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Textile Society of America Symposium Textile Society of America

Proceedings

2008

Perfumed Textiles
Katia Johansen
Rosenborg Castle, [email protected]

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 Perfumed Textiles
Katia Johansen
[email protected]

As a museum professional, I work with memories. And nothing is more evocative than scent,
which is at the same time both fragile and powerful. Perfumed textiles and costume are a
standard part of every culture, yet few objects have been identified, and virtually none have been
preserved. Perfuming was traditionally used to mask bad odors from use or from production
processes like tanning and dyeing, for ceremonial reasons, or simply to create a favorable
impression of the wearer. Perfuming methods included using incense, laundry aids, sweet bags,
fragrant oils and fuming pans. Unintentional perfuming also occurred, of which we sometimes
get a whiff in our museum collections.

Years of research have shown that museums and archives hold the key to this largely forgotten,
intangible art. Inventories, tailors’ bills, wardrobe lists, doctors’ accounts, custom duties and
other historical sources provide scattered but reliable bits of information about perfuming
textiles. I began this line of inquiry as a reminder to conservators that they must also learn to
recognize and preserve scented textiles, but this work constitutes not only a new discipline but
also an immediately appealing, inspiring and thought-provoking aspect for anyone interested in
textiles.

A professional perfumer and I have collaborated on recreating a series of scents, so we can now
experience first-hand the smell of Henry VIII’s perfumed shirts, Indian shawls redolent of
patchouli, Casanova’s handkerchief, the macassar oil left on men’s hatbands and furniture,
fragrant Japanese wedding kimonos, Paul Poiret’s gowns sprayed with the first designer perfume
in 1920, as well as modern technology’s nano- and microcapsules embedding synthetic scent in
athletic socks, business suits, and baby clothes.

Scent aesthetics
We don’t yet know the boundaries – or contents – of scent aesthetics, but exciting things happen
when we move outside our intellectual cubicle. Because the smell reaction bypasses our intellect,
going directly to the hypothalamus, odors have an immediate emotional impact quite different
from most thoughts, sights and sounds (Jellinek 1994, 58); in this more primal part of the brain,
the smell is not so much identified as simply judged as whether we like it or not. When you
notice a smell, your sensory organs unlock in you a subjective dimension, a memory, perhaps, or
a feeling – a sensory experience inside the body. This doesn’t happen if you’re only looking at
something. If you smell a roast turkey, for example, rather than just see it, all your memories of
roast turkeys are activated – an instantaneous accessing of relevant information and memory.
Smells can thus both create a sense of anticipation and a memory of the past – and gaining access
to hidden or forgotten parts of our own history is a gift indeed.

Smells contain worlds of information, condensing time, culture and distance. Smell allows and
provides different kinds of impulses than our usual ones. We human beings apparently absorb
and store some information more easily through this sense (and remember it better). Smelling the
turkey (or activating our smell receptors) unlocks huge amounts of information contained in our
experience – whether we are normally aware of them or not. This forms part of our intangible,
culturally shared experiences, many of which seem to be universal across boundaries of time,
culture and space.

It is not yet known exactly how the sense of smell works. It might be the size, shape, spin, wave
length or vibration of particular molecules matching or interlocking with special receptors in the
nose that cause us to react or recognize a smell. Only a few molecules are necessary for us to
experience or identify scents, and characteristically, the worse a smell is, the less it takes to
notice it. Our sense of smell is – or used to be – so important, that unlike other nerve cells, the
olfactory neurons constantly replace themselves.

Smells are for us clearly culturally rather than physiologically defined. One system of categories
assigns seven basic qualities to smells: ethereal, prickly, floral, minty, camphor, musk, and
rotten, although other systems include such elements as garlic-like, aromatic, burnt, animal, and
billy-goat.

Figure 1. The word perfume comes from (Fr.) per fumar meaning pleasant-smelling or literally, from the smoke: the
oldest way of imparting a smell. Fragrances were once considered to be the souls of objects, and thus spiritual and
sacred in themselves. Incense is used in religious ceremonies all over the world, and its fragrance is often
noticeable on church vestments. Pope Benedict XVI blesses the altar on his visit to Brazil, May 2007.
Photo: Boston Catholic Journal.

Perfuming history
Perfumes are substances whose fragrance gratifies the sense of smell. Perfume is generally made
of the volatile oils of a large variety of plants, grasses, spices, herbs, woods, and flowers, the
most important of which are bitter orange blossoms, jasmine, and rose. The Arabian philosopher
and doctor Avicenna (980-1037) is usually credited with developing the technique of distilling
aromatic oils from flowers, producing attar or otto. The process is also described in the Indian
Ayur-Veda, one of the world's oldest medicinal systems, practiced for the last 5000 years. Before
distillation was mastered, only fragrant resins from bark were used, generally burned to create
fragrant smoke or used in the form of perfumed oils and salves. Perfume and incense were
widely used in ancient Egypt 4000 years ago. Arabian perfume arts were highly developed, using
ingredients from China, India and Africa. In classical Italy and Greece perfume was also
important, but its use disappeared with the decline of the empire. In 1190 perfumers in Paris
were granted a charter, and the first modern perfume, called Hungary Water (based on
rosemary), was made there in 1370 for Queen Elizabeth of Hungary. With her marriage in 1533
Catherine de Medici introduced perfume to France, which quickly became the European center
of perfumes, and cultivating flowers for perfume became a major French industry. By the early
1800s so much perfume was being produced that it was accessible for everyone, and no longer
reserved for the nobility.

Ingredients
Traditional and still familiar, perfumed oils such as patchouli, jasmine, cloves, bergamot, vetiver,
cinnamon, sandalwood and balsam have all been used for centuries. Each ingredient has its own
history of production, trade and use. For example, frangipani, often linked with perfumed leather
gloves, stems from the 16th century Italian marquis Muzio Frangipane. The scent comes from
the red jasmine’s flower, often supplemented with heliotrope, citronella, rose, coumarin,
cinnamon, sandalwood and musk. Gloves scented with frangipani were very exclusive and
extremely expensive.

Figure 2. Sources of natural essential oils for perfumes (from Encyclopaedia Britannica).

Synthetic fragrances can mimic natural substances or create completely new ones, for example
lily of the valley and gardenia, whose blossoms do not yield oils. The oldest artificial fragrance is
the clove-aldehyde, discovered in 1833. The fragrant aldehydes smelling of fruits and berries that
are widely used in the food industry today are cheap in their synthetic form, while other
synthetics, reserved for perfumes, are extremely expensive. Floral scents have also been
synthesized: rose and orange oils are called acetals and are cheap substitutes. In 1868 the chemist
William Perkin created synthetic coumarin, which smells of new-mown hay and became
important in men's colognes (and as one of the carcinogenic chemicals used in cigarettes up until
the mid-1990s). He created it while looking for a solution to mask the foul smell of the coal-tar
textile dyes that he had been the first to develop. This led to artificial musk and then to the
artificial production of the scents of roses and jasmine and the very popular oil of wintergreen. In
1898 Ferdinand Tiemann discovered an aldehyde of citral and created ionone, a synthetic which
smelled of violets, whose essential oil had never before been extracted. Instead, violet fragrance
had traditionally been provided by the ground, dried root of the iris, which was called violet or
orris root. Roger & Gallet’s violet perfume, the world’s first, was an instant success in 1900.
Today, new natural essences are being developed from algae, currant buds, pine needles and
eucalyptus leaves. Producing perfume and fragrances today requires a colossal, potent, and rather
unpleasant chemical industry.

Perfuming is a logical finishing step for dyeing processes that are especially smelly. Silk dyed
black in the 18th century needed “sweetening” with a final bath of soap and anise, while woolen
cloth had to be washed with linseed and soap and lavender boiled with weld, the plant
universally used for yellow dyes (Roquero 1999, 38). The dyestuff orchil (archil, orseille), giving
a purplish shade, is produced by fermenting lichens with putrid urine. A rather complicated
process described as practiced in Paris in 1768 was said to give this dyebath – and the fabric
dyed in it – a wonderful smell of violets (En Dansk Farvebog 1768, 31), though unfortunately,
the exact method has remained a secret. Indigo vat dyes, involving the use of urine, leave a
characteristic stench in textiles, despite most attempts to remove or mask it. Formal clothes for
some 19th century Danish peasants were dyed with expensive black over indigo blue; these fine
clothes were stored in closed wooden chests, only worn on holidays, and rarely, if ever, washed.
No wonder women carried nosegays of flowers or herbs to church in the early 1800s! When the
Swiss began printing imitation Javanese batik patterns in mid-1800s, they also added a final
treatment of patchouli oil to mimic the smell of the original batik (Robinson 1969, 42). The
famous Harris tweeds were traditionally perfumed with lichens during the dying process, and
their noble fragrance (mossy and smoky when damp) became a valuable trademark.

Perfuming was also universally included in textile storage, from the lavender sachets in the linen
cupboards of Europe to the patchouli leaves packed between bundled Kashmir shawls en route
from India. Both Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I of England used sweet bags (sachets) to keep
their furs smelling pleasant, and leather garments and books were traditionally re-perfumed in
ornate steel fuming pans (Arnold, Hayward 2007). Apples and quinces were kept in wardrobes
for their scent. Storage chests of redwood cedar reduced insect infestation because of the
fragrant, potent fumes. Not only were herbs and scents meant to deter insect damage, they also
disguised unwanted odors of disuse. With today’s mass production, requiring long periods of
storage and shipping, anti-stale-odor perfume is routinely added in textile finishings.

Examples of historical scented textiles

Where to look for perfumed objects? Every culture, at every time, seems to have had perfumed
textiles. Perfumes were used not only in sacred and occult applications, but also medicinally long
before they became popular for private use. Look for gloves, linens, underclothes, leather goods
and hides, wigs, furs, ink, book bindings, furniture, chests, paper, shoe polish, and firewood.
Cleopatra’s ship of gold had purple, perfumed sails!

Information about perfuming of textiles can be found in published and unpublished source
material in archives and museums. Letters, old dyers’ manuals, and recipe books for housewives
also reveal useful instructions. The combination and cross-checking between the history of
technologies and modern analyses will yield more information than hitherto found in either
discipline alone.
Handkerchiefs are probably the most commonly perfumed textiles that have survived, though
none seem to have been reported as such. Casanova’s handkerchiefs (ca 1750) were laundered in
rosewater, ironed and sprinkled with Bulgarian rose attar. Goethe (1749-1832) kept a basket of
freshly laundered, sun-dried handkerchiefs at his desk – just for their smell (while Friedrich
Schiller had a basket of aging apples for the same reason). Victor Hugo said that to be a proper
gentleman, one had to carry a perfumed handkerchief. Napoleon III preferred the scent of violets
and Kaiser Wilhelm II lily of the valley – and they both led in fashion, also with their fragrances.
After the fall of the monarchies in Europe, fragrances based on wild flowers became popular
instead.

In the Renaissance, soft leather boots were perfumed with ambergris (a heavy, waxy material
formed in the digestive tract of sperm whales) after the leather was tanned. Linens have
traditionally been scented in the course of laundry and ironing: Henry VIII’s shirts were washed
in rosewater and musk in the mid-1500s. Catherine de Medici’s perfumer masked poisoned
gloves with scent when her daughter’s mother-in-law was to be murdered in 1572. Lace collars
and women’s shifts were washed in lavender water and sprinkled with powdered orris root (from
irises, but smelling of violets) around 1600. Expensive leather gloves from Paris were perfumed
with frangipani or with intense, musky civet (secreted from the civet cat’s perineal glands).
Rubbing perfumed oils into a garment to sweeten it was called “frouting” in the 17th century
(Cunnington, 1960). Indian muslin for the new, light gowns of the late 1700’s was called
mousseline, perfumed with vetiver (oil distilled from the roots of a perennial grass from India),
and Indian cashmere shawls were doused with patchouli (essential oil from a tropical plant of the
mint family) to prevent insect damage during the long sea voyage to the European markets.
Japanese kimonos were perfumed with costly incense before wedding ceremonies; Mexican
mourning shawls, called rebozo de olor, were perfumed with lichens. Hawaiian barkcloth, kapa,
was perfumed with fern extracts during dyeing, and afterwards with powdered sandalwood to
mask any residual odors from the fermentation process. During storage, kapa was interleafed
with sachets of fragrant, native plants. In Europe, fashionable men in the mid-1800s began to use
lavish amounts of “Macassar” oil, ostensibly increasing their hair growth, but leaving telltale
stains and fragrance on hatbands and furniture – unless their wives had crocheted antimacassars.
In Victorian times, ladies occupied themselves by embroidering lavender sachets, producing
perfumed beads from macerated rose petals, and making perfumed glove boxes. Paul Poiret
sprayed his new “Oriental” perfume on his winter collection of gowns in Paris in 1920 – the first
time a fashion designer linked haute couture and fragrance. Gowns from precisely that show
could undoubtedly be identified today, even if the fragrance is gone, by tiny, now brownish,
spray drops on the fabric.

My initial research carried out in Denmark may help us find comparable sources elsewhere.
Perfumed leather for jerkins is listed in King Frederik III’s wardrobe inventory in 1651. The
Danish king’s tapestries were sprinkled with fragrant herbs before being rolled up for storage –
and stolen by the Swedes – in 1658. Benches along the walls of the Queen’s chambers at the
Frederiksborg Palace had scented pillows in the mid-1600s. Perfumed gloves for Princess Anna
Sophie’s dowry in 1666 included 10 expensive pairs of gloves perfumed à la Frangipane and 23
cheaper pairs of gloves perfumed with ambergris. Her perfumed hoops and a grey hat perfumed
de Mouscowie also lent distinctive scents to her wardrobe. There are reports of scented wallpaper
and book bindings, as well as the use of perfumed firewood (leaving such fragrant residue in the
chimneys of the Rosenborg Castle that workers were allowed to scrape it out as part of their
pay), perfumed wood inlays in furniture, fragrant powder for wigs and makeup, lacquers,
pomades and lotions, and much more. An ealborately embroidered pillow from around 1700,
perhaps actually a muff, contains rose petals, bitter orange peel, cloves, marjoram, storax
calamita, lignum rhodii and tea leaves, both for fragrance and perhaps for medicinal properties. It
is reported that Goethe sent a perfumed handkerchief to King Christian VII, though it does not
seem to have been preserved. The Danish royalty’s horses’ tackle was perfumed in the 1800’s
with cloves and lavender. The original small gold containers with a few drops of the anointing
oils used at coronations in 1700 and 1840 still exist: the kings were given a choice beforehand of
several different scents. The kings' interest in cultivating suitable roses, herbs and other materials
used for perfuming can be traced through the history of the royal gardens.

Figure 3. In the early 1600’s fine linen ruffs were laundered in lavender water, ironed, piped, and stiffened with
perfumed and sometimes tinted starch. In storage, they were sprinkled with powdered orris root and wrapped in
linen covers. Portrait of a Danish Prince ca 1615 (detail). Nivaagaard Portrait Collection, Denmark.

Both historical and modern attempts have been made to create textile treatments that attract the
opposite sex, while (preferably) repelling mosquitoes and moths. Perfumed tobacco, shoe polish
redolent of sassafras, and laundry aids smelling fresh have all made their mark on textiles and
costume of the 1900s. Since the late 1980s modern technology has enriched us with
microcapsules of perfume in nylon stockings and athletic socks, and permanent, perfumed
nanofinishings on cotton children’s wear. The Korean textile industry is already a leader in
stress-reducing fragrant finishings for businessmen’s suits and ties, and treating bed linens to
release minute amounts of pine forest scent, shown to encourage relaxation. Freeze-dried,
perfumed material may turn up in new disguises in textiles where we least expect it.
Figure 4 (left). 18th century Hawaiian barkcloth, kapa, was traditionally used for garments and mats. To mask the
odor of its fermented fibers, kapa was either rubbed with coconut oil cooked with fragrant laua'e fern, or rolled up
around bits of aromatic maile vine, or powdered sandalwood was pounded into the surface.
Hawaiian kapa, Cook-Foster Collection at Georg-August University in Göttingen, Germany.
Figure 5 (right). The traditional Mexican rebozo de olor was a scented black shawl worn for mourning.
To remove the unpleasant odor of the corrosive black tannin dye, the thread was treated in a final bath of lichens,
flowers and herbs. Photo: Ruth Lechuga.

Figure 6 (left). The light muslin gowns of the late 1700’s were perfumed with vetiver, from the roots of a tropical
Indian grass. Danish Princess Louise Augusta, 1787.
Portrait by Jens Juel. Frederiksborg Palace Museum, Denmark.
Figure 7 (right). Modern stockings can be made of nylon threads with embedded microcapsules of perfume. During
wear, the capsules gradually break, constantly releasing small amounts of perfume.
Stocking advertisement, Kanebo, 2006.

Identification
Residues and traces of scent in textiles can be analyzed by forensic and analytical chemical,
botanical and pharmacological procedures. Dogs are good at recognizing smells, and even
computers can be taught how. As electronic noses already measure how fresh fish is, the quality
of cheese and wine, find narcotics and explosives, and measure air quality in ventilation systems,
it is not unthinkable that we can develop a machine to identify which perfumes have been
applied to historical objects. In the meantime, we can improve our own natural abilities: vintners,
master brewers and perfumers have all learned to discern and describe hundreds of odors. By
isolating smells, perhaps intensifying them, and by working systematically, we can all improve
our ability to identify smells. It is no more difficult than learning the alphabet or the silhouettes
of enemy aircraft, or how to thread a loom. Expanding our understanding of the past with the
sensuous dimension of smell is well worth the effort.

Revival, presentation and preservation

Once the components of a historic textile's scent have been identified, the question is naturally
whether to try to revive or recreate it. Fixatives are always used to increase, intensify or prolong
the odor of perfumes. In principal, reapplying a fixative to a perfumed object might indeed
revive the remnants of the original scent. However, this cannot be recommended because we
cannot be certain the result is correct, nor can we predict what effect such a treatment might have
on aged and perhaps deteriorating objects. But if the original ingredients of a scent have been
identified, there is no reason why the scent can not be recreated separately and presented as a
suggestion of how the object might originally have smelled. Using the original fixative creates a
long-lasting scent on a modern, suitably neutral material.

Figure 8. Samples of perfumed historical textiles appeal to museum guests. They find it a compelling and uniquely
private experience – a valuable asset for museums which are competing with mass communication and popular
entertainment. Reconstructed scents of historical perfumes have been presented at several costume exhibitions at the
Royal Danish Collections and the response has been overwhelmingly positive.

A professional perfumer has helped me recreate some samples on new material, from historic
recipes and descriptions. They can only be considered an approximation, as there are few precise
recipes, and the order in which the ingredients are mixed, as well as their amounts, can change
the result considerably. The samples are shown with labels and illustrations, primarily because
the visual impression adds another dimension, making them easier to remember. Pictures remind
us of the past; odors make it live again! When smelling the samples: lift the lid of the glass dish
and smell the sample. Don’t touch it with your fingers or your nose, because then it will be
difficult to smell anything else afterwards. If your nose gets “confused” or overworked, refresh
your sense of smell by sniffing the back of your hand, where you smell of yourself (unless
you’ve used a very perfumed lotion).

Scented textiles require special consideration when they are exhibited, documented and stored.
Whether an identified or unidentified smell of a museum object is a valuable and desirable part
of its historical value always needs to be considered. We may be the last ever to experience an
object's fragrance or odor, and it thus becomes our responsibility to document and preserve it.
We must ensure that scented objects don’t contaminate each other, whether we find their smell
pleasant or not, just as we ourselves are careful not to contaminate the artifacts we handle by not
using hand lotion or perfume (ICOM Guidelines). Scented objects must be physically isolated
from other objects in suitable packaging. Destroying an object's scent by airing, washing, dry-
cleaning or other methods must be a conscious decision, and documented as such. Learn how to
describe a smell, isolate the object in an inert container, and consult colleagues when in doubt –
and to share the experience.

Secondary perfuming - that is, unintentional perfuming - may also be encountered in historical
textiles. Perfumed smoke from burning juniper, cedar wood and cinnamon in fireplaces would
have scented garments worn in 17th century Danish castles. After vulcanized rubber was
invented in the 1840’s, the refraicheur (a perfume bottle with an attached rubber squeeze bulb)
became popular, allowing perfume to be sprayed not only on the neck and shoulders, but
unavoidably also on the clothing. The cigarette smoke lingering in the Queen’s gowns, the horsy
smell in the jockey’s silks, chlorine in bathing suits and incense in a bishop’s cope all increase
museum objects’ information by leaps and bounds. Other secondary smells include mold,
cosmetics, deodorants, disinfectants and textile production chemicals. But beware! Many of the
most common chemicals in modern fragrance products are known to be harmful to one's health,
which may account for the increasing number of perfume allergies. Modern technology is intent
on creating new ways of appealing to our sense of smell – and offending it – creating problems
in shopping malls, in public restrooms and, ultimately, in museum collections.

Conclusions:
Collect information. Apart from archival research and expensive analyses, we can even today,
still collect information from older people about how textiles were scented in their youth. This
may not be documented anywhere else – and our elders are happy to be asked.
Document evidence of perfuming. It is of paramount importance, as the more we know about
former traditions, the more we will find. Though we might not yet be able to identify stains,
powder residue, pulverized leaves and flowers, it is our responsibility to preserve this evidence
for the future.
Preserve samples in clean and non-contaminating containers, preferably glass, which can be
stored near the object itself, in the dark.
Keep recreated scents separate from actual historical objects, though they can be exhibited
adjacent to each other.
Share and publish our findings – this is our responsibility when documenting the objects in our
care, both for colleagues and the general public.

P.S.
As it is now possible to build not only fragrance but also certain sounds into textiles – in
particular the very desirable “scroop” and rustle of silk – we should also remember to listen to
our textiles!

Acknowledgments
I am grateful to anthropologist and perfumer Joel Leonard Katz, Copenhagen, for his help in
recreating a series of historical scents known to have been used on textiles.

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