Cerissa by Revlon was introduced in 1974, following the enormous success of Charlie and arriving during a brief, very personal phase of Charles Revson’s fragrance marketing. Ciara had already transformed the sounds of Revson’s initials into a feminine perfume name; Cerissa continued the device, beginning with the “C” of Charles and preserving the soft “R” sound associated with Revson. It gave the impression of a woman’s name while quietly functioning as another signature of its creator. One historical correction is worth making: Charles Revson was still alive when Cerissa appeared in 1974; he died in August 1975. Thus, the wording “the late Charles Revson” in the Soap notice must have been written or reprinted after his death.
Cerissa appears to have been an invented perfume name rather than a word with one fixed linguistic definition. Its sound is nevertheless suggestive of French cerise, meaning “cherry,” and that association gives the name a lovely imagined color: cherry-red silk, a rosy flush, bright fruit against spring greenery. Pronounced approximately “seh-RISS-ah,” it is softer and more delicate than the darker, more dramatic Ciara. The name seems to promise charm rather than mystery—something petal-like, fresh, romantic, and gently feminine. It evokes flowering branches, a spring garden after rain, pale pink and cream blossoms, and the tender anticipation of a new romance.
Cerissa was launched in the middle of the 1970s, a time of shifting ideals in fashion, beauty, and womanhood. The youthquake energy of the late 1960s had matured into a more eclectic, individualistic style: long skirts and maxi dresses, soft blouses, knitwear, denim, peasant-inspired details, romantic prints, clogs, platform shoes, and natural-looking hair existed alongside the decade’s more glamorous satin, jersey, and disco-influenced eveningwear. Women were also navigating profound social change. The women’s liberation movement had made independence, ambition, sexuality, and choice part of everyday public conversation, while beauty advertising still frequently relied on the language of romance, attraction, and emotional femininity.
In that context, Cerissa presented a softer counterpoint to Ciara’s smoky oriental richness and to Charlie’s famously independent, pants-wearing modern woman. A perfume called Cerissa could appeal to a woman who wanted to feel feminine without seeming old-fashioned: fresh and contemporary, but still openly romantic. The 1974 Cue description—“a very feminine floral” that might become “a classic”—shows how Revlon positioned it as an immediately appealing floral rather than an intimidatingly avant-garde composition. Its $10 two-plus-ounce cologne spray also made this polished image broadly attainable.
The 1975 Vogue description is particularly revealing, calling Cerissa “tender, pretty, and totally emotive” and claiming it was meant for women “not afraid to be vulnerable to men.” That wording is unmistakably of its moment. It framed emotional openness and desirability as feminine virtues, even as many women were challenging the narrow roles traditionally assigned to them. To some 1970s consumers, Cerissa may have represented softness as a chosen form of self-expression—not weakness, but the pleasure of being romantic, receptive, and sensuous. To a modern reader, the phrase also illustrates the tensions of the era: a changing culture of female independence still being marketed through conventional heterosexual ideals.
In scent terms, the name Cerissa suggests a light-filled floral chypre rather than a dark, brooding one. Its green, fruity, aldehydic opening would imply the freshness of stems and leaves, fruit touched with dew, and the bright, effervescent lift of a newly opened perfume bottle. The heart—described as exotic and richly floral—would be imagined as a garden in full spring bloom: the clove-like, spicy petal warmth of carnation; the cool, bell-like purity of lily of the valley; the sweet nectar of honeysuckle; the golden, slightly narcotic quality of jonquil; and jasmine’s creamy, softly sensual bloom. The sweet balsamic base would keep this floral brightness from vanishing too quickly, giving the fragrance a gentle, warm trail and a more polished chypre finish.
Cerissa was therefore not wholly unique for 1974, but it was very much in tune with its time. Green florals, floral chypres, aldehydic freshness, and the contrast of bright flowers with a warm mossy or balsamic base all had an established place in the perfume market. What distinguished Cerissa was its particular balance: rather than the assertive animalic-oriental style of Ciara, or the crisp, sporty independence of Charlie, it offered a tender, spring-like floral personality backed by Revlon’s powerful marketing reach. Its concentrated spray cologne format gave it modern convenience, while its floral chypre structure preserved the elegance and lasting sophistication expected of a serious perfume.
Fragrance Composition:
So what does it smell like? Cerissa is classified as a soft and sweet floral chypre fragrance for women. A fresh, contemporary, spring-like floral with spicy accents. It starts with a green, fruity, aldehydic top, followed by an exotic floral heart with doses of carnations, lily of the valley, honeysuckle, jonquils and jasmine, resting on a sweet balsamic base.
- Top notes: Calabrian bergamot, raspberry, green note, aldehydes and Ceylon cinnamon
- Middle notes: Zanzibar carnation, Mexican tuberose, Grasse rose, Dutch jonquil, lily of the valley, Egyptian jasmine and honeysuckle
- Base notes: Siamese benzoin, Virginian cedar, Yugoslavian oakmoss, Mysore sandalwood, Indonesian patchouli, Tibetan musk, ambergris, Maltese labdanum, Madagascar vanilla
Scent Profile:
Cerissa is a soft, sweet floral chypre in which crisp green brightness gradually gives way to a lush garden of flowers, then settles into a warm, balsamic, mossy embrace. The supplied geographical designations give the composition a particularly romantic, globe-spanning character; however, published note pyramids ordinarily identify the materials without documenting their exact provenance. They are therefore best read as an evocative reconstruction of the perfume’s intended palette rather than proof that every bottle contained those precise regional harvests.
The opening has the animated freshness of spring sunlight on wet leaves. Calabrian bergamot brings the scent of a freshly twisted green-gold citrus peel: sparkling, floral, gently bitter, and softer than lemon. Bergamot from Calabria, in southern Italy, has long been prized as the classic fine-fragrance quality, valued for its unusually graceful union of bright citrus, green facets, and a delicate floral-lavender tone.
Raspberry then gives a juicy flash of dark red fruit—tart, jammy, wine-like, and slightly furry in texture—while green notes add the snap of crushed stems, young leaves, and grass. Neither a true raspberry nor a generic “green” smell can usually be bottled as a simple essential oil; both are commonly composed as accords. Carefully selected aroma materials let the perfumer make the raspberry brighter, more diffusive, and longer lasting, and give the green effect the vivid freshness of living vegetation without overwhelming the flowers.
Aldehydes bring a bright, effervescent shimmer to this beginning. In perfume they may suggest chilled air, waxed fruit skin, soap, clean linen, or the gleam of light on flower petals. Although aldehydic molecules occur in nature, perfumers also use them in purified or synthetic form, because their clarity and power make it possible to lift a floral composition far beyond what natural oils alone can achieve. Here, they give Cerissa its “contemporary” 1970s polish: the flowers seem illuminated rather than dense or old-fashioned. Ceylon cinnamon, from Sri Lanka, warms this green sparkle with a gentler, sweeter, more refined spice than the darker, more forceful cassia often sold simply as cinnamon. It introduces the first suggestion of carnation-like clove warmth to come.
The floral heart is a lavish spring garden, but one softened by spice, creaminess, and warmth. Zanzibar carnation suggests the velvety, clove-like perfume of red and pink dianthus flowers, whose petal scent combines spicy eugenol-like warmth with a cool, floral sweetness. The carnation effect is usually an artistic reconstruction rather than the product of a plentiful natural essence: natural carnation materials are scarce and delicate, so a perfumer commonly enhances them with spice materials and floral aroma chemicals. This allows the note to bloom more clearly, keeping its unmistakable peppery-petal character alive amid richer flowers.
Mexican tuberose adds a creamy, waxy, almost narcotic white-floral fullness. Tuberose is native to Mexico, and the reference to its ancestral home evokes the flower at its most opulent: thick, luminous white petals releasing their perfume in warm evening air, with green, buttery, and sometimes faintly camphoraceous facets beneath the sweetness. Grasse rose contributes a more polished, romantic rosiness. The perfume tradition of Grasse is particularly associated with the painstaking cultivation and extraction of flowers for fine fragrance, especially the richly honeyed, softly spicy Centifolia rose. Whether the original formula used a Grasse-grown rose or the phrase is descriptive, the effect is that of rose petals made velvety and elegant rather than thin or merely cosmetic.
Dutch jonquil lends a golden, green-floral radiance with a hint of hay, honey, and soft animalic warmth. The Netherlands has long been celebrated for bulb cultivation, and “Dutch jonquil” conjures fields of spring bulbs and carefully bred narcissus varieties: brighter and more cheerful than a heavy white flower, yet more complex than a simple daffodil accord. Egyptian jasmine deepens this floral abundance with a sensual, creamy bloom. Jasmine from Egypt is especially admired for its full-bodied floral richness, in which indolic, fruity, green, and tea-like nuances give the flower a living, almost breathing quality. It prevents Cerissa’s pretty florals from becoming merely innocent; beneath the freshness is a warmer, more intimate skin-like suggestion.
Lily of the valley supplies the heart’s cool, bell-like clarity—dewy, green, lightly sweet, and faintly soapy, like small white flowers hidden among leaves. It is one of perfumery’s most beautiful illusions, because the living flower does not yield a practical natural extract for fine fragrance. Its scent has traditionally been recreated with a blend of natural supports and aroma chemicals, historically including hydroxycitronellal and other muguet materials. These synthetics do not diminish the flower; they make its delicate, fleeting freshness possible in perfume, giving definition and lift to the more naturally obtainable jasmine, rose, and tuberose around it. Honeysuckle is similarly often created as an accord, since its fragrant nectar-like impression is more easily evoked than extracted: sweet pollen, warm petals, a touch of orange flower, and the green sap of a vine climbing in sunlight.
The base gives the floral brightness its chypre depth. Siamese benzoin is a balsamic resin traditionally associated with Styrax tonkinensis from mainland Southeast Asia—especially Laos and neighboring regions, despite the historical name “Siam.” It has a smoother, sweeter, more vanilla-like aroma than the darker, smokier character often associated with Sumatran benzoin: warm resin, almond-like softness, powder, and golden balsamic sweetness. Benzoin from northern Laos is derived from Styrax tonkinensis This is the material that makes Cerissa’s floral heart feel gently glazed and enduring rather than airy and short-lived.
Virginian cedar adds a dry, clean, pencil-shaving woodiness, with a quiet smoky edge that prevents the base from becoming too sweet. Yugoslavian oakmoss—an evocative reference to the forests of the former Yugoslavia—brings the unmistakable shadow of classic chypre: damp bark, earth, lichen, dried leaves, and a faint leathery bitterness. Mysore sandalwood contributes the opposite texture: creamy, soft, warm, and almost milky. Traditional Mysore sandalwood, associated with southern India and Santalum album, has been revered for its high content of naturally creamy santalol materials and its remarkable ability to fuse flowers, woods, and balsams into a seamless whole. Indonesian patchouli provides a darker, more humid green-brown depth, smelling of damp earth, camphor, roots, and aged leaves.
Musk, ambergris, Maltese labdanum, and Madagascar vanilla complete Cerissa’s warm lingering trail. The historic Tibetan musk reference evokes the deep, animalic warmth of natural musk, but such animal musk is no longer a responsible or lawful mainstream perfumery material; modern perfumers recreate its soft, skin-like diffusion with synthetic musks. These give a perfume lasting power and a warm sensual haze without relying on an animal source. Ambergris, too, is usually interpreted through modern materials: its salty, mineral, ambered, sun-warmed quality can be suggested by sophisticated aroma chemicals that make the floral notes seem to cling to the skin.
Labdanum contributes an ambery, leathery, faintly smoky resinous darkness. “Maltese labdanum” may be a poetic geographic designation rather than a standard commercial origin, but its intended effect is clear: sun-baked rockrose resin, warm leather, dry herbs, and amber. Finally, Madagascar vanilla lays a creamy, dark-pod sweetness over the entire base. Madagascan vanilla, typically from Vanilla planifolia, is valued for its deep, rounded, richly vanillic profile; natural vanilla provides nuances of dried fruit, rum, tobacco, and balsam, while added vanillin can amplify its familiar sweet, powdery glow. Together, these materials turn Cerissa from a bright spring floral into something more intimate and lasting—a garden bouquet resting on warm woods, moss, ambered resins, and softly perfumed skin.
Product Line:
Cerissa was available in the following products:
- Pulse Point Perfume
- Perfume Concentrate
- Concentrated Cologne
- Dusting Powder
- Body Lotion
- Solid Perfume
Fate of the Fragrance:
Discontinued in 1989.