy packaging and a plausible story could lead to big profits, especially around the holidays. But as consumer watchdogs warned, these “bargains” came at a high cost—not just in dollars, but in disappointment and deception.
VISUAL GUIDE TO FANTASY FAKE BOTTLES:
Chanel:
Since its launch in 1921, Chanel No. 5 has been one of the most counterfeited perfumes in the world. Its immense popularity, status as a cultural icon, and association with luxury have made it a prime target for counterfeiters seeking to exploit both its name and aesthetic. From its earliest days, opportunists attempted to ride the coattails of its fame—faking the scent, the label, and the presentation.
By 1953, the problem had become so pervasive that The Toledo Blade published a warning from the Perfume Importers Group of the Toilet Goods Association, who sounded the alarm specifically around the holiday season. According to their statement, con artists were "out to take Santa Claus" by pushing fake perfume on unsuspecting buyers—especially men, who were responsible for 65–70% of women’s perfume purchases and were often unfamiliar with the nuances of genuine products.
The Association noted that while legitimate Christmas gift purchases accounted for about 40% of all perfume sales in the U.S., over half of perfume counterfeiting cases also occurred during this high-traffic time. Swindlers—many of whom operated in husband-and-wife teams—would have imitation labels printed for Chanel No. 5 and similar luxury scents. They sourced lookalike bottles from outlet dealers and concocted imitation perfume in bathtubs or household basins, using alcohol and synthetic oils. The end product might pass for the real thing to the untrained nose, but the similarity, the group pointed out, was purely superficial—like comparing a cotton-blend suit to pure wool.
A favorite tactic of these counterfeiters was to target corporate clients, offering seemingly irresistible “bulk discounts” to businesses buying perfume as gifts for customers and employees. A deal that claimed to save $10,000 on a $20,000 gift budget was tempting—but the importers’ group warned it could come at a much higher cost in lost trust and goodwill if recipients discovered the gifts were cheap fakes.
The representative stressed two important red flags for consumers to watch for:
- A perfume "salesman" whose business lacks a legitimate telephone listing.
- Any offer of a brand name perfume at an unbelievable bargain price—because, as they made clear, there is no such thing.
Despite the watchful efforts of trade associations and law enforcement, the illicit perfume trade proved difficult to extinguish entirely. As long as there were shoppers willing to believe they could obtain luxury at a discount, counterfeiters would continue to find victims. Chanel No. 5, with its unmatched prestige and desirability, remained at the center of this shadowy market—counterfeited not only for profit but also for its symbolic value as the quintessential “expensive perfume.”
These refund scams had reportedly been operating along the East Coast for about a decade, and in Pittsburgh for at least three years. Initially, the forgeries were highly convincing—even experienced perfume counter staff had trouble telling them apart from the real thing. But over time, retailers began to detect certain flaws: phony bottles stamped with “Imported from France” (a red flag, since authentic Chanel boxes only carry size markings on the bottom), poorly executed seals, and the unmistakable absence of Chanel’s signature scent. At Kaufmann’s, assistant cosmetic buyer Charlene Shupbach recounted a woman seeking a refund on a forged bottle, which even to the untrained eye looked suspicious.
Over at Joseph Horne Co., cosmetic buyer Herb Mannion recalled several incidents, including two teenagers who tried to return three boxed bottles of fake Chanel. Their ruse unraveled when sales staff became suspicious and called store security—the teens bolted, and the bottles were discovered to have come from a misplaced shopping bag belonging to a woman who had purchased genuine Chanel. Ironically, the would-be scammers nearly got away with stealing the real product while trying to return counterfeits. Mannion added that waitstaff in upscale restaurants and even skating rink peddlers were known to deal in fake Chanel perfume. “Don’t ask me why skating rinks,” he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Meanwhile, North Carolina authorities were also sounding the alarm. In 1974, the Dispatch reported on a bulletin issued by Consumer Protection News under Attorney General Robert Morgan, which confirmed that counterfeit Chanel No. 5 had entered the state from a northern distribution hub. Between November 1973 and February 1974, over 80,000 bottles were seized in New York City, with a street value estimated at $1 million. Counterfeit sales had been reported statewide, with bottles appearing in legitimate stores as well as flea markets, including one near Asheville.
Morgan revealed that in underworld slang, a fake perfume bottle is known as a “gaff.” These “gaffs” were often sold by organized crime outlets or street vendors for around $2 per bottle, while real Chanel retailed at approximately $35 per ounce. Chief investigator Jim Blackburn offered detailed visual markers to help consumers identify fakes (in the 1970s):
- Authentic Chanel bottles are single-molded, while counterfeits show a visible seam.
- Genuine bottles have perfume volume inscriptions, the fakes do not.
- Real labels are crisp and clean, while fakes appear fuzzy or faded.
- Stoppers are glass on authentic bottles, but often plastic on fakes.
- The neck of a real bottle is smooth, while fake ones are roughly finished.
- The perfume itself is lighter in scent and color.
- Real bottles are perfectly flat from the top edge to the neck, while fakes often have a slanted contour.
- Blackburn noted that although counterfeit packaging could be deceiving, the scent usually disappeared within minutes—just like the seller.
In 1976, The Milwaukee Sentinel reported that local department stores were grappling with a flood of customer complaints and refund requests. Over 3,000 bottles of fake Chanel No. 5 and Arpège were seized by the district attorney’s office. The fake Chanel had been selling at $15 per ounce—roughly $25 less than retail. “We’ve got bottles all over the place,” said Deputy D.A. Richard Spriggs, who acknowledged that even those unfamiliar with perfume could detect the difference between the real and fake product.
The Chanel representative confirmed that the problem of perfume fraud peaked during high-gift holidays like Christmas, Mother’s Day, Easter, and Valentine’s Day. That year alone, police recovered 100,000 fake bottles between December and March, mostly in Manhattan. One inspection involved 30,000 counterfeit one-ounce bottles, underscoring just how massive the operation had become.
As the Chanel spokesperson explained, there was “no accurate way of estimating the financial losses” caused by the widespread sale of fakes—but the damage to the brand’s reputation and consumer trust was immense. Still, the appetite for a luxury bargain—no matter how questionable—meant that perfume fakery remained a persistent and growing threat.
By the mid-1970s, the counterfeit perfume trade had become deeply embedded in both street-level hustling and international fraud. A 1975 account from Sweet Street illustrates the brazen casualness with which fakes were sold: “There’s a guy in town… he’s got counterfeit Chanel Number 5 and Coty’s all put up in special boxes.” According to the seller, they were buying these fakes wholesale for just 75 cents ("six bits") a bottle and flipping them for $5 each, yielding a lucrative markup. The concoction was described as a blend of water, filler, and just a few drops of the authentic fragrance — just enough to briefly mimic the real scent. As the peddler admitted, “the perfume don’t last, but it lasts long enough to sell.”
By 1978, the problem had escalated to the point that U.S. News & World Report ran a consumer warning titled “Bargain perfumes: often a fragrant ripoff.” The piece described one of the most common schemes: a small vial marketed as "Essence of Chanel No. 5" sold as a roll-on oil for $5 or $10. These were pitched as highly concentrated and “just like the real thing,” but in reality, customers were receiving cheap toilet water or even colored water — bearing no resemblance in quality, longevity, or authenticity to the actual Chanel product.
In the 1980s, perfume counterfeiting took on a global dimension. The 1983 investigative exposé Piracy and the Public revealed that a major counterfeit perfume ring had been traced back to Taiwan, from where a large shipment of fake Chanel had been air-freighted to Los Angeles in the summer of 1982. This shipment indicated the industrial scale and international coordination behind such operations, no longer limited to small-time grifts but part of a broader counterfeit goods economy.
The New Society magazine in 1984 reported that London had become a surprising hub for perfume piracy, particularly appealing to British counterfeiters. A clandestine factory in London was uncovered in September 1983, found to be mass-producing knockoffs under the Chanel and Aramis labels. These illicit operations were becoming more sophisticated — not only replicating packaging and branding, but also attempting to mimic fragrance profiles.
Also in 1984, the book Marked to Die chronicled a particularly cynical scam involving a hired chemist who was tasked with concocting a counterfeit version of Chanel No. 5. The fake fragrance was boxed in imitation packaging and sold at $5 a bottle — a deep undercut of the legitimate retail price, then around $35 per bottle. The sellers falsely claimed the perfumes were stolen goods, leveraging the allure of exclusivity and illicit bargains to increase appeal.
This era highlights a significant shift: from back-alley scams and door-to-door sales to international counterfeiting operations capable of producing convincing fakes in bulk. The Chanel name remained the most consistently exploited, a testament to its enduring prestige — and, unfortunately, its vulnerability to misuse. Whether sold from a suitcase, a flea market stall, or through fake theft stories, these counterfeiters banked on public ignorance, bargain lust, and brand recognition, and often succeeded — at least long enough to vanish with the profits.
In New York, the problem was especially notorious. In 1953, two men were arrested for selling counterfeit Chanel perfume, prompting Chanel Inc.’s attorney, Aaron I. Schwartz, to intervene. Tests confirmed the fakes were nothing more than cheap cologne. By 1958, a dramatic case made headlines involving Carl Zingale, aka "Cue Ball Kelly," who was caught producing and selling a mixture of cheap alcohol, water, and a small amount of genuine Chanel essence from his Brooklyn home. He packaged the concoction in authentic-looking boxes, with the involvement of manufacturers and printers producing counterfeit packaging under investigation. Zingale had sold thousands of bottles, revealing the scale of production and distribution. Later, in 1976, police in Ozone Park broke up a scheme involving over 54,000 counterfeit Chanel No. 5 bottles, emphasizing how persistent and large-scale the problem remained in New York.
In Chicago, the racket similarly thrived. In 1947, Frederick G. Brissa admitted to mixing inexpensive perfumes and selling them as Chanel No. 5 for over $20 an ounce. He was arrested and charged with fraud but was later murdered in 1951 under suspicious circumstances, potentially connected to the illicit perfume trade. In 1952, the murder investigation of Anthony Baldino revealed links to fake perfume dealings. Baldino, a union official, had sold counterfeit perfume, and authorities suspected that his attempts to secure a bank loan were tied to funding these operations. These events indicate the violent and dangerous underbelly of the counterfeit perfume business in Chicago.
New Jersey also became a focal point for counterfeit Chanel operations. In 1952, police in Hoboken uncovered a ring planning to flood the market with $1 million worth of bootleg perfume. Arrests of Patrick King, Thomas Monto, and Armand De Cicco revealed an operation selling fake Chanel bottles at a fraction of the real price, with packaging machinery and counterfeit bottles seized. This ring notably targeted bartenders who sold the perfume surreptitiously to patrons. In 1954, another trio—Bocchino, Della Torre, and Hills—were caught after selling tens of thousands of fake Chanel bottles in New York and New Jersey, using local drugstores and jewelry shops as fronts. Their manufacturing took place in a barbershop, demonstrating how everyday locations concealed illicit production.
In Miami, law enforcement cracked down on the packaging side of the counterfeit trade. Raids in 1954 seized thousands of cartons, printing plates, and bottles labeled “Chanel,” linked to box makers and printers like Hyman Lessin and Alvin Ross. Investigations found that counterfeit boxes were produced in Miami, shipped to New York for filling with fake perfume, and then distributed, even reaching tourists in Cuba and Mexico. Arrests and charges of counterfeiting and false trademarks highlighted the national scope of the racket. By 1964, Miami police arrested two men with nearly 2,000 bottles of counterfeit perfume headed for New York, showing the continuing reach of this operation.
Other states also experienced counterfeit perfume raids. In 1956, North Carolina reported large quantities of imitation Chanel perfume sold mainly in Raleigh and Charlotte, distributed by Cadillac drivers. Meanwhile, in 1959, police in St. Louis arrested individuals involved in selling counterfeit Chanel No. 5 at prices drastically below retail. The Better Business Bureau had issued warnings after fraternities and sororities reported purchasing significant amounts of fake perfume, exposing how counterfeit products penetrated even trusted social groups.
In all cases, Chanel Inc.’s attorney Aaron I. Schwartz played a key role in investigations, highlighting specific features distinguishing authentic from counterfeit Chanel bottles: genuine bottles were hand-blown with beveled edges, had beveled glass stoppers, engraved lettering on the boxes, and the word “Chanel” blown into the glass bottoms. Counterfeit bottles often bore machine-made bottles with “Made in France” marks, straight edges, square stoppers, and printed (not engraved) logos.
Together, these raids and investigations reveal a persistent, multi-state network exploiting the prestige and desirability of Chanel No. 5. The counterfeiters combined crude chemical mixtures, fake packaging, and intricate distribution schemes—targeting bars, drugstores, department stores, and even unsuspecting holiday shoppers—to flood the market with cheap imitations. Despite repeated law enforcement efforts, the lure of high profits from this iconic brand ensured the counterfeit perfume trade remained a serious problem for decades.
Aaron Schwartz, investigator for Chanel pointed out the following regarding 1950s era Chanel bottles:
The Glamour de Poiret is of opaque black glass with a matching black glass stopper. However, this was never actually used by Paul Poiret and is a fake. The bottle itself is old, but was most likely used by genuine perfume companies in the 1920s-1930s.
In the photo above and below are six counterfeit bottles labeled "Lady of Paris de Poiret," "Ce Soir ou Jamais," “Le Moment Supreme de Poiret,” “Vamp’s Desire by Poiret Paris,” and “La Vierge Folle de Poiret,” none of which were ever officially produced by Paul Poiret’s Rosine perfume line. The bottle used for “Vamp’s Desire” and the unlabeled perfume, is a large rectangular clear glass bottle with a frosted floral glass stopper. Dating to the 1920s, this particular bottle design has appeared in a number of fakes for other perfume houses as well, including Lanvin and Jean Patou, though none of those brands ever used it. The cobalt blue glass bottle, used here for “La Vierge Folle de Poiret ” and "Lady of Paris de Poiret," resembles—but is not identical to—the classic design Bourjois employed for their “Evening in Paris” fragrance. Finally, the bottles labeled “Le Moment Supreme de Poiret ”and "Ce Soir un Jamais de Poiret" is a form that was originally used by Coty for various legitimate fragrances, but was repurposed by counterfeiters to suggest an association with Poiret. These bottles, while visually striking and often made from period glass, are entirely fabricated creations that attempt to mimic the prestige of well-known perfume names and houses.
In the following photos, you will see some of the same bottles used to fake other famous perfumes.
A third example of a fake Lanvin perfume comes in a bottle also associated with counterfeit Chanel No. 5. This design—a clear glass flacon of generic rectangular form—was never employed by either Lanvin or Chanel. As noted in a 1974 newspaper article, counterfeiters were known to fill these convincing lookalike bottles with liquids such as sugar water, passing them off as genuine perfumes. In many cases, these bottles were either sold directly to customers or returned to department stores by hustlers attempting to obtain fraudulent refunds. The article further stressed how difficult it was, even for experienced consumers, to distinguish real from fake packaging at the time, underscoring the level of sophistication these counterfeit rings had achieved.
- #1. The authentic Chanel No. 5 bottle is hand-blown and has the word "Chanel" blown into the bottom of it. The phony stock bottle has the words "Made in France" blown into the bottom.
- #2. The authentic bottle has beveled edges: the counterfeit bottle straight edges.
- #3. The Genuine Chanel bottle stopper is beveled at 45 degrees, while the phony stopper is square.
- #4. The top lid of the authentic box has raised (engraved) lettering "Chanel" inscribed on it. The word "Chanel" on the phony doesn't have any engraved lettering, it is simply printed and feels smooth.
Schiaparelli:
Like many renowned designers of the early 20th century, Elsa Schiaparelli’s perfume line was not spared from the reach of counterfeiters. Several bottles that have surfaced and are often mistaken for genuine Schiaparelli products were, in fact, never officially produced or authorized by the designer or her company. Among these counterfeit examples, two identical bottles stand out. They feature frosted stoppers and silvery paper labels bearing the address 19 rue Duphot, Paris—the location of the Irfe couture and parfum house, a wholesaler known for distributing both its own perfumes and others’. These bottles, likely dating from the 1920s to the 1940s, were sold by Irfe but did not contain authentic Schiaparelli perfumes.
Another notable counterfeit bottle is octagonal in shape and carries a label from Casa Madrid in Havana, Cuba. Casa Madrid had a reputation for offering counterfeit fragrances, and it is believed they sourced these fake perfumes from Goldman & Marks, who specialized in selling to tourists visiting Havana. The bottle itself appears to have been originally manufactured in the 1930s, possibly as genuine store stock that was later bought up by counterfeiters and refilled with fake perfume. This bottle was then passed off as an authentic Schiaparelli product primarily during the 1940s and 1950s, targeting the tourist trade in Cuba.
Additional counterfeit items include bottles labeled for Schiaparelli’s famous fragrance Shocking. One example features a porcelain plaque on the front and a Cuban tax stamp on the back. This bottle likely dates from the 1910s or 1920s and represents old stock that was again acquired and reused by Goldman & Marks during the 1940s and 1950s, falsely promoted as genuine Schiaparelli perfume. Another Shocking bottle reflects an Art Nouveau style, with a frosted molded glass stopper. Like the others, this bottle also originates from the teens or twenties era and was never officially part of Schiaparelli’s perfume production. It too was a victim of fakery during the mid-20th century.
In summary, these counterfeit Schiaparelli bottles highlight a complex history where older glassware and packaging from other houses or unsold stock were repurposed and deceitfully marketed as authentic Schiaparelli perfumes. This practice, especially prevalent in the 1940s and 1950s, exploited collectors and unsuspecting customers alike, and serves as a cautionary tale about the importance of provenance and authentication in vintage perfume collecting.
Caron:
The renowned perfumery Caron was not immune to the widespread issue of counterfeit fragrances. One notable example is a bottle falsely claiming to be Fleurs de Rocaille by Caron. In reality, Caron never used this particular bottle design. Instead, it originally belonged to Parfums de Raymond and was used for their perfume Mimzy during the 1920s and 1930s. This bottle is distinctive, featuring two separate "Caron" labels—one in silver foil and the other shaped like a shield—alongside a Casa Madrid label affixed to the base.
A small metal rose attached to the cords around the neck of the bottle adds to its decorative detail. This bottle was primarily sold to tourists visiting Havana, where counterfeit perfumes were often marketed under the guise of well-known European brands. It is believed that this bottle represents old stock, which was purchased and then filled with counterfeit perfume by Goldman & Marks during the 1940s and 1950s.
This example illustrates the deceptive tactics used by counterfeiters, who repurposed authentic or vintage bottles from other perfume houses to lend an air of legitimacy to their fake products. By exploiting the prestige of brands like Caron and selling to unsuspecting tourists, these counterfeit operations managed to blur the lines between genuine and imitation perfume, complicating efforts to authenticate vintage fragrances.
A small metal rose attached to the cords around the neck of the bottle adds to its decorative detail. This bottle was primarily sold to tourists visiting Havana, where counterfeit perfumes were often marketed under the guise of well-known European brands. It is believed that this bottle represents old stock, which was purchased and then filled with counterfeit perfume by Goldman & Marks during the 1940s and 1950s.
This example illustrates the deceptive tactics used by counterfeiters, who repurposed authentic or vintage bottles from other perfume houses to lend an air of legitimacy to their fake products. By exploiting the prestige of brands like Caron and selling to unsuspecting tourists, these counterfeit operations managed to blur the lines between genuine and imitation perfume, complicating efforts to authenticate vintage fragrances.
Ciro:
Parfums Ciro, while perhaps less renowned today than iconic names like Chanel or Schiaparelli, enjoyed considerable popularity from the 1920s through the 1950s. Despite its success, Ciro was not immune to the pervasive problem of counterfeiting that affected many perfume houses of the era. One particular example is a counterfeit bottle purporting to be Ciro’s Surrender perfume. This bottle was never officially used by Parfums Ciro.
F. Millot:
Other perfumes by Jean Patou that were frequently faked include Cocktail Bittersweet, Cocktail Dry, and Moment Supreme. However, these counterfeit bottles differ from standard retail flacons; they tend to be larger and resemble "bulk" perfume containers, which in the 1920s and 1930s were used to hold larger quantities of perfume. Smaller amounts, such as drams, would be decanted into smaller bottles for sale, a common practice at the time to make expensive perfumes more affordable. These bulk-style bottles, while genuine in manufacture, were never used by Jean Patou for direct retail sale but later became stock for counterfeiters.
The counterfeiters—most notably Goldman & Marks—acquired these older bottles, originally made in the 1920s and 1930s, and refilled them with fake perfume in the 1940s and 1950s. Interestingly, these same bottle styles were reused to counterfeit other prestigious perfume brands such as Lanvin and Paul Poiret, illustrating the counterfeiters’ pragmatic approach of repurposing available vintage stock regardless of the original branding. Jean Patou himself never authorized or used these bottles for his perfumes, making their presence a clear signal of forgery.
Interestingly, the same bottle design was also employed to fake another prestigious brand, Lanvin, highlighting how counterfeiters reused older bottles to simulate different perfumes. This bottle, part of the Goldman & Marks operation, dates back to the teens or twenties but was manipulated and passed off as genuine during the 1940s and 1950s. A notable detail is the canceled Cuban tax stamp on the base, indicating the bottle’s journey through the tourist markets, particularly in Havana.
Tourists, unfamiliar with the authentic bottle shapes and designs of various perfume brands, were often misled by brand names alone. This confusion allowed counterfeiters to exploit the appeal of well-known perfumes, even when using inappropriate or historically inaccurate bottles. The case of this Ciro Surrender counterfeit serves as a telling example of how vintage bottles were repurposed to deceive buyers in the mid-20th century perfume market.
F. Millot:
Collectors of vintage perfume often recognize Crepe de Chine by F. Millot as a notable fragrance with a history spanning several decades. Millot used various bottle designs for this perfume over the years, but among these, certain fake bottles have consistently caught my attention. The counterfeit examples I have encountered for Crepe de Chine are all made of clear crystal and bear arch-shaped silvery paper labels—features that are distinct from the genuine articles.
The bottle shapes of these fakes correspond to styles produced in the 1920s and 1930s. Notably, two of these counterfeit bottles are American-made and have a rounded arch form, molded with delicate floral designs along their sides. A third bottle, positioned on the right in the photo below, is a Baccarat piece that was authentically used by the perfume house Gabilla during the 1920s and 1930s. This suggests that the counterfeiters, likely Goldman & Marks, sourced genuine old stock bottles to repackage their fake perfume.
An identifying feature of these counterfeit bottles is the presence of Cuban tax stamps on some examples. This was a hallmark of Goldman & Marks’ operation, as they frequently used Cuban tax stamps on their fake perfume bottles—likely targeting tourists or collectors unfamiliar with the authentic products. The combination of vintage bottles, misleading labeling, and Cuban tax marks makes these counterfeit Crepe de Chine bottles a unique and intriguing example within the broader history of perfume forgery.
Jean Patou:
Joy by Jean Patou, famously billed as the "most expensive perfume in the world," was a prime target for counterfeiters due to its prestige and popularity. Jean Patou’s authentic perfume bottles were very specific in design, making deviations a key indicator of fakes. Among the various counterfeit bottles I have encountered, one particularly consistent example is a clear glass bottle with a frosted glass stopper, used by counterfeiters to mimic the Joy perfume. This bottle is rectangular with gently rounded edges, a form not used by Jean Patou for the genuine Joy line.
The counterfeiters—most notably Goldman & Marks—acquired these older bottles, originally made in the 1920s and 1930s, and refilled them with fake perfume in the 1940s and 1950s. Interestingly, these same bottle styles were reused to counterfeit other prestigious perfume brands such as Lanvin and Paul Poiret, illustrating the counterfeiters’ pragmatic approach of repurposing available vintage stock regardless of the original branding. Jean Patou himself never authorized or used these bottles for his perfumes, making their presence a clear signal of forgery.
Paul Poiret:
Paul Poiret, although a prominent figure in early 20th-century fashion, is less known for his perfume line, which was actually marketed under the name Rosine—named after his daughter rather than himself. This distinction is important because Poiret’s company never used his own name on perfume labels. The Rosine brand had distinctive, carefully designed bottles for its fragrances, which helped establish its identity during its operation. However, the perfume business for Rosine ended by 1930 when Poiret’s company went bankrupt.
Since the closure of Rosine, counterfeiters have exploited both the Rosine name and Poiret’s reputation. Many fake perfumes bearing the name Poiret—often labeled “Poiret Paris”—have appeared over the years. These counterfeit bottles are frequently not original Rosine bottles, but rather repurposed bottles that were used to fake other perfume brands as well. The widespread use of non-authentic bottles makes it clear that any perfume labeled “Poiret Paris” is almost certainly a forgery.
A significant number of these counterfeit Poiret perfumes appear to have been produced by Goldman & Marks, a notorious firm known for recycling older stock bottles and filling them with imitation fragrances. These fakes often bear Cuban tax stamps, which suggest they were targeted mainly at the tourist market in the mid-20th century. Collectors and historians should be cautious when encountering perfumes labeled with Poiret’s name, as genuine examples from Rosine’s original line are quite rare, and the market is flooded with these misleading reproductions.
A fascinating and somewhat ironic twist in the story of perfume counterfeiting involves Maurice Shaller (sometimes spelled Schaller), a French chemist who had once worked as a legitimate perfumer. A 1952 newspaper article reports that Shaller was charged with fraud after authorities discovered he had been manufacturing counterfeit versions of world-famous perfumes in a kitchen laboratory. For years, he had been producing imitations of high-profile fragrances such as Carnet de Bal by Revillon, Arpège by Lanvin, and Ma Griffe by Carven, and distributing them throughout South America under the pretense that they were authentic.
What makes this case especially compelling is that Shaller had originally been the legitimate perfumer behind some of these very fragrances. Notably, he composed Nuit de Chine for Paul Poiret’s Rosine perfume line in 1913, and decades later, he created Carnet de Bal for Revillon in 1937. His intimate knowledge of the original formulas raises an intriguing question: were the fakes he distributed exact duplicates of the real compositions, or simplified, diluted versions made to mimic their scent at a lower cost?
Given his insider access, it’s plausible Shaller was able to replicate the formulas with a degree of fidelity that most counterfeiters could not achieve. However, the method of production—a home laboratory setup—and the scale of his distribution suggest that corners may have been cut. While the perfumes might have started as close copies, it is likely they were adapted to use more affordable or readily available materials, reducing their quality while preserving just enough of the character to deceive untrained buyers.
This incident illustrates the blurred lines between expertise and exploitation in the perfume world. A man who had once contributed to the golden age of perfumery ultimately used his knowledge not to innovate, but to deceive. His story stands as a rare example of a perfumer-turned-counterfeiter and adds a complex human layer to the broader history of perfume forgery.
Some of the most curious examples of counterfeit Paul Poiret perfumes are those that bear the name "Parfum de Royaute Poiret" — a company which, in fact, never existed. This fictional attribution appears to have been invented by the counterfeiters themselves, likely to lend the bottles a sense of aristocratic exclusivity and French sophistication. These fake Poiret bottles, most of which seem to have been produced during the 1940s–1950s, used older bottle stock — typically dating from the 1920s or earlier — and were often affixed with dubious labels and decorative touches, such as silvery foiled paper or even porcelain plaques. Many of these bottles also bear Cuban tax stamps, strongly suggesting that they were part of the widespread forgery network orchestrated by the Havana-based firm Goldman & Marks.
The perfume names chosen for these counterfeit Poiret bottles reflect a deliberate — and often audacious — appropriation of names already made famous by other legitimate perfume houses. Below is a detailed list of fake Poiret perfume names, along with the authentic launches they appear to mimic:
- Nuit D’Egypte de Poiret — a counterfeit name borrowing from Nuit D’Egypte, originally launched by Lionceau in 1925.
- Nuit de Chine de Poiret — while this name was originally created by Paul Poiret’s own Rosine line in 1912, any use of it on a bottle labeled "Poiret Paris" or "Parfum de Royaute" is inauthentic, as the house closed in 1930.
- Cloches de Noël de Poiret — Molinard introduced Cloches de Noël in 1926; this version falsely attributes it to Poiret.
- Jicky de Poiret — a clear infringement upon Jicky, launched by Guerlain in 1889 and never connected to Poiret.
- No. 5 de Poiret — this is a blatant misuse of the name No. 5, which is, of course, Chanel’s landmark fragrance introduced in 1921.
- Black Tulip de Poiret — Black Tulip was a widely used name found in lines by Henry Tetlow, Atkinson’s (1929), Solon Palmer, Lazell & Co., McLean, Edward T. Beiser, among others.
- Ghedma de Poiret — this name echoes Ghedma by Renaud, launched in 1925.
- La Vierge Folle de Poiret — directly mimics La Vierge Folle, launched by Gabilla in 1929.
- Lady of Paris de Poiret — possibly a counterfeit of Femme de Paris or Lady of Paris, launched by Ybry in 1925.
- Le Moment Supreme de Poiret — infringes on Moment Suprême, launched by Jean Patou in 1929.
- Les Pois de Senteur de Poiret — a name borrowed from Les Pois de Senteur (Sweet Pea) by Caron, launched in 1929.
- Mon Péché de Poiret — falsely uses the name of Mon Péché by Lanvin, launched in 1924.
- Noir de Poiret — mimics Noir by Weil, introduced in 1937.
- L'Ame Perdue de Poiret — ripped off L'Ame Perdue, introduced by Lanvin in 1928.
- Nuit de Noël de Poiret — this is a forgery of Nuit de Noël, a beloved creation of Caron from 1922.
- Parfum pour Brunes de Poiret — copies Parfum Pour Brunes, a Lionceau fragrance from 1925.
- Parfum pour Blondes de Poiret — likewise, appropriated from Parfum Pour Blondes, also by Lionceau, 1925.
- Glamour de Poiret — takes its name from Glamour, a scent launched by Chanel in 1933.
- Ce Soir ou Jamais de Poiret — borrows from Ce Soir Ou Jamais, introduced by Offenthal in 1925 (unrelated to Annick Goutal’s later fragrance of the same name).
- Nouveau Desir Parfums de Poiret — was taken from Lionceau, who launched Nouveau Desir in 1927.
- Mon Choix de Poiret — copies the name Mon Choix, launched by Fields in 1934.
- Enchantment de Poiret — likely imitates Enchantment by Imperial Formula, launched in 1939.
- Moelleux de Poiret — no known authentic fragrance by this name, making it a completely fabricated title.
- Vamp’s Desire de Poiret — again, no direct match with a known perfume; probably a fanciful name invented by the counterfeiters.
- Mysteries of The Night de Poiret — this too appears to be an invented name, crafted to sound like a sultry, luxurious French perfume.
This extensive list of fabricated "Poiret" fragrances showcases the ingenuity — and nerve — of mid-century counterfeiters. Many of these perfumes borrow heavily from well-established names and concepts, perhaps hoping that a customer would recognize the title and assume authenticity. The frequent reuse of these forged bottles to pass off other perfume brands, and vice versa, demonstrates a broader strategy: recycling names and bottles to exploit the brand equity of famous houses.
What makes this even more compelling is the revelation that several of these fake perfume names — such as Nuit de Chine — were once real creations by Poiret’s Rosine house, but were illegitimately repurposed long after the brand’s closure in 1930. The use of old stock bottles from the 1910s and 1920s, paired with newer printed labels and decorative add-ons, suggests that much of this forgery activity occurred in the 1940s and 1950s, particularly under the operations of Goldman & Marks, with strong ties to the tourist trade in Havana, Cuba.
This exquisite Czech glass perfume bottle, in the photo below, dating from the 1930s is a striking example of period craftsmanship, featuring the fine detailing and elegant proportions that make these bottles so highly sought after by collectors. Standing 3¾ inches tall to the top of the bottle and just under 5½ inches with the stopper in place, it is a classic form of Bohemian or Czech decorative glass from the interwar years. The clear glass has a refined quality, and the overall design—while appealing and collectible in its own right—is a case of a beautiful object misappropriated for deception.
Affixed to the base is a spurious label that reads "Poiret Extrait Fabrication Française Paris France", an attempt to falsely associate the bottle with the famed designer Paul Poiret. However, Poiret's perfume house, Rosine, ceased operations by 1930 and never used such bottles or labeling. Adding to the false narrative is a small top label reading "Pour Blonde", which loosely mimics the naming conventions of early perfumes—particularly those that sought to tailor scents to blondes or brunettes, as seen in legitimate fragrances by Lionceau in the 1920s.
While the bottle itself is genuine Czech glass from the 1930s, it was never produced or used by Paul Poiret or his perfume line, Rosine. The use of this bottle for fake Poiret perfumes likely occurred during the 1940s or 1950s, part of a broader trend where counterfeiters—most notably the Havana-based firm Goldman & Marks—repurposed beautiful, older bottles to house fake perfumes sold to unwitting tourists. Though aesthetically lovely, the labeling is entirely fictional and has no connection to Poiret's original production.
Dana:
Dana was one of the most widely recognized and successful perfume houses of the 20th century, known for iconic fragrances such as Tabu. However, even a house as commercially strong and internationally distributed as Dana was not spared from counterfeiters. A notable example of fakery involves a bottle purportedly used for Tabu. This bottle is made of cobalt blue glass and features a colorless, frosted glass stopper molded with floral motifs. While visually appealing and seemingly appropriate for a luxury scent, this design was never used by Dana for Tabu or any of their other fragrances.
What further confirms its inauthenticity is the presence of a Cuban tax stamp affixed to the back—a common hallmark of the counterfeit operations run by Goldman & Marks during the 1940s and 1950s. This same bottle design has surfaced in other fraudulent presentations, including various fake “Poiret” perfumes, which were also targeted by the same counterfeiters. The combination of recycled bottle forms, fake labels, and the Cuban tax stamp strongly suggests that this Tabu bottle is another example of Goldman & Marks repurposing surplus or old stock bottles and passing them off as genuine luxury perfumes to unsuspecting buyers, particularly tourists.
Lanvin:
Lanvin, long celebrated for its refined and elegant perfumes, was one of the most formidable names in 20th-century French perfumery. Under Jeanne Lanvin’s direction, the house produced some of the most enduring fragrances of the era, including Scandal and My Sin (originally Mon Péché). Given the immense popularity and prestige of Lanvin's perfumes, it is unsurprising that the brand became a frequent target for counterfeiters, particularly in the mid-20th century when fake luxury goods were flooding international markets.
Two notable examples of fake Lanvin perfumes that have surfaced involve forged versions of Scandal and My Sin. The bottles used for these counterfeits were never part of Lanvin’s official packaging. Made of clear glass, both bottles have appeared in other fake presentations, including those falsely attributed to Paul Poiret’s Rosine line, further linking them to the operations of Goldman & Marks. The bottle purporting to hold My Sin features a “Fabrication Française” label tied with cording around the neck—this label has been seen repeatedly on other counterfeit bottles and was not used by Lanvin. The bottle used for Scandal bears a Cuban tax stamp on the reverse, a clear indicator of its connection to the Havana-based tourist counterfeit trade, which flourished in the 1940s and 1950s. While the bottles themselves may date to the 1920s, their use in these fakes appears to have occurred during that later period.
Christian Dior:
Two particularly rare but deceptive examples of perfume counterfeiting involve the misuse of the name Christian Dior—specifically for two fragrances that were never part of Dior’s official catalog: Fruit Défendue and Ce Soir Ou Jamais. Both perfume names were in fact originally used by other perfume houses in the 1920s: Fruit Défendue was launched by Paul Poiret’s Parfums de Rosine in 1922, and Ce Soir Ou Jamais by Offenthal in 1925. Their reappearance decades later under the Dior name is a textbook case of post-war counterfeit perfume trade, particularly the variety tied to Havana’s tourist market.
In the examples seen, both bottles are identical—square in shape, made of clear glass, and topped with a disk-shaped stopper molded with floral motifs. These bottles themselves are authentic to the 1920s and likely represent old store stock, which counterfeiters purchased and repurposed during the 1940s and 1950s. Each bottle bears paper labels printed in both English and French, and importantly, both are affixed with Cuban tax stamps—one of which is dated 1943. This strongly suggests that these bottles were sold as souvenirs to unsuspecting tourists in Havana, many of whom would not have known Dior’s fragrance catalog well enough to question their authenticity.
Christian Dior did not release a perfume called Fruit Défendue, nor did the house produce a version of Ce Soir Ou Jamais during the 1940s or 1950s. In fact, the real Ce Soir ou Jamais—a fragrance of that exact name—would not be re-released until much later, in 1999 and by Annick Goutal, and it bears no resemblance to these earlier forgeries. Despite their visual appeal and antique styling, these bottles are counterfeits. Collectors should be cautious and not be misled by sellers claiming they are rare, limited-edition Dior creations—regardless of the romantic names or old-world charm. These are not genuine Dior perfumes, and were never produced or endorsed by the house.
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