Antinea by Rosine (1919)

Antinea, ou au fond de la Mer by Les Parfums de Rosine was launched in 1919, at a time when perfumery was undergoing a profound transformation—an era marked by bold experimentation, the introduction of synthetics, and an urge to capture more than beauty: to evoke fantasy, distant lands, and mythical tales. The name itself, Antinea, ou au fond de la Mer, translates from French as Antinea, or At the Bottom of the Sea. Pronounced roughly as “Ahn-tee-nay-ah, oo oh fon duh la mare,” the name is richly evocative, conjuring images of a submerged world—mysterious, silent, shimmering in aquatic light—a mythical refuge untouched by time. It calls to mind forgotten empires, treasures lost in coral reefs, and the briny perfume of ocean spray and sea flora.

Paul Poiret, ever the dreamer and master of theatrical luxury, drew inspiration for this perfume from L’Atlantide, the wildly popular 1919 novel by Pierre Benoit. The book tells the story of Antinea, the seductive and enigmatic queen of a secret Saharan kingdom believed to be the lost Atlantis. Set in a timeless realm buried beneath the desert sands, the novel was a heady blend of myth, fantasy, exoticism, and eroticism—themes that captivated post-war France and aligned perfectly with Poiret’s aesthetic. Naming a perfume after Antinea and her undersea world allowed Poiret to tap into a cultural fascination with ancient mysteries and seductive, elemental women. It also provided an olfactory escape—an invitation to immerse oneself in a fantasy at a time when the world was just emerging from the horrors of World War I.

The scent itself was groundbreaking. Described as smelling of "salt marshes and the sharp, bitter and pungent seaweed," Antinea was a bold departure from the sweet floral perfumes dominating the market. It featured a trace of C-12 MNA, or methyl nonyl acetaldehyde, an aldehyde with an oceanic and metallic nuance. This ingredient gave the fragrance an almost skin-like freshness tinged with marine salinity and warm ambergris-like undertones. The aldehyde also softened the more acrid notes of seaweed and moss with subtle waxy and coumarin-like sweetness. The result was not a perfume in the traditional floral sense, but something elemental and atmospheric: the smell of air after a storm over the sea, of sea foam carried on the breeze, of windswept coasts layered with tangled kelp and sun-warmed rocks.

Launching this marine-themed fragrance in 1919 was a unique gesture. While aldehydic florals would rise to prominence in the 1920s with Chanel No. 5, Antinea was ahead of its time in fusing synthetic and natural elements to evoke a deeply imaginative, even surreal environment. Its marine character placed it outside the mainstream of powdery florals, chypres, or orientals, offering instead an earthy, saline escape—something elemental and ancient. In a world eager to find new forms of luxury and identity after wartime austerity, Antinea gave women a way to inhabit myth and magic, to perfume themselves with the legend of an undersea queen and the luster of lost worlds.

In the context of its time, Antinea stood apart as both a literary homage and a fragrant marvel. Where others offered flowers and powdered fantasies, Poiret offered myth, mystery, and the memory of salt and seaweed—a perfume that whispered secrets from the depths.

Fragrance Composition:

So what did it smell like? Antinea by Rosine was described as having the scent of "salt marshes and the sharp, bitter and pungent seaweed." It was described as "the bitter scent of seaweed." Antinea had a low level of the C-12 MNA aldehyde which gave it facets of fresh ambergris, aldehydes, moss, citrus, tuberose, metallic, waxy, and coumarin.

• Top notes: aldehyde C-12 MNA, bergamot, citral, Paraguayan petitgrain, Hungarian clary sage, Mediterranean thyme
• Middle notes: Russian coriander, Tuscan violet leaf absolute, Dutch hyacinth, cyclamen aldehyde,  hydroxycitronellal, Grasse tuberose absolute, Grasse rose absolute, Riviera jasmine absolute, indole 
• Base notes: Tyrolean oakmoss, Haitian vetiver, Venezuelan tonka bean, coumarin, ambergris, ambreine, Mysore sandalwood, Madagascar vanilla, Abyssinian civet, Canadian castoreum, Maltese labdanum, kelp seaweed absolute, Indian costus root, English celery seed, Sumatran styrax, Siam benzoin

Scent Profile:

To experience Antinea by Rosine is to walk through the untamed salt marshes of a dreamt Atlantis—a surreal and marine world perfumed with bitter green, metallic florals, and sun-warmed skin. Released in 1919, this fragrance was boldly unlike most others of its era. It evokes a sensory world shaped by the imagined queen Antinea from Pierre Benoît’s L’Atlantide—a realm hidden beneath the waves, eternal and strange. Antinea was crafted to smell like salt and seaweed, earth and stone, light and shadow. As I imagine opening the flacon and breathing deeply, each ingredient unfolds like a tide returning from the depths.

The top note begins with aldehyde C-12 MNA—an aroma chemical that, even in low concentration, brings a glistening marine freshness, like the rush of wind across seaweed-draped rocks. It has a metallic, citrusy, slightly waxy character that mimics the feel of clean skin kissed by ocean spray. This aldehyde bridges beautifully with Calabrian bergamot, whose slightly bitter, floral-zesty oil captures the vivid brightness of southern Italy’s coastal sun. Interwoven with this is citral, extracted from lemongrass or lemon oils, which adds a clean, sharp citrus sparkle—brightening the top and enhancing the aldehydic lift.

Paraguayan petitgrain, distilled from the leaves and twigs of the bitter orange tree, introduces a woody-green sharpness that feels almost herbal and resinous, evoking the stalky green stems of a seaside thicket. Hungarian clary sage, known for its ambery, hay-like nuance, lends a whisper of musky, earthy warmth to the fresh notes, foreshadowing the base. Mediterranean thyme enters dry and aromatic—sharp and slightly medicinal—a breath of sea-laced breeze blowing over low scrubland, anchoring the scent to sun-drenched soil and mineral-rich air.

As the fragrance unfolds, the marine-floral heart unfurls like a strange bloom beneath brackish waters. Russian coriander contributes its nutty-citrus warmth—spicy but round—while Tuscan violet leaf absolute adds its trademark sharp greenness with an almost metallic sheen, echoing the marine bitterness of seaweed. Dutch hyacinth, full and waxy with green, sweetly floral notes, merges with cyclamen aldehyde, a synthetic note evoking cool, water-drenched petals. The result is an aqueous, rainwashed effect—a bloom opening in the damp shadows.

Hydroxycitronellal, a widely used floral aroma molecule, brings a soft lily-of-the-valley nuance—green and clean, and crucially dewy. It enhances the wet-green feeling without being overwhelming. Then come the florals in full: Grasse tuberose absolute, buttery and narcotic, unfolds with rich creaminess, lending weight and depth. Grasse rose absolute, delicate and honeyed, mingles with Riviera jasmine absolute, indolic and heady—made more animalic with the inclusion of a touch of indole, evoking the sensual decay at the heart of fresh flowers.

As the scent deepens, we are drawn into the ocean floor—earthy, resinous, and complex. Tyrolean oakmoss delivers its inky, damp profile: astringent, musty, almost like forest floor clinging to stone. Haitian vetiver, dry and smoky, provides a thread of earthy bitterness and anchors the structure with rooty depth. Venezuelan tonka bean and coumarin, its key constituent, add warm, nutty-sweet richness, but here coumarin also underscores the dryness, echoing sun-dried leaves and crushed hay.

Then comes the animalic sea: ambergris, radiant and salty-skin-like, shimmers with ambreine—a synthetic fixative used to mimic and extend its softness. Mysore sandalwood, creamy and golden, contrasts beautifully with the sharp green and salt of the upper structure. A drop of Madagascar vanilla offers a warm counterpoint, yet never dominates.

The final breath is unmistakably feral. Abyssinian civet and Canadian castoreum, in minute amounts, bring the scent of damp fur and wild musk, reminiscent of something primordial and half-remembered. Maltese labdanum, thick and resinous, adds balsamic warmth, while kelp seaweed absolute, earthy and briny, wraps the whole in a cloak of marine mystery. This is what gives Antinea her sharp edge—this bitter, vegetal saltiness. Indian costus root, rich and animalic, smells like old wool and human skin, adding to the illusion of sea-soaked relics. Finally, English celery seed, with its spicy bitterness, and resinous Sumatran styrax and Siam benzoin layer the finish in warm, leathery, balsamic shadows.

Together, these elements form an olfactory seascape. Antinea is not a gentle perfume. It’s bracing and enigmatic, blending elegance with primordial nature. It tells a story not of floral prettiness, but of a mythic queen beneath the waves—a ghost of Atlantis, swathed in seaweed, salt, and sensuality. This was not a perfume meant to please everyone—it was meant to haunt.

Bottles:

The presentation of Antinea was as evocative and artful as the fragrance itself, steeped in the aesthetics of Orientalism that so captivated Paul Poiret. True to his passion for Eastern design, Antinea was housed in a small, polished metal flask modeled after an inrō box—those traditional Japanese cases used for carrying small personal items, once suspended from the obi sash of a kimono. This design choice was far more than decorative; it reflected Poiret's deep admiration for Japanese craftsmanship and his flair for transforming objects of utility into exquisite fashion statements. The shape of the bottle—a compact, rectangular form with softly rounded edges—mirrored the clean lines and graceful restraint of Japanese lacquerware, while its portability suggested a perfume as precious and personal as a charm.

The flask itself was silver-toned and smooth to the touch, with a quiet luster that caught the light, offering a tactile richness. It was topped with a translucent glass stopper, delicately tinted in rose and yellow hues—a sunrise-like gradation that added softness and romance to the sleek modernity of the metal case. A green satin cord looped around the neck, not only as a nod to the cord used to suspend traditional inrōs, but also to give the flacon an ornamental finish, like a jewel tied with a ribbon. It was packaged in a cardstock box wrapped in gold paper, and lined in creamy satin, lending a subtle opulence to the presentation and reinforcing its status as a couture perfume.

In addition to the metal flask, Antinea was also offered in clear glass bottles, designed to mimic the same inrō-inspired shape. These glass versions retained the graceful rectangular form and were similarly fitted with the same multi-hued stopper, tying both styles of packaging into a unified visual identity. While the metal version conveyed a sense of precious weight and durability—perhaps reserved for clients of Poiret’s couture salon—the glass flacon suggested refinement and transparency, echoing the watery, mineralic tones of the perfume itself.

Together, both presentations encapsulated the mythic allure of Antinea—a fragrance inspired by the legend of Atlantis and the mysterious queen of the sea. These bottles did not simply contain a perfume; they evoked an entire narrative world. Whether encased in metal or glass, Antinea’s vessel was an extension of Poiret’s vision—where fashion, fragrance, and fantasy converged in perfect harmony.

1921 ad

In 1912-1913, atomizers with Rosine fragrances were launched along with their matching saucers on which they rested. These were extremely thin and fragile blown glass and in the shape of hookah bases. They were hand painted at the Martine workshop. These atomizers were available for all the Rosine scents, but the first was for the perfume Antinea, ou au fond de la Mer.

Fate of the Fragrance:

Antinea by Les Parfums de Rosine was officially launched in 1922, during a period of postwar renewal when artistic expression flourished and exoticism held fashionable sway. Created in the spirit of myth and mystery, the perfume was inspired by Pierre Benoit’s 1919 novel L’Atlantide, whose heroine Antinea ruled over a lost subterranean kingdom beneath the sands of the Sahara. The fragrance echoed these themes of forgotten splendor and marine magic, embodying a bitter, seaweed-laced scent like “salt marshes” and “the sharp, pungent smell of the sea.”

Despite its uniqueness and the creativity behind its conception, Antinea had a relatively short commercial life. It was discontinued in 1930, coinciding with the closure of Les Parfums de Rosine, the perfume house founded by fashion designer Paul Poiret. The company's dissolution marked the end of an era not only for Poiret’s influence in haute couture, but also for his ambitious and artistically-driven perfume line. As was often the case with defunct luxury brands of the period, Antinea did not vanish immediately—it lingered briefly in retail outlets.

Throughout 1931, remaining stocks of Antinea were offered at heavily discounted prices, as retailers attempted to clear out discontinued inventory from a now-defunct house. These clearance sales signaled the end of a once-innovative fragrance, now reduced to an echo of a glamorous past. Today, any surviving examples of Antinea—particularly in its rare inrō-style flacon—are highly coveted by collectors and perfume historians, treasured as remnants of Poiret's theatrical, visionary world.

Bosquet d’Apollon by Rosine c1922

 Bosquet d’Apollon by Rosine, launched in 1922, is a fragrance that transports the wearer into the manicured splendor of the French Baroque — specifically, into the mythical and meticulously designed gardens of Versailles. The name, Bosquet d’Apollon (pronounced boh-SKAY dah-poh-LOHN), translates to "The Grove of Apollo" in French, referencing one of the most famous garden features at the Palace of Versailles. The Apollo Grove was commissioned by Louis XIV, the Sun King, who identified with the god Apollo as a symbol of art, light, and order. By naming this perfume after such a landmark, Poiret paid tribute not only to classical mythology but also to a golden age of French refinement and spectacle.

Poiret, deeply fascinated by the grandeur and extravagance of the Ancien Régime, often referenced 18th-century aesthetics in his designs, and Bosquet d’Apollon was an olfactory extension of this fascination. In the early 1920s — a period known as Les Années Folles (the "crazy years"), a French parallel to the Roaring Twenties — women were reclaiming social freedom through fashion, art, and fragrance. While many fragrances of the time leaned into heavy orientals or powdery florals, Bosquet d’Apollon distinguished itself with its verdant freshness, echoing the post-rain clarity and lushness of Versailles’ royal gardens. It conjured not an opulent ballroom, but rather the serene, dew-soaked pathways where nobility might stroll after a summer rain.

Arlequinade by Rosine (1919)

Arlequinade by Les Parfums de Rosine was launched in 1919, a moment when the world was reawakening from the trauma of the First World War and throwing itself into the glittering, decadent energy of the Jazz Age. This was a time marked by bold artistic experimentation, theatricality, and a longing to escape through fantasy, color, and movement. The name Arlequinade, pronounced “ar-leh-kee-NAHD” in French, was perfectly in step with the spirit of the age. It refers to a comic interlude or short pantomime performance featuring the character Harlequin—Arlequin in French—a mischievous, nimble figure from the Italian commedia dell’arte, whose colorful diamond-patterned costume and clever antics had become symbols of playful seduction and theatrical wit.

Paul Poiret, always drawn to the stage, pageantry, and the reimagining of history, chose the name Arlequinade with theatrical flair. It conjured a world of masked balls, painted faces, and the whimsical performances that delighted audiences across Europe. Harlequin, the archetypal trickster and romantic suitor, embodied the flirtatious and mysterious mood Poiret adored. To wear a perfume named Arlequinade in 1919 was to embrace a flirtatious elegance, to cloak oneself in an air of playful intrigue—perfect for the modern woman who rejected the rigid rules of the Edwardian past and welcomed the freedom of the 1920s.

The scent itself mirrored the idea of performance and transformation. Created by the brilliant perfumer Henri Alméras, Arlequinade was classified as a piquant, woody floral amber fragrance for women, deliberately crafted to be as multifaceted and elusive as the Harlequin character. The heart of the fragrance was dominated by spicy carnation, its clove-like fire softened by a bouquet of powdery white flowers, all resting on a warm, animalic base. The composition was built around a rare material called Opoponax LG, a specialty resin accord produced by Givaudan, which lent a velvety, balsamic warmth—rich, sweet, and faintly medicinal—that anchored the perfume in luxurious depth.