These employees—often princes, princesses, counts, and countesses in name and bearing—were not hired for prestige alone. They brought with them an innate understanding of refinement, court etiquette, and cosmopolitan taste, traits that aligned seamlessly with Matchabelli’s vision of luxury. Whether greeting clients in the elegant salons, advising on scent selections, managing accounts, or contributing to creative design and branding, these former aristocrats were integral to the brand's early identity. Their presence lent the company a sense of authenticity, further reinforced by the fact that the house was founded by royalty and inspired by history's most iconic noble figures.
In this rare blend of commerce and exile, Prince Matchabelli's boutique at 711 Fifth Avenue was both a business and a cultural salon—a place where faded titles could find new meaning. Within those perfume-scented walls, a duchess might manage a display, a baroness might sell a bottle, and a former count might handle customer service with the stately dignity once reserved for imperial receptions. Their stories are more than background—they are the soul of the Prince Matchabelli legend.
Matchabelli’s first employees were all fellow exiled aristocrats—one Georgian writer of the time remembered them as the most courteous staff in the United States. It was reported that Matchabelli gave a certain percentage of his income to the Russian refugees.
Within the refined and fragrant world of Prince Matchabelli’s perfumery, the day-to-day work was elevated by the devotion and involvement of a remarkable staff—a veritable court-in-exile composed of displaced nobles, diplomats, and aristocrats from the former Russian Empire. These individuals were not mere employees; they were contributors to a shared vision of elegance reborn in the New World. Though their former titles once granted them command over estates, regiments, or ministries, they now threw themselves wholeheartedly into the tasks required to keep the perfumery thriving—packing delicate vials, decorating luxurious gift sets, and delivering orders by hand to prominent clients.
Among their more specialized duties was the supervision of alcohol reserves—large containers of ethyl spirit, essential for perfumery, which required careful “softening” and aging before being blended with fragrance oils. This process, essential to the high quality of Matchabelli perfumes, was entrusted to only the most responsible hands, often men who had once commanded troops or advised royalty.
Prince Georges Matchabelli, himself a Georgian émigré and former diplomat, never forgot his roots. Deeply compassionate, he took it upon himself to offer employment to his fellow exiles—not out of charity, but from a belief in their value. His perfume house became a haven for these proud, often displaced figures, giving them purpose and a new kind of prestige.
The names of Matchabelli's associates read like the pages of a Russian imperial court registry: Prince Artchil Andronikoff, a member of a prominent Georgian family; Nicholas Holmsen, who also stood at Matchabelli’s bedside in his final days; Count Waldemar Armfelt, whose noble lineage traced back to the courts of Sweden and Russia; and Prince Nicholas Lapouchin-Demidoff, from a family once known for wealth, patronage, and philanthropy. Cyril Gurge, Matchabelli’s trusted perfumer and chemist, blended formulas that would become legendary. Prince Alexander Tarsaidze, a historian and courtier, later served as treasurer and acting head of the company after the prince’s death.
There were also Paul Petrovitch Wrangell (also known as Baron von Ludenhoff) and Baron Charles Wrangell, cousin to Commander Peter Wrangell, the famed White Army leader. Other exiles included Prince and Princess Vasili, Prince Irbian-Khan Kaplanoff, and George Coby (Koby)—all lending their titles and talents to this remarkable house of scent. United by memory, exile, and opportunity, they helped create not only perfume, but a living portrait of a vanished empire—distilled in crystal, sealed with gold crowns, and sold to the women of America as the “poetry” of a bygone world.
Prince Nicholas Alexandrovich Lapouchin Demidoff:
Prince Nicholas Alexandrovich Lapouchin-Demidoff embodied the resilience and adaptability of the Russian aristocracy in exile, and his journey mirrored the transformation of many émigrés who traded imperial privilege for humble beginnings in the West. Born in 1904 in the family’s ancestral seat, Koroun Castle in Kiev, he was the eldest son of Prince Alexander Nikolaevich Lapouchin-Demidoff—also known as the 2nd Prince Lopukhin-Demidov—and part of the storied Demidoff dynasty, which once stood among the most influential and wealthy noble families in the Russian Empire.
With the collapse of the imperial order during the Bolshevik Revolution, Nicholas’ family fled their homeland aboard a special train bound for safety. Along with his parents and four younger brothers—Alexander, Serge, George, and Peter—the family escaped to Finland, where they lived in exile. Yet as the heir to the title, young Nicholas quickly understood that his aristocratic name no longer guaranteed security or stability. From the age of sixteen, he earned his own living, first working as a customs officer. Later, seeking new opportunities, he traveled to France to stay with relatives, and in 1926 he arrived in the United States.
In New York, Prince Nicholas became one of the earliest and most loyal employees of Prince Georges Matchabelli. He joined the fledgling perfumery when it was still operating from a single room, staffed only by the Prince himself, a secretary, and a stenographer. Nicholas’ early duties were modest, but he was unwaveringly dedicated to the vision of his employer—a fellow noble in exile—who was attempting to build a perfume house based not only on fine fragrance, but on elegance, heritage, and artistry.
Over the years, Demidoff grew with the company. After the death of Prince Matchabelli in 1935, it was Nicholas who helped carry forward the founder’s olfactory legacy. He worked closely with the company’s perfumers and ultimately became a compositeur de parfums, contributing to the creation and refinement of blends that bore the Matchabelli name. Though he never sought fame or public recognition, his steady hand and deep loyalty helped sustain the identity of the brand well into the postwar period.
For nearly half a century, Prince Nicholas remained a fixture at Prince Matchabelli, not only in blending and production, but also in sales, where he represented the company with quiet dignity and the bearing of his noble past. He married twice—first to Paola Borschevskaya, and later to Lorna Taylor (née Barnes)—but left no descendants. He died on September 28, 1995, in the United States, having spent the majority of his life in service to a perfume house that, like him, was built upon memory, refinement, and resilience.
Waldemar Armfelt:
Count Waldemar Armfelt, born July 9, 1896, in Helsingfors (now Helsinki), Finland, was a scion of old Russian-Finnish nobility. The son of Count Alexander Vladimirovich Armfelt, Waldemar was educated in the prestigious Corps des Pages, an elite military academy that trained young men to serve in the Russian Imperial Court. This upbringing immersed him in the formalities and aesthetic traditions of the czarist regime, an environment where fragrance, elegance, and courtly refinement were integral to daily life.
Following the Russian Revolution and the rise of the Bolsheviks, Count Armfelt fled Russia amid the turmoil of the White movement, arriving in the United States in 1920. He initially lent his talents to the fledgling Sikorsky Company, where he helped organize operations that would later produce aircraft for military use, including bombers. His early career in America also included a position in the foreign credits department of the Chase National Bank, a role that helped him cultivate connections across the financial and commercial sectors.
By 1934, Count Armfelt had found his way into the orbit of Prince Georges Matchabelli, becoming a trusted associate and western representative of the Prince Matchabelli perfumery. Armfelt’s sophistication, fluent understanding of both European refinement and American commerce, and his personal aristocratic bearing made him a natural choice to serve as the company’s emissary in the expanding U.S. market. During this time, he embarked on a cross-country tour to promote Matchabelli’s luxurious fragrances, which were steadily gaining a reputation for quality and aristocratic charm.
Waldemar Armfelt’s association with the Matchabelli company reflected a deep mutual respect between two exiled nobles—one a perfumer-prince, the other a count steeped in the courtly traditions of imperial service. Both men understood the symbolic and sensory power of perfume as a form of cultural memory and personal identity, and Armfelt’s promotional work was infused with this sense of tradition.
After the death of Prince Matchabelli in 1935, Armfelt transitioned to an executive role at Imperial Salons, Ltd. of New York in 1936. The company manufactured high-end cosmetics based on the original formulas of the late Czarina’s dermatologist, continuing Armfelt’s association with products steeped in imperial prestige. His expertise and network eventually caught the attention of famed couturière Elsa Schiaparelli, who in 1937 appointed him to represent her perfume line in the western United States. By the following year, Count Armfelt had risen to the position of vice-president of Parfums Schiaparelli, overseeing operations in both the U.S. and Canada.
Waldemar Armfelt’s early work with Prince Matchabelli not only helped lay the foundation for the brand’s national expansion, but also placed him at the center of a small but influential group of Russian émigrés who preserved and repurposed their imperial legacies in the emerging world of luxury fragrance.
Prince Artchil Andronikoff:
By 1928, the growing popularity of Prince Matchabelli's perfumes led to the expansion of his business beyond New York. A new salon was opened at 3259 Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles, strategically placed in the heart of the city's fashionable district. For the shop’s grand opening tea—a sophisticated social affair intended to introduce the West Coast elite to the refined world of Matchabelli—Prince Artchil Andronikoff was selected to represent the perfumery.
Prince Andronikoff, a former Georgian noble and decorated officer in the Russian Imperial Army, brought with him a dignified bearing and an authentic connection to the same aristocratic world from which Prince Matchabelli himself had emerged. Known not only for his lineage but also as a figure in early Hollywood, Prince Andronikoff had recently transitioned into film work, where his deep knowledge of Russian military customs and horsemanship made him a sought-after technical advisor and occasional actor.
His involvement with the Matchabelli venture lent it additional cachet in the eyes of the public. Not merely a figurehead, Andronikoff’s presence at the Los Angeles opening was a strategic choice: he symbolized the brand’s imperial elegance and reinforced the noble authenticity behind the perfumes. His ties to both the émigré community and the Hollywood elite made him an effective liaison for introducing the brand to a broader, image-conscious clientele.
Tragically, Prince Artchil Andronikoff’s role in Matchabelli’s American expansion would be short-lived. On November 27, 1928, he passed away in Los Angeles from complications related to the flu, at just 40 years old. His death came at a moment when he had begun to establish himself in the American cultural landscape. It was reported that his wife, Princess Andronikoff, was in Italy at the time of his passing. A man of service and refinement, Prince Andronikoff had been wounded six times in the First World War—a testament to his bravery and the sacrifices endured by many displaced nobles who later sought new lives abroad.
His brief but notable association with Prince Matchabelli’s perfume house remains a poignant reminder of how the exiled Russian and Georgian aristocracy brought their legacy of taste, honor, and sophistication into new enterprises, helping to shape the cultural tone of luxury in early 20th-century America.
Nicholas "Nicky" Holmsen:
Nicholas “Nicky” Holmsen, whose background was steeped in the grandeur of the Russian Imperial Court, brought to Prince Matchabelli's perfume house both social prestige and loyal service. Born in Athens, Greece, Holmsen was the son of General Ivan Holmsen, a Norwegian officer who served in the Russian Imperial Guard, and Mrs. Bobrikoff Holmsen, lady-in-waiting to Tsarina Alexandra and daughter of the Governor General of Finland. After fleeing the Russian Revolution in 1919, the Holmsen family settled in Paris for a decade, part of the wider wave of White Russian émigrés attempting to rebuild their lives in exile.
By 1929, Holmsen had relocated to the United States and moved in influential circles. In 1931, he was living with Prince Vasili Romanoff in New York, reinforcing his deep personal and social connections with the remnants of the Russian aristocracy. Though previously associated with aviation pioneer Igor Sikorsky, Holmsen did not have active employment until he joined Prince Matchabelli’s perfumery—likely drawn to the endeavor by its elegant positioning and ties to fellow exiled nobility.
At Prince Matchabelli Perfumes, Holmsen served as a sales executive during the 1930s, representing the brand during a pivotal period of expansion and refinement. His role was not merely clerical or transactional—Holmsen helped to shape the social image of the perfumery, using his charm, courtly bearing, and imperial pedigree to build rapport with high-end clientele. His presence within the company underscored Prince Matchabelli’s commitment to surrounding himself with trusted individuals of noble background who shared his sense of taste and old-world elegance.
Holmsen was also among the few intimate companions present at Prince Matchabelli’s bedside when he passed away in 1935, following his return from a business trip to Shanghai. Alongside Norina Matchabelli, Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, and Prince Serge Obolensky, Holmsen's attendance was a sign of his closeness to the Prince—not just as an employee, but as a personal confidant and member of a tightly knit circle of displaced Russian and Georgian aristocrats. His loyalty to Matchabelli extended beyond business.
After his tenure at the perfume company, Holmsen transitioned into founding his own travel agency, but the skills and diplomacy he honed during his years with Matchabelli surely influenced his entrepreneurial approach. During World War II, Holmsen continued his service by working as an assistant field director for the American Red Cross at the Port of New York, illustrating a life of continued purpose and commitment.
His personal life was complex. His first marriage to Mildred Ellen Tilton in Paris in 1927 produced three children—one of whom died in infancy—but ended in divorce in 1934, with allegations of cruelty and incompatibility. His second marriage to Barbara Baker Loew Post, daughter-in-law of etiquette icon Emily Post, also ended in divorce, reportedly due to the strain of Holmsen’s frequent travel for Matchabelli. He died in 1962 at the age of 60, leaving behind a legacy intertwined with both the splendor of imperial Russia and the early growth of one of America’s most storied perfume houses.
Cyril Gurge:
Cyril Gurge, a reserved and passionate chemist of Russian heritage, played a pivotal role in the early success of Prince Matchabelli’s perfumery. He served as one of Matchabelli’s trusted perfumers and, in the years following the prince’s death, continued to help shape the olfactory identity of the brand through his technical skill and acute sensitivity to scent. With roots in imperial Russia, Gurge brought not only a deep knowledge of traditional perfumery but a uniquely poetic perspective to the craft that resonated with Matchabelli’s own romantic ideals.
By 1934, Gurge had established his own business, the Cyrill Gurge Laboratories, located at 319 East 14th Street in New York City. However, his ongoing professional association with the Prince Matchabelli company persisted through much of the 1930s and 1940s, with Gurge continuing to contribute to the creative direction of several fragrances. His laboratory became a private domain for experimentation, though his contributions to Matchabelli’s more refined formulas remained significant, and his deep respect for the “invisible art” of perfume mirrored the prince’s original vision.
Known for his keen observational abilities and colorful commentary, Gurge once explained in a 1945 interview that crafting perfume in the United States was nothing like in pre-revolutionary Russia. There, women chose a single perfume for life—something that harmonized with their personal aura. American women, he believed, were more mercurial. "There’s a bit of tigress in every American woman—and a bit of kitten,” he said. To Gurge, one perfume could never suffice. He found it fascinating that women instinctively selected their fragrance based on emotional shifts, and he believed men could learn a great deal from how a woman wore her scent.
Ever dedicated to his craft, Gurge avoided alcohol, tobacco, and any strong influence that might dull his prized instrument—his sense of smell. He didn’t even indulge in hobbies beyond reading historical accounts of perfume’s influence and attending the Russian Ballet. On occasion, he would escape the lab and spend time breathing in the scent of fresh-baked cookies in a bakery, describing it as a kind of olfactory reset. When scent fatigue struck—as it inevitably does after hours of blending and testing—he would walk down Fifth Avenue, nose alert, watching the swirl of humanity, reading women’s moods by their scented trails.
Despite his public image as a solitary figure, Gurge's deep involvement with Matchabelli showed he was anything but isolated. He worked intimately with the small team of émigré nobility the prince had gathered around him, each one bringing a sense of artistry and pride to their roles. While Gurge never married—leading to speculation that he may have been gay—he formed deep professional relationships, particularly with those who, like him, were displaced by revolution but found a new home and purpose in the fragrant world of fine perfumery.
Even after his formal retirement, Gurge’s legacy lived on in the circles he touched. In 1948, years after stepping away from Matchabelli, he created a bespoke fragrance, Christmas Angel, inspired by a Mount Holyoke College holiday tradition. It was a deeply personal commission that spoke to Gurge’s ongoing desire to match scent with sentiment and ceremony. The ladies cologne was sold exclusively through the Mount Holyoke alumnae-run shop known as the “Trading Post,” with the perfume’s delicate blue packaging recalling the college’s signature hue.
In his devotion to scent, restraint in lifestyle, and almost mystical sense of the power of perfume to express emotion and identity, Cyril Gurge perfectly embodied the soul of Prince Matchabelli’s vision—an invisible art for the most intimate expression of self.
David Roy:
David Roy, once a general in the Russian Imperial Army, found a quiet dignity in an unexpected role after his emigration to the United States—a deliveryman for the Prince Matchabelli perfume company. Like many of his fellow White Russian émigrés, General Roy had been cast out of a privileged and authoritative world by revolution and exile. Yet, despite the upheaval, he maintained his aristocratic pride and sense of personal worth, even while undertaking what would have once been seen as menial work.
Roy drove the Matchabelli truck, entrusted with the delivery of the company’s finely crafted perfumes. This role, though humble in appearance, was in fact quite important within the Matchabelli operation. The brand was known for its meticulous attention to quality and presentation; therefore, even the transportation of goods demanded a trusted and reliable hand. Roy’s background as a military commander lent him the kind of discipline, precision, and accountability that Prince Matchabelli deeply valued among his staff. The prince, who surrounded himself with exiled nobility and officers, had great respect for the sacrifices they had made, and for the unwavering pride many of them retained.
Despite taking on a job far removed from his past military stature, Roy was said to have refused to wear a chauffeur’s uniform. This small but poignant detail reflects the core of his character: though his circumstances had changed, his self-identity had not. For Prince Matchabelli, who understood both the pain of exile and the importance of retaining one’s dignity, Roy’s insistence was likely not only accepted but honored. It was emblematic of the atmosphere within the Matchabelli company, where each employee, regardless of their new role in life, was treated with deference and mutual respect.
Roy’s quiet contribution to the day-to-day operations of the Matchabelli perfumery may not have garnered headlines, but it spoke volumes about the kind of loyalty and camaraderie that surrounded the prince. These were not simply employees—they were compatriots, preserving remnants of a lost world through the shared labor of creating beauty in a bottle.
Baron Paul Wrangell:
Baron Paul Petrovitch Wrangell, also known as Baron von Ludenhoff, served as a company representative for Prince Matchabelli Perfumes during the brand's early formative years. Born in 1905, Paul Wrangell was part of one of Imperial Russia's most distinguished noble families. His uncle was none other than General Pyotr Wrangel, the celebrated commander of the White Army during the Russian Civil War and one of the final figures of resistance against the Bolsheviks. With such a lineage, Wrangell inherited not only a strong sense of aristocratic duty but also an ingrained discipline and diplomatic bearing—qualities that made him an ideal ambassador for a brand like Matchabelli, which itself was steeped in royal image and cultivated refinement.
Before coming to the United States, Wrangell had been affiliated with the Russian embassy in Rome, a post that would have honed his skills in protocol, international relations, and social diplomacy. These talents transferred seamlessly to his work with Prince Matchabelli, where he was more than just a salesman—he was a face of the brand, capable of representing the company's noble heritage with genuine credibility. His position likely involved engaging with high-end department stores, liaising with retailers, and overseeing accounts that catered to a socially elite clientele. He would have played a key role in the brand’s expansion, particularly in securing prestige placements and representing the company at public and society functions.
Prince Matchabelli was known for surrounding himself with fellow exiles of Russian nobility—individuals who had been displaced by revolution but who carried with them their bearing, education, and sense of aesthetic culture. Wrangell, with his aristocratic roots and diplomatic experience, fit seamlessly into this world. He would have understood the prince's vision instinctively and served as a trustworthy steward of its luxury image. Wrangell's presence within the company also added to its mystique—a brand not merely selling perfume, but offering the vestiges of a vanished imperial world, conveyed through scents, bottles, and the stories of those who created and carried them.
Paul Wrangell remained part of the broader émigré community in the United States until his passing in 1977, one of many noble Russians who brought their history, poise, and quiet resilience to the enterprise of Prince Matchabelli.
Princess Tamara Anatolivna Kropotkin:
Princess Tamara Anatolivna Kropotkin, a member of one of Russia’s most distinguished noble families, brought both quiet dignity and industrious craftsmanship to her role within the Prince Matchabelli Perfume Company. Having survived the harrowing upheaval of the Russian Revolution, during which her first husband, Prince Nicolia Kropotkin, was killed in 1918, she spent the intervening years in exile in Harbin, China—a city once dubbed the “Oriental Moscow” for its vibrant Russian émigré community. It was from this enclave of displaced nobility that she eventually journeyed to the United States in 1927, bringing with her her young son, Prince Igor.
Her arrival in America was more than just an escape; it was a reunion years in the making. In Detroit, she wed Colonel Nicola Rybakoff, a former officer under her late husband in the Pereiaslavsky Regiment of the Russian Army, who had since been working as an auto mechanic at the Highland Park Ford plant. Their story—steeped in nobility, loss, loyalty, and resilience—mirrored the very heart of the Russian émigré community Prince Matchabelli gathered around his perfume house.
Within the Matchabelli enterprise, Princess Kropotkin found meaningful work that honored her heritage while grounding her in a new life. She took on the delicate task of hand-sewing perfumed sachets—small, elegant pouches filled with fragrance and stitched with great care. These sachets were not just luxury items; they embodied the spirit of the brand—refined, personal, and touched with the care of hands that had once known imperial courts. The act of sewing them, quietly and precisely, was a labor of love and pride. For customers, these sachets may have been charming keepsakes, but for Princess Kropotkin, they were also symbols of survival, dignity, and grace in exile.
Her participation in the Matchabelli enterprise was more than mere employment—it was part of a larger preservation of identity. Prince Matchabelli, himself an émigré aristocrat, offered a haven to those displaced by revolution, and in return, they infused the brand with authenticity, storytelling, and a palpable sense of lived elegance. Princess Tamara Kropotkin’s role was modest, but essential. Each sachet she sewed bore the unseen threads of heritage and heartache, stitched together with the steady hands of a woman who had lost a world but helped build a new one—scented with memory.
Princess Tamara Anatolivna Kropotkin’s journey to Prince Matchabelli’s perfumery was not just a story of elegant sachets and noble lineage—it was also a testament to personal resilience forged in the crucible of war and exile. Her second husband, Colonel Nicola Rybakoff, once recounted their remarkable story with the solemn calm of a man who had endured more than most. “I met the princess during the Great War, when I was wounded in a Galatian hospital. She, like so many women of the nobility, was a nurse,” he said. Their paths, like those of many displaced aristocrats, crossed amid the chaos of World War I. When Prince Nicolia Kropotkin was killed by the Bolsheviks during the revolution, Tamara fled Russia, eventually finding herself in Harbin, the so-called “Oriental Moscow,” home to thousands of émigrés.
There, in the shadow of loss and dislocation, she and Rybakoff were reunited. Formerly a colonel in the general headquarters staff of the Russian army, Rybakoff had once served under her late husband in the Pereiaslavsky Regiment. The bond between them, rooted in shared experience and mutual survival, led to their engagement. But the path to a new life together was far from straightforward. “I could come to America, become established, and then bring her here,” Rybakoff explained. “Well, I have been established long enough, but I did not reckon with quotas and passports and all that they mean. But now our dream is coming true and so I am very happy.”
Princess Kropotkin arrived in the United States with her young son Prince Igor in 1927, and by 1932, she had taken her oath of allegiance to the United States, embracing her adopted country without ever forgetting the one she left behind. The trials they had survived—four war wounds for him, exile and persecution for her—made everyday life seem almost a reprieve. “Life can’t do much more to us than it has done,” Rybakoff said, quietly dignified.
It was with this spirit that Princess Kropotkin joined the ranks of Prince Matchabelli’s perfumery—bringing not just her noble background, but a resilience shaped by war, displacement, and love. Her delicate, perfumed sachets were more than luxury items—they were symbols of endurance, of a life reclaimed, and of memory sewn into muslin. In this act of handwork, the princess honored both her heritage and the new life she helped build alongside fellow émigrés, under the compassionate patronage of Prince Matchabelli.
Prince Vasili Alexandrovitch Romanoff:
Prince Vasili Alexandrovitch Romanoff, a nephew of the ill-fated Czar Nicholas II and the youngest son of Grand Duke Alexander Michailovich of Russia and Grand Duchess Xenia, represented a direct link to the Romanov dynasty within Prince Matchabelli’s enterprise. Born in St. Petersburg into the highest echelons of Russian aristocracy, Prince Vasili—like so many others of noble blood—found himself exiled and adrift following the Bolshevik Revolution. By the late 1920s, he had come to the United States, joining a growing émigré community in search of new purpose amid unfamiliar surroundings. His two elder brothers had already settled in America—one in Chicago, the other on Long Island.
Among the many talented émigrés who contributed to the refinement and identity of Prince Matchabelli's perfumery, few had as significant a visual impact as Grigol Kobakhidze, better known in the United States as George Koby (also recorded as George Kobi or Coby). A Georgian-American chemist, inventor, and businessman, Coby brought with him not only technical expertise but a deep appreciation for craftsmanship, ingenuity, and national pride—qualities that aligned seamlessly with Prince Matchabelli’s vision for his growing perfume house.
In 1930, during a business engagement in New York, Prince Matchabelli encountered Prince Vasili, who at the time was studying chemistry—a shared interest that helped forge their professional relationship. The perfumer, ever drawn to talent and sympathetic to the plight of his fellow aristocrats, brought Vasili into the growing Matchabelli enterprise. The position offered the prince not only a livelihood but a role that honored his intellect and presence—qualities that matched the elegance of the Matchabelli name and its clientele.
It was also through Matchabelli’s personal kindness and social circle that Prince Vasili’s life took a romantic turn. Matchabelli invited old friends, Dr. Alexander and Madame Galitzine, along with their daughter Natalia, to a gathering at his penthouse. Vasili was also invited. In a twist of fate, Vasili and Natalia realized they had met as children in Russia some fourteen years earlier. Their reconnection rekindled a long-dormant affection, and in 1931, they were married. Natalia Galatzine, though not of the imperial family, hailed from one of Russia’s oldest noble lines and had made a name for herself writing film scenarios while living in New York. Her parents, refugees from Moscow, had settled in California.
By 1932, both Prince and Princess Vasili were working together at the Prince Matchabelli counter at Bergdorf Goodman, one of New York’s most prestigious department stores. There, their refined manners, elegance, and noble bearing lent cachet to the brand, enhancing the allure of the perfumes they sold. As visible representatives of a once-glorious imperial world now reduced to memory and survival, their presence lent authenticity and aristocratic charm to Matchabelli’s fragrance counter. Their lives, like the fragrances they presented, were a delicate blend of memory, loss, and reinvention.
Prince Irbian-Khan Kaplanoff:
Prince Irbian-Khan Kaplanoff, a man of ancient lineage with ancestral ties reaching as far back as 734 AD, brought both nobility and resilience to his work with Prince Matchabelli. Born in Russia in 1887, Kaplanoff’s early life followed a traditional aristocratic military path. He graduated from the prestigious Nicholasvskoye Cavalry School in St. Petersburg in 1910 with the rank of lieutenant and served in the elite Nijegorodsky Dragoons, one of the oldest cavalry regiments in Imperial Russia, and one that counted Emperor Nicholas II himself as its honorary colonel. During the First World War, he served valiantly on the German, Austrian, and Turkish fronts, was twice wounded, and received several decorations for his bravery. Following the collapse of the monarchy, he remained loyal to the White cause, eventually commanding a cavalry regiment in the fight against the Communists during the Russian Civil War.
Exiled and impoverished, Kaplanoff arrived in the United States in 1923. Like many displaced Russian nobles of the period, he accepted a position well beneath his former station—working as a commissionnaire (doorman) outside a department store, clad in a lavish uniform that belied his humble means. It was here, in this unlikely setting, that he met Mrs. Vernon Magoffin Siems, a wealthy American shopper, who would later become his wife. Their courtship led to a small private wedding in 1933, where one of the honored guests was none other than Prince Georges Matchabelli himself.
By that same year, Kaplanoff had joined the Prince Matchabelli perfume company, transitioning from humble doorman to a gentleman employed among fellow émigrés and aristocrats. Matchabelli, ever compassionate to the plight of fellow nobles displaced by the Revolution, recognized in Kaplanoff not only a kindred spirit but also someone whose dignified presence and military precision could lend refinement and reliability to the company. While specific records of Kaplanoff’s exact role at the firm are scarce, it is known that he was considered an integral part of the team—his noble bearing and past as a decorated officer likely making him well-suited for public-facing roles, promotional events, and perhaps even customer service at high-end accounts.
Kaplanoff's story exemplifies the blend of elegance, endurance, and quiet reinvention that permeated Prince Matchabelli’s circle. He was a living symbol of aristocratic grace rechanneled into modern commerce—adding to the company’s mystique and ethos of noble sophistication. He remained in the United States until his death in 1947, one of many White Russian émigrés whose service at Matchabelli perfumery echoed the grandeur of a vanished world.
Prince "Sasha" Georgievich Tarsaidze:
Prince Alexander "Sasha" Georgievich Tarsaidze brought an exceptional blend of intellect, diplomacy, and aristocratic charm to the Prince Matchabelli Perfume Company during its formative years. Born into Georgian nobility, Tarsaidze had served as an officer in the Czar’s Imperial Navy before the Russian Revolution forced his emigration. Once in America, like many of his displaced peers, he found himself repurposing his background and skills in service of an entirely new life in exile. He became a respected authority on Russian history, lending an air of cultural erudition to every endeavor he undertook.
By 1934, Tarsaidze had joined Prince Georges Matchabelli's perfume enterprise in New York, where he was appointed sales promotion and advertising manager. His knowledge of refined aesthetics and deep cultural literacy made him an ideal candidate to convey the romantic and noble imagery of the Matchabelli brand to American consumers. Tarsaidze worked closely under the Prince's direction, assisting with expanding the company’s presence both domestically and abroad. When Prince Matchabelli passed away in 1935, Tarsaidze was in the midst of organizing the company’s anticipated London office on behalf of Serge Obolensky, a fellow Russian émigré and trusted confidant of the Prince.
In the wake of the Prince’s death, Tarsaidze stepped up to become acting head and treasurer of the Matchabelli company, assuming multiple responsibilities including oversight of sales, advertising, promotion, and publicity. He also became a director of both the American and French divisions of the firm, further reflecting the trust placed in him by both the Matchabelli family and business partners. His leadership helped stabilize the company during a sensitive transitional period.
By 1937, however, Tarsaidze chose to resign from his executive roles at Prince Matchabelli Products Corporation, severing ties with the perfume house to embark on a new entrepreneurial venture. Alongside Prince Serge Obolensky, he co-founded Parfums Chevalier Garde, a fragrance firm that aimed to uphold the same aristocratic refinement that had distinguished the Matchabelli brand. Later, Tarsaidze applied his natural grace and communication talents as the public relations director at the Ambassador Hotel in New York—an establishment frequented by society’s elite.
Through it all, Prince Sasha Tarsaidze remained a faithful steward of the White Russian community’s legacy in exile, infusing every endeavor with a deep sense of nobility, duty, and historical awareness—qualities that had made him invaluable to Prince Matchabelli and instrumental in shaping the company’s enduring prestige.
Grigol Kobakhidze:
Among the many talented émigrés who contributed to the refinement and identity of Prince Matchabelli's perfumery, few had as significant a visual impact as Grigol Kobakhidze, better known in the United States as George Koby (also recorded as George Kobi or Coby). A Georgian-American chemist, inventor, and businessman, Coby brought with him not only technical expertise but a deep appreciation for craftsmanship, ingenuity, and national pride—qualities that aligned seamlessly with Prince Matchabelli’s vision for his growing perfume house.
When Prince Georges Matchabelli set out to build a luxury fragrance brand that paid homage to his aristocratic heritage, he needed more than beautiful scents—he needed a visual icon. Coby, already established as an innovator in glass production through his Coby Glass Products Company, was called upon to bring Matchabelli’s conceptual vision to life. The result of this partnership was the legendary crown-shaped flacon, known affectionately as the coronette, which would become the enduring symbol of the Matchabelli house.
Inspired by the regal insignia of the Georgian monarchy and perhaps reflecting Matchabelli’s own princely title, the coronette bottle evoked dignity, refinement, and cultural memory. Coby’s technical knowledge in glassmaking made it possible to produce these elegant bottles in brilliant enamel colors and gilded accents, each a miniature crown resting proudly on the vanities of American women. He supplied many of the earliest bottles used by the company and helped ensure that Prince Matchabelli’s perfumes were not only fragrant masterpieces but also visually unforgettable.
But Coby was more than just a supplier—he was a creative partner. A self-made millionaire and prolific inventor, George Coby's contributions extended far beyond the realm of perfumery. Born into humble circumstances in the village of Tkhmori, Georgia, Coby worked his way through glass factories in Borjomi and Tbilisi before emigrating, eventually landing in New York in 1909. His early employment with General Electric and subsequent patents (including those for writing pens) helped fund his own enterprise. By the 1920s, his Massachusetts-based Coby Glass Products had become a major player in the medical, chemical, and construction sectors.
Despite suffering financial setbacks during the Great Depression—including the tragic loss of his business partner, Eugene Ignatiev, to suicide—Coby persisted. He reopened a small shop and later, during World War II, petitioned the U.S. government for aid to resume wartime production. He was granted $2 million to rebuild his factory in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, where he supplied laboratories and hospitals with urgently needed glassware.
Throughout all this, Coby remained a committed supporter of Georgian independence, hosting and aiding émigrés and preserving Georgian culture through his work. Even his post-war Christmas decorations, made of glass, featured grape leaves and motifs drawn from his homeland.
Coby’s partnership with Prince Matchabelli was a fusion of shared heritage and mutual respect. The coronette bottle, born of their collaboration, remains a testament not only to royal symbolism and artistry but also to the ingenuity of the émigré community that shaped one of America’s most iconic fragrance houses. Coby’s death in 1967 marked the end of a remarkable life, but his work for Prince Matchabelli ensured his legacy would endure—in every crowned bottle still cherished today.
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