Pronounced DAH-mahs (with a soft French inflection), the name “Damas” carries with it an air of continental sophistication. It conjures images of richly embroidered damask textiles, candlelit salons filled with music and perfume, and the quiet intensity of diplomacy, culture, and ceremony. The word evokes a certain sensual depth—opulence tempered with mystery.
Launched at the dawn of the 1930s, Damas entered the world during a period marked by both artistic exuberance and looming economic uncertainty. The Jazz Age was giving way to the Great Depression, and while fashion was becoming more restrained compared to the lavish excess of the 1920s, there remained a deep desire for escapism and luxury. Perfume played a vital role in this era, offering women an affordable form of indulgence and self-expression.
In this climate, Damas would have appealed to women who sought a perfume of substance and complexity—something mature, exotic, and even a touch dramatic. Described as a “spicy and pungent heavy floral woody fragrance,” it would have offered a striking contrast to the lighter aldehydic florals that were still in vogue. Its dominant damask rose accord—deep, velvety, and full-bodied—would have enveloped the wearer in richness, while its sandalwood note provided warmth and an almost spiritual calm. This wasn’t a “flirtatious” scent—it was composed, confident, and enigmatic.
The inclusion of sandalwood placed Damas firmly in the category of oriental or floral-woody perfumes, a genre that was gaining popularity in the late 1920s and early '30s. In the broader context of perfumery at the time, Damas stood out for its weight and its unapologetic sensuality. It was not a “fresh” fragrance but rather one that lingered and unfolded over time, in keeping with the grand, slow-burning romances and political intrigues that inspired so many of Matchabelli’s creations.
Whether read as a homage to women in general or as a subtle nod to imperial alliances, Damas was a perfume of presence—bold yet refined, memorable and melancholic, as much a statement of style as of sentiment.
Fragrance Composition:
So what does it smell like? Damas by Prince Matchabelli is classified as a pungent, spicy and heavy floral woody fragrance for women. Based on damask rose and sandalwood.
- Top notes: aldehyde C-10, aldehyde C-11, Calabrian bergamot oil, nerol, Sicilian lemon oil, Paraguayan petitgrain, citronellol, Malabar black pepper oil, Bourbon rose geranium, linalool, phenylacetaldehyde
- Middle notes: Turkish damask rose absolute, Bulgarian rose otto, phenylethyl alcohol, Moroccan rose absolute, rhodinol, geraniol, Indian carnation absolute, methyl eugenol, Zanzibar clove bud oil, isoeugenol, Indonesian nutmeg, Ceylon cinnamon bark oil, Grasse jasmine absolute, Comoros ylang ylang oil, methyl anthranilate, benzyl acetate, hydroxycitronellal
- Base notes: amyl salicylate, Mysore sandalwood oil, Austrian oakmoss absolute, Tibetan musk, Indian musk ambrette, ambergris tincture, vanillin, Siam benzoin, South American tolu balsam, Sumatran styrax, Abyssinian civet, Canadian castoreum, Malaysian patchouli, Atlas cedar, Java vetiver
Scent Profile:
Imagine lifting the gilded cross stopper from the flacon of Damas by Prince Matchabelli. What escapes is not merely a perfume—it’s a deep breath of another era, laced with intrigue and grandeur. This fragrance opens like the drawing of lush brocade curtains in a sunlit salon: an explosion of aldehydes—C-10 and C-11—with their silvery, waxen freshness, like polished linen or chilled champagne fizzing on the skin. These aldehydes don’t just sparkle; they lift and aerate the fragrance’s weightier florals, ushering in a bracing citrus overture. Calabrian bergamot oil, sun-soaked and softly bitter, adds brightness with a slightly green undertone. The bergamot’s elegance is quickly warmed by the supple tang of Sicilian lemon oil, sharper, zestier, and cleaner than its counterparts elsewhere, harmonizing with Paraguayan petitgrain, which lends a crisp, herbal counterpoint—green twigs and crushed citrus leaves.
Woven through this citrusy breath are sharp, fragrant strands of Malabar black pepper oil, hot and dry with a steely clarity, and Bourbon rose geranium, whose rosy, minty tang already hints at the voluptuous heart to come. A delicate shimmer of nerol (from orange blossom) and linalool (from lavender or coriander) bring floral lift and clarity, while citronellol and phenylacetaldehyde contribute that fine balance of leafy-green and honeyed sharpness. The top feels lively, aromatic, and thrilling—like a breeze that carries spice and citrus through a Mediterranean marketplace.
But then, the perfume descends into its powerful heart: roses, but not gentle ones. These are roses with drama—opulent, sultry, and full-throated. Turkish damask rose absolute is central, with its velvety red depth and slightly smoky edge. Bulgarian rose otto, sourced from the famed Valley of the Roses, adds a fresh, dewy facet—lighter, greener, and more honeyed. Moroccan rose absolute brings yet more warmth and a subtle leathery richness. Supporting these is phenylethyl alcohol, the classic rosy molecule found in many petals, sweet and softly diffusive, acting as a bridge between natural rose oils and synthetics like rhodinol and geraniol, which boost the volume and staying power of the floral core.
Now the spice begins to build—a rich, exotic tapestry. Indian carnation absolute, with its clove-like pungency, meets the sharper tones of methyl eugenol and isoeugenol, both extracted or mimicked from clove and bay. Zanzibar clove bud oil, with its smoky-sweet fire, joins Indonesian nutmeg and Ceylon cinnamon bark oil, evoking the spice bazaars of colonial ports. This blend is plush, warm, and intoxicating—perfectly offset by the delicate tendrils of Grasse jasmine absolute and creamy, banana-like Comoros ylang ylang, softening the intensity into something more embraceable. Rounding out the heart are flecks of methyl anthranilate, offering a juicy, grape-like sparkle, benzyl acetate for jasmine lift, and hydroxycitronellal, a green-floral molecule that adds body and elegance to lily-like notes.
Then comes the base—an opulent descent into sensual darkness. Mysore sandalwood, the gold standard, is creamy, sacred, and balsamic, grounding the floral turbulence with its serene, velvety wood. Austrian oakmoss absolute adds cool, mossy bitterness, conjuring wet forest floor and vintage chypres. Tibetan musk and Indian ambrette bring warmth and sensuality, soft and slightly animalic, while ambergris tincture offers a salty, diffusive glow—like moonlight on skin. Vanillin, rich and comforting, is enhanced with resinous Siam benzoin, the soft toffee note of South American tolu balsam, smoky Sumatran styrax, and the deeply animalic traces of Abyssinian civet and Canadian castoreum. These materials do not overwhelm—they purr quietly, enhancing the floral heart and lifting the wood notes with warmth and complexity.
Finally, a woodsy trail remains—earthy and dry. Malaysian patchouli, moss-dark and rounded, merges with Atlas cedar’s soft pencil-shaving sharpness, and Java vetiver brings a rooty, smoky finale. Damas doesn’t just fade—it lingers like the low, vibrating resonance of a cello string, touched once and echoing for hours.
This perfume is not delicate—it is a composition of strength and grace. Regal, mysterious, and unapologetically bold, Damas walks in the footsteps of queens and courtesans, casting a long and unforgettable shadow.
Launched in 1930, Damas by Prince Matchabelli was part of a suite of four perfumes designed to usher in the new decade with a sense of theatrical romance and exotic flair. Introduced alongside Queen of the Nile, Queen of Babylon, and Jungle Flower, Damas stood out as the most classically floral of the quartet—yet not in a delicate or demure sense. As reported in The American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review, it was described as a floral perfume, but one possessing a pungency and spicy weight that set it apart from lighter compositions of the day. Though Jungle Flower shared the floral category, Damas exuded a bold, oriental-inflected richness centered around damask rose and Mysore sandalwood, which lent the fragrance a commanding presence.
Aesthetically, Damas received its own striking presentation. Departing from Matchabelli’s signature pyramid bottle—used for the other three releases—Damas debuted in a newly designed red and gold flacon. The color choice was no accident: the red evoked the passion and intensity of its rose heart, while the gold hinted at the nobility and luxury the brand was known for. This bottle aligned with the opulence of its scent, offering a visual cue to the perfume’s deeper, spicier character.
Though the name Damas may have seemed straightforward—possibly referencing “ladies” in a romantic, continental sense—it also carried deeper historical allusions. Some speculated it nodded to General François-Étienne de Damas, a French officer who served in the Russian army during the Napoleonic Wars, tying into Prince Matchabelli’s penchant for honoring figures with Russian historical ties. Others interpreted it simply as a celebration of the damask rose, the velvety, deeply scented flower that formed the fragrance’s core. Pronounced "DAH-mas" (as in the first syllable rhyming with "palm" and the second like "mass"), the word evokes richness, old-world elegance, and a sense of cultivated femininity.
The early 1930s were a time of significant change. As the world slipped deeper into the Great Depression, consumers became more selective—seeking luxury, but also value and meaning in what they purchased. As the Prince noted in 1930, “the American public [was] buying with more care and distinction than formerly,” turning to perfume not simply as a luxury, but as a daily essential, a finishing touch to one’s wardrobe and identity. Damas offered just such a touch—an olfactory signature that was neither timid nor trendy, but timeless, mysterious, and intense. Its blend of spiced florals and smooth woods embodied the type of fragrance that women of the era reached for to feel grounded, alluring, and a bit exotic, even as the world around them shifted.
By 1935, The New Yorker reported “a growing yen for Damas,” indicating that its appeal had not waned, and that its richly floral, slightly spicy profile had found a loyal audience. In the context of its time, Damas was both in step with the era’s fascination with exoticism and distinct in its ability to balance that allure with a classical floral framework. Bold and expressive, Damas was—and remains—a perfume that speaks in a confident, low voice, leaving behind a fragrant echo of elegance and strength.
Bottles:
When Damas by Prince Matchabelli was launched in 1930, it joined the brand’s prestigious lineup housed in the now-iconic crown bottles—a presentation as refined and theatrical as the fragrance itself. Initially, Damas was offered in several variations of this crown bottle design, each one a subtle expression of the perfume’s character and appeal.
The most striking version was the red and gold crown bottle, introduced specifically for Damas. This edition broke from the standard clear and frosted styles traditionally used by the house. Its deep red body, richly symbolic of passion, damask roses, and regal heritage, was accented with gilded trim, evoking opulence and the lavish splendor of Eastern courts. This bottle was sensuous to the eye even before the perfume within was experienced—suggesting boldness, warmth, and complexity. Its dramatic styling reflected the heavier, spicy floral-woody composition of the scent.
Alongside the red and gold presentation, Damas was also released in the classic clear glass crown bottle, which allowed the soft golden hue of the perfume to be visible. This transparency emphasized clarity and purity, offering a more understated luxury. Some bottles came in clear glass with gilded accents, giving a lighter, more delicate interpretation of the scent’s grandeur—perhaps appealing to those who sought sophistication over drama.
Another variant, clear and frosted glass, introduced a tactile and visual contrast—cool, matte frosted panels against the gleam of transparency. This version highlighted Damas’s duality: floral grace underscored by shadowy spice and wood. The coolness of the frosted glass seemed to reflect the “pungent” and “spicy” edge described by contemporary reviews, while the clear facets nodded to its underlying bouquet structure.
These different presentations of Damas served not only aesthetic purposes but strategic ones as well. They allowed consumers to select a bottle that matched their personal style, the season, or the tone they wished to project—whether regal and commanding, understated and elegant, or mysterious and romantic. Collectively, these crown bottles reinforced the fragrance’s positioning as both aristocratic and individualistic, perfectly in line with Prince Matchabelli’s philosophy of scent as personal signature and olfactory art.
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When Damas was reintroduced in 1947, it marked a return not just of a beloved fragrance, but of a certain prewar elegance that had been unavailable for several years. During World War II, like many luxury goods, Damas was quietly withdrawn from the market. This absence was likely due to the scarcity of critical raw materials—both for the perfume’s ingredients and its packaging. Essential oils from Europe and Asia were difficult or impossible to source during wartime. Fragrance components like Mysore sandalwood, Bulgarian rose, and spices from Ceylon and Zanzibar would have been diverted to wartime uses, blocked by trade disruptions, or simply too expensive and risky to procure. Similarly, glass manufacturing faced shortages and repurposing for military needs. Bottles, especially those requiring custom molds or imported crystal, became luxuries out of reach.
By 1947, with peace restored and global supply chains gradually recovering, Damas was reborn with a striking new presentation. The company introduced what collectors today refer to as the “Damas bottle”—a beautiful clear crystal flacon with softly sloping shoulders, shaped with elegant proportions to hold 1.5 ounces of perfume. It was both modern and timeless, a departure from the more decorative crown bottles of the 1930s. The bottle’s form is graceful and poised, reflecting the refined and romantic character of the fragrance inside.
Topped with a ground glass stopper molded in relief with Prince Matchabelli’s distinctive “M and crown” logo, the presentation was understated yet unmistakably regal. The base of the bottle is molded with “Matchabelli,” and notably, no country of origin is marked on the glass—suggesting it was domestically manufactured in the United States, likely due to postwar import limitations or cost considerations. Its craftsmanship, however, retained the hallmarks of prewar luxury.
The bottle stands 3.5 inches tall and 3 inches wide, with the presentation box measuring 4 inches tall by 4 inches wide. Interestingly, the box itself bears the mark “Made in France,” implying that while the glass may have been American, the packaging—or at least its design and construction—was created or inspired by traditional French perfume presentation, reaffirming the perfume’s European sophistication.
This particular flacon design was not unique to Damas alone. It was also used for several other Prince Matchabelli fragrances of the period, including Ave Maria, Abano, and Jungle Flower, creating a cohesive visual identity across the brand’s revived postwar offerings. Each fragrance took on a new life within the shared silhouette, offering a modern take on old-world charm—poised, polished, and undeniably feminine.
Fate of the Fragrance:
Launched in 1930, Damas was one of Prince Matchabelli’s earliest creations and exemplified his refined, European-inspired style. Named with a nod that may have referenced both the French word dames—meaning “ladies”—and possibly the historical figure General François-Étienne de Damas, the fragrance was conceived during a period of rich artistic and cultural expression. The early 1930s were a time of innovation in perfumery, with perfumers embracing bold florals, exotic woods, and new synthetics to evoke distant lands and timeless beauty. Damas fit effortlessly into this trend. It was described as pungent, spicy, and intensely floral, built around a luxurious heart of damask rose and anchored by sandalwood and oriental woods.
Originally presented in the now-iconic Prince Matchabelli crown bottles, Damas appeared in several color variations, including clear, clear/frosted, gilded/clear, and a striking red and gold version created specifically for this scent. The red and gold flacon, introduced in 1930, reflected the perfume’s richness and regal tone. Unlike some of the other perfumes released at the same time—such as Queen of the Nile and Queen of Babylon, both housed in pyramid bottles—Damas stood apart as a floral fragrance with gravitas, sultry elegance, and a heavier character than was typical for a rose-based scent.
After a period of unavailability during World War II—likely due to restricted access to natural raw materials and glass manufacturing—the fragrance was reintroduced in 1947 in a new bottle design, known among collectors as the “Damas bottle.” The crystal-clear flacon with sloping shoulders and a ground glass stopper molded with the Matchabelli crown and “M” logo symbolized the brand’s postwar revival and a return to classic glamour.
Still available as late as 1952, Damas maintained a place in Prince Matchabelli’s lineup well into the mid-century, though by that time it had become more of a quiet classic than a star attraction. Eventually discontinued, Damas faded into obscurity, overshadowed by better-known house favorites like Wind Song and Duchess of York.
Today, Damas is one of the lesser-known Matchabelli perfumes, a hidden gem for fragrance historians and collectors. Its rich floral-woody structure, romantic backstory, and elegant packaging offer a window into a bygone era when perfume was not just a finishing touch—but a statement of identity and mood.