A'Suma by Coty (1934)

A’Suma by Coty, released in France in 1934, arrived at a moment when Western fascination with the “exotic East” was flourishing in fashion, décor, film, and perfumery. Subtitled Fantaisie Japonaise, the perfume played into this cultural fantasy—an imagined Japan filtered through Parisian elegance—while its actual inspiration came from something even more dreamlike: a moonlit tropical beach in Bali. François Coty, together with his master perfumer Vincent Roubert, crafted a scent meant to be otherworldly, transporting the wearer far from Europe’s interwar anxieties and into a world of shimmering heat, fragrant foliage, and nocturnal mystery.

The name A’Suma appears to be a poetic invention rather than a direct borrowing from a specific language, but it evokes the soft, lilting cadence of Southeast Asian place names. Pronounced roughly "ah-SOO-mah", it conjures imagery of warm winds, palm silhouettes, drifting petals on dark water, and scenes lit by a rising tropical moon. The word feels both fluid and elusive—suggesting something just out of reach, like the echo of a siren’s call or the shimmer of heat above sand. To a woman in the 1930s, the name alone would have promised a fragrant escape into a fantasy of languor, sensuality, and faraway beauty.

A’Suma was launched during the Art Deco era, a period defined by luxury, geometric elegance, international travel, and a growing Western appetite for motifs inspired by Asia and the South Seas. In perfumery, the early 1930s oscillated between two major trends: the aldehydic florals that had dominated since Chanel No. 5, and the sultry orientals that flourished under the influence of Shalimar and Nuit de Chine. Fougere structures were most commonly associated with masculine fragrances, so introducing a semi-oriental floral fougère for women was unusual and daring. Coty leveraged this daring structure to create something that felt both modern and intoxicatingly foreign.

The advertisements of the time described A’Suma as “exotic as the South Seas; mysterious as moonlight; alluring as a siren’s song.” Women in the mid-1930s—navigating the shifting realities of modern life while still embracing romance, glamour, and escape—would have understood this language immediately. The scent offered not just luxury but fantasy, suggesting recklessness, indulgence, and a freedom unbound by propriety. Perfume at this time played a strong role in self-presentation, and a woman choosing A’Suma would be perceived as sensual, enigmatic, and slightly unconventional.

Interpreted in scent, A’Suma revealed itself as a warm, airy, fern-inflected oriental, a structure softened and feminized by tropical floral nuances. The top notes held “exotic” accents—likely spicy botanicals, green herbs, or fleeting citrus touches—that opened with a bright yet shadowy warmth. The fougère heart added lift and radiance, bringing an airy quality to what otherwise could have been a heavy oriental style. As it settled, the base revealed a smoldering richness, the “smoky,” “opulent,” and “languorous” qualities cited in period advertisements—hints of moss, woods, sweet resins, and soft balsams weaving together like heat rising from a nighttime shoreline.

In the broader context of perfumes available in 1934, A’Suma was both aligned with the decade’s fascination with exoticism and distinct in its composition. While many houses explored oriental themes, few blurred them with fougère construction and airy florals. Most “exotic” perfumes of the time leaned dense and velvety; A’Suma, by contrast, was lighter, more atmospheric, and more abstract—an imagined landscape rather than a literal oriental.

Its lacquered presentation box, decorated with Chinese-style panels, completed the fantasy—a tactile promise of adventure and sensual mystery. As a whole, A’Suma stood apart as a fragrance not bound by geography or tradition, but shaped instead by the dreams and desires of an era entranced by far-off worlds.

Fragrance Composition:

So what does it smell like? A'Suma is classified as an semi-oriental floral fougere fragrance for women. It is a light and airy fern odor. Exotic top notes are included in this warm, piquant spicy perfume.

• Top notes: aldehydes, Calabrian bergamot, mint and Chinese camphor
• Middle notes: carnation, Tunisian orange blossom, French lavender, Omani incense, May rose, Grasse jasmine, tuberose and Dutch heliotrope
• Base notes: French labdanum, Mysore sandalwood, leather, Tyrolean oakmoss, Singapore patchouli, Mexican vanilla, Venezuelan tonka bean, Tibetan civet, vetiver, patchouli, ambergris, Tonkin musk

Scent Profile:

A’Suma opens with a breath of air so strange and shimmering that it immediately feels like stepping onto a moonlit tropical shore—warm, herbaceous, and faintly otherworldly. The first impression is shaped by aldehydes, those bright, sparkling aroma-molecules that lift the entire structure like a sudden intake of cool night air. They give the top a silvery, almost effervescent sheen, sharpening edges and magnifying the contrast between light and shadow. Beneath that glimmer, Calabrian bergamot unfurls its uniquely refined citrus profile: brisk, floral, and slightly peppered. Bergamot from Calabria is known for its superior complexity—grown on coastal groves where sea breeze and mineral-rich soil deepen its aroma, it yields a citrus note that is bright yet soft, never harsh.

The citrus-bright opening is pierced by the green, cooling snap of mint, which adds a bracing, herbal freshness—like crushed leaves releasing their cool, aromatic oils under warm fingers. The mint’s clarity enhances the sparkle of the aldehydes, making them feel even more radiant. Then comes the unmistakable edge of Chinese camphor—a natural material prized for its crystalline, medicinal, almost mentholic force. Smoother and more rounded than camphor distilled elsewhere, Chinese camphor contributes a cool, shimmering vapor that cuts through the warmth beneath it. This top accord feels both refreshing and slightly mysterious, as though the air has been stirred by a sudden tropical breeze carrying hints of distant spice markets.

The heart of A’Suma glows with florals that feel sun-warmed yet nocturnal—lush, humid, and sweetly spiced. Carnation introduces its clove-like heat, a floral note with peppery edges that lends the scent its “piquant” character. Tunisian orange blossom follows with its honeyed, powdery, almost creamy glow. Tunisian blossoms—grown in warm Mediterranean light—have an added richness, a roundness that places them somewhere between innocence and sensuality. French lavender, crisp and herbaceous, balances this sweetness with its aromatic freshness. French lavender is prized for its clarity: floral, green, and subtly camphoraceous, it bridges the transition from the cool top to the warm heart.

Then the fragrance deepens. Omani incense, one of the most precious and ancient aromatics in perfumery, releases its golden smoke—resinous, airy, and almost lemon-tinged. True frankincense from Oman has a brightness that keeps it from feeling heavy; instead, it creates a floating veil of aromatic warmth. Into this veil slips May rose, soft and dewy, offering a tender, petaled fullness. Paired with Grasse jasmine, harvested at dawn for its richest indolic sweetness, the heart blossoms into a lush floral tapestry—sweet, narcotic, and slightly animalic. Tuberose, creamy and voluptuous, adds a tropical, white-floral richness that hints at moonlit petals warming under balmy air. Finally, Dutch heliotrope contributes its almond-powder sweetness—soft, comforting, and faintly like sugared violets.

The base of A’Suma is where the fragrance settles into its languorous, semi-oriental depth—warm, resinous, lightly smoky, and faintly animalic. French labdanum opens the descent with its leathery, ambered warmth—sticky-sweet, sun-baked, and shadowed. This pairs seamlessly with the creamy, sacred radiance of Mysore sandalwood, renowned for its unparalleled richness. Genuine Mysore sandalwood has a buttery, milky smoothness that no other region can replicate; it softens every edge, turning sharpness into sensuality. Leather accents reinforce the animalic undertone hinted at earlier—supple, smoky, and slightly salty.

Tyrolean oakmoss brings a damp, forest-floor elegance—earthy, velvety, and shadowed with green. Oakmoss from the Tyrol region, growing on high-altitude trees, carries a cool, mineral accent that lends a fresher, cleaner mossiness than lowland varieties. Singapore patchouli deepens the earthy register with its dark, camphoraceous richness; patchouli from this region tends to have a smoother, slightly sweeter profile, adding warmth without heaviness.

The sweetness in the base comes from Mexican vanilla, lush and creamy with a dark, rum-like undertone, and Venezuelan tonka bean, rich with coumarin’s scent of tobacco, warm hay, and almond. Their combined effect is both comforting and exotic—like warm skin dusted with spice.

Then, the animalic core reveals itself: Tibetan civet, soft and musky with a wild, shadowed depth; Tonkin musk, long prized for its warm, radiant sensuality reminiscent of human skin warmed by sun. These elements are not overtly animalic but rather smoldering—suggestive rather than aggressive.

Earthy vetiver grounds everything with its rooty, smoky dryness. Ambergris adds the illusion of wind-swept seas and salty air, giving the base a softness and buoyancy that mirrors the aldehydic lift at the top.

Together, these notes create a drydown that feels like reclining on warm sand at night—soft, smoky, sweet, and slightly feral, yet airy and illuminated from within. A’Suma’s semi-oriental floral fougère structure gives it an unusual duality: light and floating, yet full of depth; tropical yet refined; exotic yet unmistakably French in its polish. It is a scent that moves like a siren’s song—glimmering in the distance, irresistible, and entirely its own.

The fragrance was available in parfum, cologne and eau de toilette concentrations.

Bottles:

The flacon created for A’Suma was as evocative as the fragrance itself—an object designed to feel otherworldly in the hand, as though it had drifted ashore from the same imagined South Seas night that inspired the perfume. Coty presented the parfum in a frosted glass sphere crowned with a rounded stopper, the entire surface softly veiled with molded chrysanthemum blossoms. These flowers, gently raised in relief, added a tactile quality: cool satin-frosted glass under the fingertips, interrupted by delicate petals that seemed to glow from within. The chrysanthemum motif, long associated with longevity and nobility in East Asian cultures, subtly reinforced the perfume’s subtitled theme of a “Fantaisie Japonaise.”

Because of the exquisite frosted finish and floral relief, many later collectors mistakenly credited the bottle to René Lalique. In truth, the design was the product of Coty’s own artistic direction and was manufactured by his in-house glassworks—an important reminder of just how advanced Coty’s design vocabulary had become by the early 1930s. His glass studio, founded specifically to bring his concepts to life, produced bottles that rivaled the work of dedicated art-glass houses. The A’Suma sphere is one of its finest achievements: modern yet romantic, refined yet dreamlike.

The story behind its final form adds a poignant, human dimension. Not long before Coty’s death, he interviewed the young designer Pierre Camin, who candidly admitted he knew almost nothing about bottle design. Coty corrected him gently—“A bottle is for wine. Flask is the word we use here”—a remark that reveals how deeply he cared for terminology, craftsmanship, and the distinction between functional object and luxury container. During their meeting, Coty showed Camin a sketch of the A’Suma flask. Camin studied it and remarked simply that it needed “a pedestal.” This single, precise suggestion delighted Coty. In that moment, Camin demonstrated intuition rather than technical training—the ability to feel when a design lacked its final gesture of balance. Coty hired him immediately. That understated pedestal, now integral to the smaller A’Suma presentation, became part of the perfume’s visual identity.

The smallest extrait sits on a glossy black Bakelite plinth, which lifts the frosted sphere as though displaying a precious artifact. Set within an Oriental-styled presentation box—black lacquer tones accented with gold and red and decorated with stylized Asian motifs—the effect is intentionally theatrical. Opening the box would have mimicked lifting the lid of a lacquered curiosity cabinet, revealing a glowing sphere inside. For the deluxe size, Coty elevated the experience further: the spherical flask rests on ivory satin in a box fashioned from rich red Moroccan leather. This version feels less like packaging and more like a jewel case, a private casket for a precious treasure. Notice the red box has two different shapes, one is the eight-sided version of the black one, and a cylindrical version.

A’Suma extrait was available in a range of sizes, each maintaining the same sculptural purity of the design:

• 0.13 oz, standing 1.5 in. tall (miniature with or without screw cap)
• 0.42 oz, standing 2 in. tall
• 0.84 oz, standing 2⅛–2.25 in. tall
• 1.45 oz, standing 3 in. tall
• 1.68 oz, standing 4 in. tall
• 3.36 oz, standing 4.25 in. tall

Regardless of size, every A’Suma flacon held the same intention: an object that suggested a moonlit bloom, a sphere of diffused light, a dream of the faraway. Coty’s vision—supported by Camin’s subtle but essential insight—resulted in a design that perfectly echoed the fragrance’s promise of mystery, exoticism, and suspended, otherworldly beauty.

A Question of Price:

When A’Suma debuted in 1934, its pricing placed it squarely in the realm of luxury—an intentional choice during a moment when the world was still reeling from the Great Depression. The parfum sold for $10 in its elaborate Chinese-style presentation box and $35 in the sumptuous red Moroccan leather case. Adjusted for modern value, those amounts translate to approximately $246.06 and $861.21 in 2025 currency. Seen through this lens, A’Suma was not merely a fragrance; it was a prestige object marketed to those who could still afford beauty despite widespread economic hardship.

Understanding this context requires stepping into the climate of the early 1930s. The Great Depression—which began in 1929 with the stock market crash and spread rapidly across the globe—ushered in an era of massive unemployment, collapsing banks, and drastically reduced consumer spending. By 1934, the crisis had softened somewhat but continued to shape daily life. Discretionary purchases, especially prestige goods, saw steep declines as households prioritized survival over indulgence. Perfumery was no exception: many smaller houses closed, and even major brands scaled back lines, altered formulas, or discontinued slow sellers.

Yet luxury fragrance did not disappear—rather, it became more pointedly aspirational. Perfume took on symbolic value as an affordable escape, a small indulgence offering emotional uplift. But the word “affordable” was relative: even modest perfumes stretched the budgets of ordinary women, and true parfum extraits such as A’Suma existed firmly outside most consumers’ reach.

In this climate, A’Suma’s pricing was undeniably cost-prohibitive for the average woman on both sides of the Atlantic. A $10 bottle represented several days’ wages for a middle-class worker and far more for many others. The $35 deluxe version, equivalent to more than $800 today, might have equaled a month’s rent. In Europe, where economic recovery lagged behind the United States, the disparity was even more pronounced. For most women, A’Suma would have been admired from afar—seen in advertisements, glimpsed on a store counter, or perhaps encountered through a shop sample.

But Coty understood his market. Luxury perfumery during the Depression relied heavily on a shrinking but still powerful upper-middle and wealthy class, customers who continued to buy couture, fine cosmetics, and presentation-quality fragrances. These clients did not vanish; rather, they became more selective and often more brand-loyal. A scent like A’Suma, wrapped in lacquer-style packaging and imbued with exotic fantasy, appealed directly to this clientele—women who sought objects that announced refinement, worldliness, and taste even in difficult times.

Thus, while unattainable for the majority, A’Suma occupied a strategic niche: a high-luxury perfume whose price reinforced its mystique. To the women who could afford it, owning A’Suma was not simply about scent—it was a proclamation of resilience, sophistication, and the ability to continue living beautifully in an era defined by austerity.

 

Other Bottles:

Introduced in 1949, Coty’s “Purser” bottle offered women a touch of luxury that doubled as a piece of personal jewelry. This petite gold-plated brass case—only 2 inches tall and holding 0.13 oz of parfum—was designed to slip effortlessly into a handbag, yet it carried all the elegance of Coty’s larger presentations. When viewed from the base, its form reveals a clever, sculptural surprise: the silhouette resembles a pair of softly curved lips. The bottle closes with a small, ball-shaped screw cap, maintaining the sleek, jewel-like appearance and protecting the perfume inside. Each Purser is stamped “Gold Plt’d” on the underside, confirming its gilded construction.

Coty employed this charming design for several of its most popular perfumes, including L’Aimant, L’Origan, Paris, Emeraude, Chypre, and Styx, allowing devotees of each fragrance to carry a portable, ornamental version of their signature scent. Advertised as “a longed-for, exquisite, gilded phial,” the Purser was positioned as both a practical accessory and an indulgent pleasure. Marketing of the era emphasized its convenience and desirability, noting that it was “ready-filled for finger-tip touching up,” and attractively priced so that a woman might own more than one—“a Purser for every pretty purse.” In postwar America, where glamour was returning to everyday life, this little golden bottle offered an accessible yet unmistakably elegant way to keep one’s favorite fragrance close at hand.

A’Suma was also offered in the Briar Stopper flacon, one of René Lalique’s refined designs for Coty first introduced in 1911. This tall, clear glass bottle with its square base provided a crisp architectural silhouette that beautifully contrasted with its most striking feature—the frosted “briar” stopper, molded in delicate relief and lending a sculptural, botanical grace to the otherwise minimalist form. Though originally created for Eau de Toilette, the design proved adaptable and was later produced in an extensive range of sizes, from tiny 2-inch miniatures to imposing 8.75-inch display pieces. Coty’s early 1920s packaging emphasized the luxury of these hand-cut crystal flacons, advising owners to handle the sharply angled corners with care. After 1920, production moved to Coty’s own glassworks, meaning all A’Suma bottles in this style were manufactured in-house rather than by Lalique. Today, the Briar Stopper flacon is regarded as a classic of early 20th-century perfumery—admired for its clarity, its elegant sculpted stopper, and its remarkable versatility across parfum, toilette, and miniature formats.

Fate of the Fragrance:

A’Suma entered the world in 1934, at a time when Coty was known for marrying bold imagination with luxurious presentation. The fragrance was introduced as something deliberately extravagant—an opulent oriental composition designed to transport the wearer far beyond the familiar. Early press emphasized its dreamlike allure. The New Yorker described it as a scent that seemed to sweep one away to “some coral strand or other,” hinting at warm, far-off coasts, languid evenings, and the intoxicating pleasure of letting one’s desires wander. It was the kind of perfume that promised temptation, adventure, and perhaps a touch of mischief—a fragrance that could, as the review playfully noted, “be a help in finding a partner for your straying.”

Harper’s Bazaar positioned A’Suma as a fragrance richer and more decadent than even the height of 1930s fashion. Described as possessing “the sensuous allure of a siren’s song,” the perfume was meant to captivate in a way that felt irresistible. Its presentation mirrored this intention. Coty housed A’Suma in a distinctive flower-embossed frosted glass sphere, an object that looked part jewel, part exotic curiosity. The orb rested on a pedestal of ebony and scarlet—colors chosen for their dramatic contrast and their long-standing association with luxury and seduction. The $10 size arrived in a striking octagonal case finished to resemble black and gold lacquer, while the $35 deluxe edition floated on a bed of ivory satin inside a vivid scarlet Morocco leather case. These lush materials—ebony-tone finishes, satin, lacquer, and fine leather—created an unmistakable aura of foreign glamour, reinforcing the fragrance’s identity as a portal to opulence.

Fashion magazines of the time encouraged women not only to wear A’Suma, but to use it strategically. The Delineator (1935) suggested placing drops at the ear lobes, the nape of the neck, and the wrists—locations that warmed the perfume and released its sensuality as the wearer moved. The advice was clear: A’Suma was meant to deepen romance, heighten allure, and let the fragrance trail behind the wearer like a whispered invitation.

By 1935, The New Yorker again praised its presentation, calling the perfume “exciting” and noting that the glass sphere rested “in splendor” on its ebony pedestal. The language consistently tied A’Suma to treasure boxes, gowns of satin, lacquered luxury, and the thrill of the exotic. Even without smelling it, women encountering the display would have understood that A’Suma belonged to the world of fantasy and indulgence—a place where glamour reigned supreme.

Though richly admired in its day, A’Suma faded from Coty’s lineup and was discontinued by 1957. What remains is its legacy as one of Coty’s most sumptuous presentations—an object and a perfume created to embody the decadent, escapist spirit of the 1930s, when a scent could be a passport to faraway dreams and a quiet promise of romance.