Launched in 1968, Wicker by Prince Matchabelli arrived at a pivotal cultural moment. The late 1960s were a time of sweeping social change—defined by youth rebellion, shifting gender roles, and a collective yearning for freedom, nature, and simplicity. Against this backdrop, Wicker was marketed as a fantasy—an escape into a sun-drenched world of romance, ease, and barefoot elegance. The name alone—Wicker—evoked a tactile, emotional, and visual identity that was both nostalgic and deeply of-the-moment.
The word “wicker” refers to a method of weaving pliable plant materials—typically willow, rattan, or reed—into furniture or baskets. The term comes from the Scandinavian languages, most notably the Swedish vika, meaning “to bend.” Pronounced simply as "WIH-ker", the word conjures immediate images of summer verandas, breezy porches, and natural beauty shaped by hand. In advertising for the fragrance, Prince Matchabelli painted a dreamlike scene: a woman dressed in white silk lounges gracefully in a large wicker peacock chair set on a lush lawn, while a man in a white linen suit stands behind her. The scene is idyllic—bathed in sunshine, suggestive of romance and serenity, and rich with tactile texture.
"Wicker is sun and sky and grass," the ad proclaimed. "And you in white silk and him in white linen and tenderness and kisses." This wasn't merely perfume; it was a mood, a place, a private Eden captured in scent and imagery. It was about stepping into a gentler world whenever you pleased—through a bottle of cologne or a mist of spray.
The perfume itself was described as a subtle blend of mossy green and floral notes, suggesting freshness, earthiness, and a touch of delicate bloom. This olfactory profile aligned with a broader back-to-nature movement that gained popularity during the late 1960s. With a growing disillusionment toward rigid societal structures and synthetic lifestyles, consumers began gravitating toward natural materials, handcrafted objects, and earth-inspired scents. Wicker furniture surged in popularity during this period, as did everything that felt artisanal, organic, or connected to simpler times.
Fragrance trends were shifting too. The early to mid-1960s had favored bright, aldehydic florals and sophisticated chypres, but by the late decade, a greener, more casual style emerged. Wicker fell perfectly into this evolving landscape. It offered women a wearable expression of the era’s values—fresh air, freedom, and romance unbound by tradition. Where the perfumes of the 1950s might have been structured and formal, Wicker was open, light, and quietly sensual. It wasn’t dramatic; it was effortlessly beautiful.
In terms of market context, Wicker wasn’t alone in capturing the fantasy of nature and ease, but it stood out for the purity of its vision. While other brands tapped into similar sentiments, Wicker offered a complete lifestyle concept—perfume as portal. Its mossy-green floral scent paralleled other contemporary launches that leaned into verdant freshness (like Estée Lauder’s Aliage in the early 1970s), but Wicker arrived earlier and in a more delicate form. It didn’t aim to shock or dazzle; it invited.
For women of the time, a fragrance like Wicker would have felt like a refreshing contrast to both the heavily perfumed glamour of the past and the sharp, modern notes just beginning to emerge. It was romantic without being cloying, natural without being earthy, refined yet entirely approachable. It fit the woman who wore flowing cotton dresses and long hair parted down the middle—a woman who wanted a scent that felt like sunlight filtered through leaves and whispered promises in the grass.
In essence, Wicker by Prince Matchabelli captured a fleeting but tender moment in fragrance history. Woven from soft greens, florals, and imagination, it offered not just a perfume, but an escape.
Fragrance Composition:
So what does it smell like? Wicker by Prince Matchabelli is classified as a mossy green and floral chypre fragrance for women.
- Top notes: aldehydes, green note accord (Trans-2-hexenal), Calabrian bergamot, Paraguayan petitgrain, Amalfi lemon, citral, nerol, linalool, Moroccan cassie, farnesol, Persian galbanum, Tuscan violet leaf, Isoamyl acetate
- Middle notes: Provencal lavender, lily of the valley, hydroxycitronellol, phenylethyl alcohol, Egyptian jasmine, Tunisian orange blossom, indole, Bulgarian rose otto, Algerian hyacinth, Bourbon geranium, gerianol, Florentine orris root, methyl ionone, heliotropin
- Base notes: isoeugenol, grass accord, Indonesian patchouli, cinnamic aldehyde, Haitian vetiver, vetiveryl acetate, Venezuelan tonka bean, coumarin, benzyl salicylate, cinnamic alcohol, Tyrolean oakmoss, Balkans tree moss, Mediterranean cypress oil, Maltese labdanum, Canadian castoreum tincture, Tonkin musk tincture, musk ketone, Indian musk ambrette, ambergris tincture, ambreine, Virginian cedar, Mysore sandalwood, Madagascar vanilla, vanillin, Colombian tolu balsam, Sumatran styrax
Scent Profile:
As I inhale Wicker by Prince Matchabelli, I’m immediately transported into a fresh, early morning garden—dewy, green, and alive. The fragrance opens with a burst of aldehydes—effervescent and airy, like crisp linen fluttering on a clothesline in the sunlight. These bright, fizzy molecules lift the opening, adding a sparkling clarity that magnifies every other note that follows. Beneath them, Trans-2-hexenal, the soul of freshly cut green leaves, pulses with a sharp, sappy brightness—wet grass torn from its roots, bracing and true. It smells like a garden awakening.
The citrus is abundant but sophisticated. Calabrian bergamot, grown on the sun-soaked cliffs of Southern Italy, brings its rounded, slightly bitter sparkle. Its sweetness is tempered by Paraguayan petitgrain, distilled from bitter orange leaves and twigs, which adds a dry, woody bitterness that feels like green tea steeped with citrus zest. Amalfi lemon, soft and radiant, is less acidic than other varieties—a honeyed yellow glow rather than a bite. Citral, a sharp lemony molecule, threads through the citrus accords, sharpening their edges, while nerol, derived from orange blossoms, softens it again—rosy, herbal, and softly citrus-floral. Linalool, naturally present in many florals and citruses, enhances the smoothness, giving the top notes a polished, almost powdery elegance.
Just below the surface, a delicate whisper of isoamyl acetate flutters—banana-like and faintly fruity—blending with the aldehydes and green accords to create the illusion of crushed fruit skins on sun-warmed grass. Then comes Moroccan cassie, a rare acacia blossom, dusty and honeyed, with its spicy, mimosa-like warmth unfurling like golden pollen on the wind. Farnesol, found in linden blossom and citronella, stretches out the floral character with a soft, waxy sweetness. As I breathe deeper, I catch the bitter-green breath of Persian galbanum—resinous and sharp, it smells ancient, wild, and almost metallic, like green sap frozen in amber. Tuscan violet leaf arrives last—cool and moist, earthy and vegetal, grounding the brightness with its velvety, deep green shade.
As the top notes settle, the heart reveals a profusion of florals, each distinct yet harmonized. Provencal lavender, grown in the dry, mineral-rich soils of southern France, is cleaner and softer than its sharper English cousin—it offers a dry, herbal clarity that threads through the sweetness of the other flowers. Lily of the valley, delicate and watery, appears with hydroxycitronellol, a synthetic with a soft green floral character that amplifies its dewy freshness. Phenylethyl alcohol, the essence of a freshly cut rose, adds a subtle sweetness that prevents the white florals from becoming too sharp.
Egyptian jasmine, lush and intensely narcotic, blooms next—its deep, fruity petals infused with a thread of indole, a naturally occurring compound that, in small amounts, gives florals their animalic, almost skin-like warmth. Indole transforms the jasmine from pretty to provocative. Tunisian orange blossom, with its creamy, honeyed brightness, plays alongside, its scent intensified and extended by the nerol and linalool in the top. Then comes the queen: Bulgarian rose otto, distilled from thousands of delicate pink petals, its aroma full-bodied, slightly peppery, and so rich it's almost wine-like. It is followed by Algerian hyacinth, whose cool, vegetal floralcy introduces a fresh greenness that keeps the heart from becoming too heavy.
Bourbon geranium, cultivated on Réunion Island, lends a lemony, rosy quality with a faint metallic edge, and its primary molecule, geraniol, expands and binds the florals with an uplifting, almost fruity sweetness. A dusting of heliotropin (piperonal) adds a soft, almond-powder effect, suggesting sun-warmed skin and pale musky sweetness. Methyl ionone, a violet-like compound, echoes the violet leaf in the top notes, bridging the floral heart and the woody base with a dusky, powdery tone. Finally, Florentine orris root, one of the most precious perfumery materials, gives a buttery, rooty depth to the floral accord—like silken petals pressed into velvet.
Then the base emerges, and here the mossy chypre structure asserts itself with sensual authority. The grass accord returns the perfume to its verdant beginnings—dried now, sun-faded, and herbaceous. Indonesian patchouli, earthy and slightly damp, unfurls slowly, melding with the dry, nutty woodiness of Haitian vetiver. These are deepened by vetiveryl acetate, a refined, smoother version of vetiver that lends a long-lasting dry radiance. Cinnamic aldehyde adds a faint spice—sweet, cinnamonic, like warm bark—and it pairs beautifully with isoeugenol, a clove-like molecule that brings warmth and a faint animalic whisper.
Venezuelan tonka bean, with its rich coumarin content, smells like hay, vanilla, and toasted almond. Here, coumarin enhances the sweetness of the base, while benzyl salicylate adds a lightly floral, musky undertone and acts as a fixative, helping the scent cling to the skin. Cinnamic alcohol, faintly spicy and balsamic, weaves in gentle depth. Then, the moss: Tyrolean oakmoss, dense and inky, provides the backbone of the chypre structure—earthy, shadowy, and softly salty. Alongside it, Balkan tree moss adds a drier, woodier character, less creamy than oakmoss but equally grounding.
Mediterranean cypress oil, sharp and coniferous, slices through the resinous weight, adding structure and a breath of evergreen wind. Maltese labdanum, a leathery, ambery resin from the rockrose bush, deepens the perfume with an almost incense-like warmth. From Canada comes a castoreum tincture, adding a smoky, slightly leathery edge. Though synthetic in modern use, the tincture recalls the animal warmth of vintage perfumery. Alongside it, Tonkin musk tincture, musk ketone, and Indian musk ambrette contribute layers of soft, sensual warmth—powdery, skin-like, and lasting—woven together with ambergris tincture, which adds a shimmering, salty softness that lingers like sunlight on skin.
The woody drydown is sublime. Virginian cedar, dry and pencil-sharp, blends with the creamy, golden richness of Mysore sandalwood, a legendary variety prized for its warm, milky-smooth depth. Madagascar vanilla, floral and lush, combines with vanillin, its synthetic counterpart, to amplify the sweetness and give the base a cozy, balsamic glow. Colombian tolu balsam introduces a caramelized, spicy-resinous warmth, while Sumatran styrax, dark and smoky, finishes the composition with a leathery whisper of incense and old forests.
Wicker is not just a perfume—it is an immersive landscape: green meadows, gauzy sunlight, the rustle of silk, and the scent of earth after rain. Each ingredient, whether natural or synthetic, plays a vital role in weaving this fragrant tapestry. It is a scent both composed and carefree—structured like wickerwork itself, yet open and light-filled, echoing nature while elevating it into poetry.
Bottles:
The product range included a cologne splash, an aerosol cologne spray mist, and a set of scented soaps, each housed in packaging and containers that reinforced the central theme of wickerwork. The cologne splash bottles, made of clear glass, were designed with a thick, enamel-like coating molded in a woven pattern—meant to mimic hand-woven wicker furniture. The finish had a tactile appeal, resembling sun-bleached wicker chairs or picnic baskets, bringing a charming, handcrafted feel to the bottle itself. It wasn’t just a container—it was an object that echoed the fragrance’s inspiration: airy, natural, and effortlessly elegant.
The aerosol cologne spray mist bottles offered a slightly different visual experience. These were crafted from frosted glass, lending a soft, misty appearance that reflected the cooling sensation of the product and subtly suggested the dewy freshness of the fragrance. Like the splash bottle, the spray mist featured the same enamelized wicker-style pattern, creating visual continuity across the line while offering consumers a more modern, convenient form of application.
The scented soaps were an especially charming addition. Sculpted and molded in a pale green marbleized finish, they resembled smooth river stones with an intricate wicker pattern pressed into their surface. These soaps weren’t just functional—they were decorative objects, perfectly suited for guest bathrooms or vanity displays. The green hue and elegant molding reinforced the natural, garden-inspired identity of the fragrance while offering a luxurious lather lightly perfumed with the same mossy floral notes found in the cologne.
Packaging completed the sensory story. The green and white cardboard boxes were covered in a wicker pattern, tying the visual narrative together. The box design was simple, stylish, and unmistakably thematic—creating a consistent and immersive brand world from shelf to skin. Every element of the Wicker line was carefully considered to reflect the fragrance’s core values: softness, freshness, nostalgia, and a gentle elegance rooted in nature. Together, the scent, the textures, and the packaging invited wearers into a breezy, storybook setting—one where white linen, green grass, and sunlight mingled with the scent of wildflowers and warm skin.
Fate of the Fragrance:
Launched in 1968, Wicker by Prince Matchabelli emerged at a time when fragrance marketing was beginning to shift away from overt glamour and sophistication and instead embraced themes of natural beauty, romance, and escape. Positioned as a mossy green floral chypre, Wicker offered a fresh and subtly sensual scent that captured the essence of sunlight, grass, and gentle affection. With its evocative packaging—enamel-coated bottles mimicking woven wicker, sculpted green soaps, and patterned boxes—the fragrance line created an immersive, tactile experience that mirrored the scent’s soft, pastoral mood.
Though Wicker never reached the iconic status of Prince Matchabelli’s more established perfumes like Wind Song or Ave Maria, it maintained a quiet popularity, particularly among those who were drawn to its natural elegance and refined freshness. The fragrance was clearly well-received enough to remain in production for a significant period of time. While its exact discontinuation date remains uncertain, Wicker was still being sold as late as 1982, suggesting a respectable run of at least 14 years—an impressive lifespan for a scent with such a softly-spoken profile during a time when the perfume market was increasingly dominated by bold, assertive fragrances.
Eventually, like many fragrances of its era, Wicker faded from department store shelves, quietly discontinued without major fanfare. Its departure likely coincided with the rise of louder, more assertive fragrance trends in the mid-to-late 1980s, when power perfumes with high sillage and dramatic profiles took center stage. Today, Wicker is remembered with fondness by collectors and vintage fragrance enthusiasts as a product of its time—a gentle, thoughtfully crafted fragrance that offered its wearers a moment of calm, green serenity in a changing world.
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