Max Factor’s Blasé, introduced in 1975, took its name from the French word blasé, meaning bored, unimpressed, worldly, or too experienced to be easily dazzled. It is pronounced blah-ZAY. In ordinary use, the word can imply indifference; in a perfume name, however, it becomes a pose of self-possession. A blasé woman is not necessarily cold—she is simply beyond the need to seek approval. She has seen enough, knows her own mind, and wears elegance with apparent effortlessness. The name evokes a woman in a cream trouser suit, a silk shirt half-unbuttoned at the throat, or a long dress moving through a city at night: composed, independent, faintly elusive, and entirely unconcerned with whether anyone is watching.
That is exactly the character Max Factor tried to create in its advertising. “For the girl who doesn’t have to prove a thing” was a direct appeal to a new kind of consumer confidence. The line, “It’s not what you wear: it’s the way you wear it,” recast femininity as attitude rather than ornament. Blasé was meant to feel passionate and special precisely because its wearer did not have to announce herself as passionate or special; the perfume was presented as an intimate assurance, not a plea for attention. The claim that “five years ago, you couldn’t have worn a perfume as passionate and special as Blasé” suggests that both women and perfumery had changed: a fragrance could now be openly sensual, individualistic, and modern without being framed chiefly in terms of romance or male admiration.
The fragrance appeared in the mid-1970s, a complex period after the idealistic upheavals of the late 1960s. In the United States, the Vietnam War was ending, Watergate had shaken faith in political authority, economic uncertainty and the oil crisis affected daily life, and second-wave feminism had moved decisively into the mainstream. It was still an era of liberation, but less innocent than the “Age of Aquarius.” Women’s fashion reflected that mixture of freedom, glamour, practicality, and self-invention: flared trousers, trouser suits, wrap dresses, midi and maxi lengths, platform shoes, soft jersey, suede, satin, vivid prints, long hair, and a more relaxed yet deliberately sensual approach to dressing. The emerging disco culture would soon add metallic shine, body-conscious silhouettes, and a nocturnal glamour to the decade’s style vocabulary.
For women between roughly eighteen and thirty-four, Blasé’s name likely offered an appealing contradiction. It said: I am not trying too hard—while the perfume itself supplied polish, presence, and sensuality. A woman could wear it to work, on a date, to dinner, or simply as an assertion of mood. Where the earlier generation of perfume advertising often treated scent as a tool of seduction or ladylike refinement, Blasé suggested a woman already in command of herself. Its imagery is less floral-garden romance than the cool confidence of a woman entering a room with no need to explain who she is.
Olfactorily, the word Blasé does not suggest a timid fragrance. Its aldehydic opening would have given it the clean, bright, slightly abstract sparkle associated with modernity—an effect like crisp fabric, champagne bubbles, or light catching on glass. The radiant floral heart, built around jasmine, lily-of-the-valley, carnation, and other floral tones, would have supplied femininity without excessive sweetness: flowers made more vivid, poised, and sophisticated by the cool aldehydic lift. The powdery base would have translated the name’s polished nonchalance into scent—soft cosmetics, warm skin, a trace of vintage face powder, and the lingering elegance of a silk-lined coat. “Blasé” therefore implied not watery freshness or overt bohemianism, but floral confidence with an urbane, slightly aloof finish.
In perfume terms, Blasé was not a radical departure from its era; it fell squarely within a successful mid-1970s language of floral-aldehydic compositions, bright citrus, mossy woods, powder, and sensual warmth. Its resemblance to Revlon’s 1973 Charlie was especially significant. Charlie had become a landmark lifestyle fragrance through advertising that showed Shelley Hack striding independently in trouser suits—an image that helped make the working, self-directed woman a central perfume consumer. A scholarly history of Charlie notes both its connection to the women’s movement and its role in popularizing this image; the Smithsonian’s Charlie object record likewise identifies the 1973 launch and pantsuit-led campaign.
Blasé was Max Factor’s answer to that phenomenon: a similarly accessible floral-aldehydic fragrance, but dressed in French insouciance rather than Charlie’s brisk American working-girl confidence. Its advertised floral character and powdery sensuality likely made it more conventionally feminine and romantic in mood than Charlie’s sportier, lifestyle-brand image. Yet Max Factor was competing in a market already transformed by Charlie’s extraordinary success, and Blasé did not gain the same cultural hold. By 1976, Coty had entered the same territory with Smitty, promoted as a spirited, sexy “disco fragrance,” while Max Factor shifted course with Just Call Me Maxi as its newer response to the independent-woman market. Contemporary fragrance records identify Smitty as a 1976 launch, underscoring how quickly the industry moved to imitate—or reinterpret—Charlie’s formula of fragrance as feminine identity.
Fragrance Composition:
So what does it smell like? Blasé is classified as a sweet floral fragrance for women. Blasé begins with an aldehydic top, followed by a radiant floral heart, layered over a sensual powdery base. Press materials read: "Blasé features dominant floral and spicy notes resting on a woody, ambery base. It is composed of lily of the valley, carnation, jasmine, rose, vetiver, sandalwood, oakmoss, labdanum, vanilla, and tonka bean. Very feminine and long-lasting, Blasé is designed for the young, dynamic, and relaxed woman who wants something extra. Suitable for all occasions."
- Top notes: aldehyde complex, Calabrian bergamot, raspberry
- Middle notes: Indian carnation, Grasse rose de mai, Egyptian jasmine, lily of the valley, Florentine orris
- Base notes: ambergris, Tibetan musk, Atlas cedar, Mysore sandalwood, Haitian vetiver, Yugoslavian oakmoss, Spanish labdanum, Madagascar vanilla, amber, Venezuelan tonka bean, Provencal honey
Scent Profile:
Blasé begins with an effervescent aldehyde complex, the shimmering synthetic framework that gives the perfume its unmistakably polished, mid-1970s radiance. Aldehydes are not flowers or fruits but aroma chemicals, and their value lies in their ability to make natural materials seem to glow beyond their literal odor. They can suggest chilled air, sparkling wine, waxed petals, clean linen, citrus peel, or the creamy, slightly fatty softness of skin. Here, they would lift the floral composition immediately, giving it a bright, confident halo rather than a heavy bouquet.
Calabrian bergamot then supplies a greener, more elegant citrus freshness. The bergamot of southern Italy’s Calabrian coast is prized for its unusually fine balance of bitter rind, sweet citrus, aromatic leaf, and delicate floral warmth; it is less bluntly sharp than lemon and more sophisticated than orange. A touch of raspberry softens that brilliance with a rosy, tart, jammy suggestion. Raspberry cannot be simply pressed or distilled into a perfume oil, so this effect is generally built as an accord, often with fruity-floral and lightly caramelic aroma materials. It would make Blasé’s opening feel flirtatious and youthful, without turning it into a confection.
The floral heart is lush, radiant, and deliberately womanly. Indian carnation lends its peppery, clove-like personality: petals with a warm, spicy sweetness, as though a fresh pink carnation had been dusted with crushed clove and cinnamon. True carnation materials are scarce and delicate, and perfumers often reinforce the flower with spicy natural constituents and aroma chemicals—particularly clove-like effects—to make its characteristic floral-spice contrast clear and lasting. Its warmth gives the bouquet a faintly ruffled, vintage glamour.
Grasse Rose de Mai, traditionally associated with the Rosa centifolia cultivated around Grasse, is more honeyed, soft, and rounded than the cool, lemony refinement of many Bulgarian-style rose materials. It suggests a rose gathered at full bloom: plush petals, warm pollen, winey depth, and a faintly green, dewy edge. In Blasé, it would keep the florals romantic and full-bodied rather than merely pretty.
Egyptian jasmine deepens the heart with its voluptuous, nocturnal bloom. Usually derived from Jasminum grandiflorum, Egyptian jasmine absolute is treasured for its sun-warmed richness: white petals, apricot-like sweetness, tea, honey, and the faint indolic, almost animal warmth that makes real jasmine seem alive rather than sanitized. It mingles beautifully with the rose, turning it from a garden flower into something more intimate and sensual.
Lily-of-the-valley provides the contrasting impression of cool white bells, wet green stems, and spring air. The flower does not yield a practical natural perfumery essence, so its odor must be recreated through a muguet accord of aroma chemicals. This constructed freshness is essential to the perfume: it opens space between the dense rose, jasmine, and carnation, making the heart feel luminous, dewy, and freshly washed rather than suffocatingly rich.
Florentine orris adds a quiet, expensive powderiness to the florals. Orris does not come from the iris blossom, but from the aged rhizome of iris—traditionally Iris pallida cultivated in Italy. After years of curing, the roots develop fragrant irones, which smell cool, rooty, buttery, faintly violet-like, and exquisitely cosmetic. In Blasé, orris would give the floral heart the finish of fine face powder and soft suede, transforming the bouquet into something poised and beautifully composed. It is the note that makes the perfume’s femininity feel adult and self-assured rather than merely sweet.
The base begins with an animalic-ambery glow. Ambergris, when used historically as a natural tincture, has a strange and beautiful odor: salty air, sun-warmed skin, tobacco-like softness, seaweed, and a subtly sweet, mineral warmth. It was traditionally derived from sperm whales and is now largely replaced by ethical synthetic ambergris-style materials, which recreate its diffusive, skin-like, long-lasting radiance.
Tibetan musk should be understood with equal care. If the term refers to the historic animal musk associated with musk deer, it represents a material that is no longer appropriate for modern perfumery because of conservation and animal-welfare concerns; a modern perfume would use synthetic musks instead. These can provide the same soft, warm, slightly animalic skin effect without animal material. Together, the ambergris and musk effects would make Blasé feel warm and bodily rather than overtly dirty: a lingering sensuality beneath the polished floral surface.
Atlas cedar, from the cedar forests of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains, brings dry pencil shavings, warm wood, a faint camphoraceous clarity, and a gently smoky, leathery undertone. It gives the base structure, allowing the flowers to rest on something firm and elegant. Mysore sandalwood, from India, was historically revered for its exceptionally creamy, milky, rose-tinged, almost buttery woodiness. Its high-quality oil was softer and more persistent than many other sandalwood styles, giving a perfume a velvety, skin-like warmth rather than a dry lumberyard effect. Authentic old Mysore sandalwood is now scarce and tightly controlled; contemporary compositions commonly rely on managed sandalwood sources and sandalwood-like aroma molecules to evoke its creamy signature. In Blasé, it would smooth the cedar and animalic notes into a soft, caressing base.
Haitian vetiver adds dry roots, bitter grapefruit peel, pale smoke, cool earth, and sun-dried grass. Haitian vetiver is especially valued for its refinement and clarity: it often feels cleaner and more elegant than some heavier, smokier vetiver oils. Its presence keeps the base from becoming too sweet or powdery, giving Blasé a tailored, almost masculine edge beneath its florals.
Yugoslavian oakmoss refers to the traditional European moss material associated with the former Yugoslav region. Oakmoss is a lichen, not a true moss, and smells of damp bark, forest floor, bitter greens, sea air, and aged leather. It was central to the classic chypre style, but modern use of natural oakmoss is heavily restricted because of sensitization concerns; modified extracts and substitutes are now commonly used. In a vintage-style Blasé, it would provide the dry, shadowed contrast that prevents its sweetness from becoming too soft or complacent.
Spanish labdanum, obtained from Cistus ladanifer growing in the hot, resinous landscapes of Spain, provides the perfume’s deepest balsamic warmth. It smells of amber, sun-baked herbs, resin, leather, smoke, and a faint suggestion of salt on warm skin. Labdanum is one of the principal natural building blocks of an amber accord, and here it would darken the sandalwood and oakmoss with a golden, leathery glow. The stated amber is likewise an accord rather than a single natural essence: perfumers construct it from resins such as labdanum, benzoin, and vanilla-like materials, often supported by warm woods and modern amber molecules. Its purpose is to make the drydown feel glowing, enveloping, and softly luminous.
Madagascar vanilla lends a rich, rounded vanilla warmth. Derived from cured Vanilla planifolia pods, Madagascar vanilla is prized for its deep vanillic sweetness, with nuances of cream, dark chocolate, dried fruit, tobacco, and soft wood. It does not necessarily make Blasé smell like dessert; in a floral chypre structure, it acts more like a warm lining beneath the flowers and resins. Venezuelan tonka bean reinforces that effect with coumarin, the naturally occurring aromatic constituent that smells of almond, hay, vanilla, tobacco, and warm dried grass. Tonka gives the perfume a powdery, almost suede-like sweetness that beautifully joins orris, sandalwood, and musk.
Finally, Provençal honey supplies the illusion of golden warmth. Honey cannot be distilled into an essential oil in the way that bergamot or vetiver can, so its presence would usually be conveyed through a honey accord, perhaps enriched by waxy, floral, balsamic, and animalic facets. The effect is not merely sugary sweetness: it suggests warm beeswax, pollen, sunlit petals, and a faint animalic hum. In Blasé, this honeyed touch would make the Grasse rose, Egyptian jasmine, and carnation feel warmer and more tactile, as though the bouquet had been gathered at the height of summer and laid against powdered, perfumed skin.
Blasé is therefore a sweet floral not because it is simple or girlish, but because its brightness is gradually absorbed into rose, jasmine, powder, woods, moss, amber, and skin-like warmth. The aldehydes and lily-of-the-valley accord give it modern radiance; the carnation, rose, jasmine, and orris supply its glamorous floral body; and the woods, moss, animalic notes, resins, vanilla, tonka, and honey give it its sensuous, lingering finish.
Product Line:
In 1977/1978, Blase was available in the following:
- Parfum Presentations: Spray (8g)
- Related Products: Eau de Toilette splash bottles (40ml, 75ml); Sprays (56ml, 100ml)
- Ancillary Products (Bath & Body): Body Lotion (100ml)
Fate of the Fragrance:
Discontinued, probably by 1989.