Jolie Madame
Pierre Balmain (1953)

Jolie Madame (1953) is perhaps the most beautiful vintage leather chypre of all. Designed by the inimitable Germaine Cellier, Jolie Madame is a sly minx, combining the smoky, green-infused leather of isobutyl quinoline with tender dark violets, whose scent lingers for hours. The leather base certainly recalls vintage Bandit (1944), another Cellier masterpiece, or Miss Balmain (1967), which is frequently credited to Cellier but was actually designed by Harry Cutler, but the addition of velvety Victorian violets was a decided stroke of genius. It's just Cellier having fun, combining the violets beloved by Victorian aunties with her trademark tough girl leather accord.

The note pyramids for Jolie Madame are a hoot, listing “neroli” “orange blossom” “lilac” as well as “violet leaves" but not, unaccountably, VIOLET. Violet leaf absolute provides a grassy green note: the violet floral note is always recreated with ionones. In perfumery, violets are slightly weet, berried, with a haunting airiness/mustiness

In the original version, subtle floral notes of gardenia and jasmine as well as musky castoreum enhance the contrasting textures, but you really have to like the not-at-all-shy violet to enjoy vintage Jolie Madame. If you've never thought of yourself as a fan of violet, you might find that vintage Jolie Madame gives you a taste for violets in other perfumes. It happened to me, and over time and rather unexpectedly, Jolie Madame has become one of my favorite vintage perfumes.

Jolie Madame by Pierre Balmain (1953) was one of those perfumes that smelled at once both old-fashioned and modern, something that had the finger on the pulse of contemporary taste during its existence, yet called back to something out of time, which is perhaps why reviews on it are sort of mixed. Germaine Cellier's best work this is not, as is often cited by perfume critics, historians, and collectors; and this is likely because it doesn't do the usual trick of pushing one big concept out front like Vent Vert by Pierre Balmain (1947), or doesn't work in her usual lane of massive leather and moss accords. Well, I will perhaps never understand the almost drug addict-like fixation a very vocal minority of vintage lovers have (who seem to actively recruit their ranks), and I refuse to drink the Kool-Aid, even as someone who loves oakmoss very much myself; so if not living in the fixatives is the charge that sentences this fragrance to eternal shame in the eyes of the obsessed, that would seem to me more of a compliment than an insult. For its part, Jolie Madame does indeed have oakmoss, at least my 70's-era review sample does, so I'm not sure what the problem really is here anyway. If there's any criticism lobbed at Jolie Madame that I can find, it's maybe that the subject of violet these days reads more masculine to the conventional fragrance consumer than feminine, so the name of Jolie Madame might cause some mild cognitive dissonance unless you have an open mind. For me, C. Howard's violet mints will always be in my pocket when found, so having a fragrance which replicates that vibe is always welcome, just not at current unicorn prices.

The basic gist of Jolie Madame is to be a fruity violet fragrance super-imposed over a chypre base that is boosted with some tonka, the naughty T-word that these days means an overdose of sugared coumarin, the bane of so many modern designer fragrance haters. I can understand it showing up about 65 years early to its own crucible being a bit shocking to those sniffing Jolie Madame for the first time expecting more of the usual bitter woods, leather, and moss stuffed with white florals and orris; but tonka is only sweet here on virtue of all the orange blossom and tuberose up top, not something like ethyl maltol. The opening of Jolie is downright fruit basket sweet, which is the part which will read modern to the untrained nose, a comforting introduction of still-contemporary neroli, petitgrain, and something lactonic in the mix. The violet comes in next, although this isn't violet leaf mind you, not a brash petrol ionone either; but rather we get the sweet parma-violet candy-style version of the note. This last part is the part that will most "date" Jolie Madame, as it isn't something seen much in contemporary designer fare. Oakmoss, patchouli, tonka, indoles, and traces of animalic musks wrapped in subtly smoky birch leather finish this up. You must understand about this last part, that they are supporting players, and the growl really isn't, just a base that offers enough contrasting value to make your mind fixate on the sweet violet up top. For me, this could be truly unisex, as it is so perfectly balanced as to feel neutral in all areas of the social strata, gender included. The only bias I'd apply here is season, which for me is spring or fall.

There is no truly skanky or dank-mossy version of Jolie Madame without taking a vintage example and somehow destroying the top and heart notes enough to unbalance it towards the fixatives. In a rare turn, Cellier makes a truly harmonious perfume as a result, upsetting folks used to the tuberose overdose of Piguet Fracas (1948) or isobutyl quinoline of Piguet Bandit (1944) both from Cellier. In fact, this is one of her later recorded creations, and there wouldn't be many more before her final retirement in the 1960's, so I imagine Jolie Madame was probably her attempt at a mid-career change, much like Jean-Claude Ellena when he broke away from the oil houses to become singular perfumer for Hermès. The key difference is, that move for Ellena stuck and a blitz of perfumes that redefined the way people looked at his work would follow, while for Germaine, Jolie Madame was just a blip, and she went back to business as usual for the remainder of her career (primarily with Balmain). Jolie Madame would get some refreshes over the years, last seen in a gray-labelled square bottle before the house of Balmain itself went into decline and literally all of its classic perfumes began disappearing from shelves into the 21st century. The big problem with "zombie houses" that lack a strong creative director, yet shuffle on as a brand owned by soulless corporate ghouls looking to buy another private island somewhere, is they do it on the backs of dying intellectual properties they own without truly understanding why they held value in the first place. These more-recent bottles lack the pre-made bases Cellier relied upon, and weren't well-recomposed to compensate like some of her Piguets, so take heed there. Thumbs up

Germaine Cellier was a perfume Grandmaster, but - like the best players - she didn’t always win and this is one of her lesser works.
A half way house between leather and a violet bouquet, it doesn’t have the arresting quality of Bandit, the audacity of Fracas or the lived-in feel of Visa.

Tania Sanchez wrote that if she had to choose just one fragrance it would be Jolie Madame because it ‘always seemed to hit the spot’ [no matter the mood or occasion – one
assumes].
And this is the problem, it doesn’t have a stand out character.

She’s right about one thing though, the new version has been cut off at the knees, and without the mossy brown leather it’s now insipid, instead of just being dull.

To be fair, violet suffers from being old fashioned. Jolie Madame also doesn’t fare well in the light of Paris, where violet is paired with rose, which is still the best combination in my opinion.

Brushed leather, velvety and soft, supple, but nuanced, with a viridescent violet and bluebell icing. It's as if Piguet Bandit has donned its Sunday best for church but also has plans for a spirited brunch and some Sunday night secrets.

I am clearly drawn to IBQ (isobutyl quinoline, also known as pyralone), a vaguely tobacco-like, aromatic, trebly aromachem that exalts leather and castoreum notes in a fragrance composition. It is here, in Bandit, in Cabochard, Azuree, and a number of classic chypre leathers. It is also present in traces in a number of fougeres to enhance mossy qualities. Here, it isn't dosed quite as generously as in the aforementioned scents, but its still very much present, and here there is a lovely interplay between it and the florals, especially the violet and jasmine.

The indecency in the base is a whisper of civet and musk, woven within vetiver, woods, and patchouli. Funny that just as a I write this, Prince's "Darling Nikki" starts playing. Well then, you connect the dots.

Jolie Madame, thank you for a good time, call me when you wanna grind.

Too much sweet, waxy, floral. There is a candy sweet tarts note that clashes with the florals. Not pleasant at all.

This is for vintage EdT:

I don't usually like to post reviews of vintage juice, because there's no point in praising something that nobody else can get. But there's a lot of Jolie Madame still around, and it is selling for extremely reasonable prices. It's a shame it's not getting more love.

I suspect its general neglect within the perfume geek community could be for a number of reasons. Jolie Madame never held the same iconic status as many of its fifties counterparts, especially here in the US. This may be because it isn't as raunchy as Bandit or as flamboyant as Fracas. Also, Balmain has, no doubt, cheapened the formula over the years, no doubt gradually eroding any cachet their fragrance might once have held. And then there is Balmain's inexplicable decision to only (as far as I can tell) produce Jolie Madame in EdT formula. Even the finest fragrances lose much of their grip and character at this higher dilution. But with Jolie Madame, this is what we have, and I for one am grateful for it.

This is a perfume that presents two sides, almost all at once. Its floral top notes are almost strident: a breeze of sharp neroli and white flowers blows past, followed by jasmine, then tuberose and violets that smell fruity, but never sweet. All of this is wrapped in a distinctly old-school Knize Ten style smoke, and a subtle but animalic leather. The florals and the leather seem to assert themselves in equal measure, especially on fabric. The drydown comes on peppery-bitter at first, dense from oakmoss, and then it settles into a subtle, dry, vanillic tobacco still tinged with violets.

Those florals! Jasmine, tuberose, and violets. And leather. It's perverse, it's beautiful, and it works. How is it that nobody working in niche perfume today has taken this idea, ripped it off wholesale, recreated it with good materials, and restored it to greatness? Clearly, Balmain isn't going to do it. Germaine Cellier's creation deserves recognition and respect. Jolie Madame isn't an extreme statement--it's a marriage of extremes, and that's why it's great. Its greatness still shows, even in its attenuated form.

If you like Knize Ten, and you enjoy florals (Amouage guys, consider this) Jolie Madame could be fun for you. The downside is that, in this formulation, the whole show happens within an hour--two or three if you spray Jolie Madame on clothes. If you want to smell this on yourself all day, refreshment will be necessary. Forget about "performance" and "projection." Jolie Madame won't do those things for you. But it will tell you a story, and it will make you smell really great.