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Rumeur Lanvin 1934 Extrait

Version from 1934

8.6 / 10 18 Ratings

A popular perfume by Lanvin for women, released in 1934. The scent is chypreartig-animal. The production was apparently discontinued.
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Main accords

Chypre

Animal

Earthy

Spicy

Woody

Perfumer

André Fraysse

Ratings

Scent

8.618 Ratings

Longevity

7.913 Ratings

Sillage

6.713 Ratings

Bottle

7.216 Ratings

Submitted by Apicius, last update on 09/03/2025.

Smells similar

What the fragrance is similar to

Eau Rumeur (1934) Eau de Toilette

Reviews

2 in-depth fragrance descriptions

07/23/2014

10Scent 7.5Longevity 5Sillage

Larimar
8 Reviews

Larimar

3

The original Rumeur - the chypre of chypres?

(2011 review)

I haven't quite managed to understand Rumeur in its different vintage forms I have. There is one very butch, leathery and mossy version (which I like most) and others that are very chypré and, yes, smelling very modern and, yes, with a pronounced ginger note on the sweeter side. If the latter is your thing and you are desperate to find a substitute, try Roja Dove's Unspoken EdP and Extrait to cover some aspects!

*

(2012 review)

I have several small bottles of the vintage extrait and this time I reached for one that looks 'newest' and most likelybest preserved (lighter jus) to me. Now I think I can fully grasp it. Costus, loads of (it's also in the old Vol de Nuit extrait) and a slightly aromatic bitterness (enforced by age?), smoky leathery impressions and finally one of the most beautiful and sombre chypré bases with only a bit of animalic undertones. Think of wearing this on a cold, rainy night, driving an old 1940s Volvo, smoke in the air... Truly the 'noirest' and most sombre chypré I am aware of! Moderate to low sillage and moderate to medium longevity! The great Lanvin classics are unrivalled as far as I am concerned.

08/26/2025

10Scent 7Longevity 7Sillage

Marieposa
90 Reviews

Translated · Show original

Marieposa

Top Review 26

Pattern Recognition

If he pours me whiskey or peach schnapps uninvited one more time, I will probably have to leave. But where to? Stealthily, I press the small leather bag a little tighter under my arm and cannot prevent my fingers from wandering back to the glass on the counter, so I don’t start drumming the broken fingernail on the dark wood again.
No, he cannot know what is in the bag. But he knows just as well as I do that I don’t belong here any more than he does, since I opened the door to his lousy dive and gave him a sidelong glance to make it clear that the uncleaned tables with the tobacco crumbs are not an option for me. In response, he placed a narrow vase with jasmine and star-shaped yellow flowers on the bar, while his right eyebrow barely perceptibly raised. I accepted his invitation and sat down.
Just to be safe, I let my lower eyelids twitch now, not too hostile, but enough to prove that I am not to be trifled with. Maybe I can disguise the fact that my heart has seemingly decided to leave its home in my ribcage because a person named Dilly, who should be discussing the mathematics of letters and the language of numbers with me, is not punctual.
Does he recognize the pattern I leave behind? The suppressed sliding on my stool, the bag pressed against me, then the reach for the glass or the finger drumming when I lose my composure, followed by the defensive glint in my eyes.
I have long since deciphered his: The initially ambiguous smile, the arranging of the glasses, and then the movement in my direction when he wipes the counter with the cloth. After every third wipe, he checks my glass. Each time, the gaze becomes a little milder. It’s like a language. A code.
I should have put on a hat, as one should. Then I could hide my dwindling composure under its brim, present myself more easily as the queen I so desperately should be. Yet here I sit helplessly, watching myself start to fidget on my stool again because the moss-green skirt scratches at my leg where the stocking ends. He doesn’t need to know anything about that, of course. This time, I break the pattern, take a sip, leave a trace of dark lipstick, and attempt a half-smile.

**

For a second, I thought I had waited too long when I smelled super glue and dried tobacco after spraying, but luckily it was just the top note of my sample that had suffered. If this rare drop had spilled, I probably wouldn’t have forgiven myself so quickly … Because Rumeur reveals itself as an animalic chypre of a languorously dark beauty that is unmatched: There were probably aldehydes at one point, of which I now only perceive a spice-dusted peach note, embedded in deep dark, ink-black oak moss, and indeed illegal amounts of it. Then animalically underpinned white florals come into play - creamy, buttery, opulent - perhaps jasmine and ylang-ylang with costus? I can’t help but think of Nina Ricci’s Fille d’Eve, although Rumeur, with its confusing darkness, would likely be its uncompromising femme fatale sister. An impression that is reinforced as leather notes, civet, and warm wood complete the picture.
As is often the case with chypre fragrances, however, Rumeur also carries an inner contradiction that makes the scent all the more interesting: With its diva-esque first impression, the fragrance loudly demands a grand entrance, yet when worn in everyday life, it reveals itself as thoroughly accessible, if not even vulnerably soft beneath the surface, although it shows poise and strength at every stage.
In the thought experiment of which woman might have worn this fragrance in the 1930s, Hedy Lamarr keeps coming to mind. Or perhaps Rumeur would have suited the codebreakers at Bletchley Park?
Either way, I will now spare myself further attempts at analysis and sink even deeper into Rumeur’s chypre beauty of bygone times before the scent fades. I will keep the empty vial until it no longer smells.

Thank you for this special fragrance experience, dear Floyd.