Looking back, early breakthroughs in cyclopropylamine chemistry opened the door for a wave of fine-tuning, and trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate didn’t appear overnight. Chemists worked overtime to build on core principles discovered through mid-twentieth-century research on monoamine oxidase inhibitors (MAOIs). The motivation often stemmed from the need to find safer, more selective therapies. After examining molecules like tranylcypromine, which left a mixed safety record and a jumbled list of side effects, researchers wanted an agent presenting clear stereochemistry, enhanced target selectivity, and less systemic havoc.
This compound shows up as both a synthetic milestone and a practical tool in neuropharmacology. Built from the core scaffold of cyclopropylamine, decorated with two fluorine atoms on the phenyl ring, and finally balanced as an L-tartrate salt, the structure brings its own quirks to the table. Its tight cyclopropane ring can handle substantial metabolic pressure. The reason so many teams gravitate toward the difluoro arrangement comes from evidence showing improved blood-brain barrier penetration and a sharper molecular profile when targeting enzymes in the brain.
You’ll typically find this compound as a white to off-white crystalline solid, holding up well against moderate moisture and heat. Its melting point often lands around 180–190°C, which offers a handy sign of purity but also means storage doesn’t demand any elaborate refrigeration. In solution, trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate dissolves readily in polar solvents, like water or ethanol, which makes for less hassle in lab settings. The L-tartrate counterion enhances its aqueous solubility and stabilizes the base during shipping and storage. The difluoro substitution also boosts chemical stability compared to unsubstituted analogs.
Labeling standards in the pharmaceutical and research chemical industry emphasize unambiguous identification. Quality samples report a chemical purity of over 98%, commonly confirmed through HPLC and NMR. You’ll usually spot detailed information on optical rotation, signifying the (1R,2S) stereochemistry, and on the exact salt form to cut down confusion between tartrates and alternative counterions. Batch records should include residual solvent levels, water content by Karl Fischer titration, and results from screens for heavy metals—especially since fluoride’s involvement often raises questions for safety reviewers.
Straightforward this process is not. Synthetic access often starts from 3,4-difluorobenzaldehyde, passing through a Wittig or similar reaction to introduce the side chain. The next step typically forms a trans-cyclopropane ring using a Simmons–Smith or Corey–Chaykovsky cyclopropanation, with chiral auxiliaries ensuring the right-handed configuration appears in the final product. The amine then emerges after reduction or reductive amination, before finally undergoing salt formation with L-tartaric acid. Every single step demands close chiral control—one slip, and the whole synthesis delivers the wrong diastereomer or racemic sludge, good for little but the trash bin. Experienced hands chase down high-yield, low-epimerization conditions to minimize byproduct headaches.
Modification potential springs up in a few places: the cyclopropane ring, the amine handle, and the aromatic fluorines. Amide coupling and alkylation give a trail of analogs that reveal structure-activity relationships. On the aromatic side, the two fluorines rarely get swapped out without losing the fine balance of lipophilicity and brain permeability, so research rarely touches them. Still, introducing isotopic labels helps track metabolism in vivo. The amine group gets most of the action, acting as a hook for prodrug forms or fluorogenic derivatives for enzyme assays. These modifications always need to play nicely with the molecule’s pharmacokinetic property—spoiling those kills the point.
Chemists recognize alternate names—trans-cyclopropylamine tartrate, difluorocyclopropylamine L-tartrate, and of course a slurry of registry numbers. But any reputable source relies on unambiguous IUPAC nomenclature and full stereochemical notation to avoid confusion. Some specialty vendors brand it with catalog names for convenience. For regulatory work and publication, full systematic names matter, but in practice, most researchers use short forms like “DFCPA-tartrate” in conversation and lab notes.
Fluorinated amines command respect in any lab. Relying on dust masks and gloves during handling isn’t overcautious—airborne particles or accidental skin exposure may cause irritation or complications for sensitive staff. Risk assessments, especially with higher-quantity manipulations, flag the basic amine as potentially hazardous if inhaled or ingested. Waste disposal steps up a notch because breakdown in water treatment plants can generate low-level fluoride, and authorities keep a weather eye on those releases. Shipping rules classify it as a chemical of interest for both legitimate and nefarious synthetic routes, especially due to its similarity to controlled drug precursors. Material safety data sheets lean heavy on engineering controls, clear labeling, and prompt first-aid for exposure.
This compound’s claim to fame comes through its value as a research tool in neurobiology. Lab teams use it to explore enzyme inhibition, especially with monoamine oxidase, pushing for insights on psychiatric disease and neurodegeneration. The trans-(1R,2S) geometry’s selectivity profile steers clear of off-target effects plaguing earlier MAOIs. Its tartrate salt form makes formulation work in preclinical studies less prone to solubility issues. Research outfits continue probing its use in depression models, as well as rare disease applications where amine oxidase malfunction drives severe pathology. Preclinical literature also draws attention to metabolic studies in rodents, identifying its breakdown products and flagging any worrying signals ahead of clinical translation.
Academic and industry groups keep finding new corners of chemistry and biology to explore with this tool. In pharmacodynamic and pharmacokinetic modeling, teams rely on detailed tracking of brain penetration, plasma half-life, and enzyme inhibition profiles. Big data approaches match up SAR patterns across analogs, using the core trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine unit as a reference, laying out rules for future drug design. Advanced labs work to uncover long-term metabolic effects, exploring enantiomer-specific fate and possible bioconversion. Most grant proposals tie back progress in this space to clearer, sharper treatments for mental health disease, painting a path for translational work in the clinic.
Questions about toxicity never leave the table. Rodent studies show dose-dependent CNS effects, pointing to an on-target risk profile that needs watching at higher exposures. Some schemes expose hepatocytes to trace byproducts to flag electophilic metabolites or potential carcinogenic breakdown. In vitro screens look for hERG channel block to suss out cardiac risk. Safety teams balance therapeutic intent with off-target enzyme inhibition, mindful of the tragic lessons from early MAOI history—liver trouble, hypertensive crises, or serotonin toxicity. Human-equivalent dose predictions benefit from robust animal model data, but any hint of organ toxicity or genotoxicity triggers more in-depth follow-up before talk of clinical trials gets serious.
Research momentum keeps rolling in, driven by the hope that this family of molecules produces safer, more reliable treatments. Teams keep working to expand beyond psychiatric disease—there’s talk about rare metabolic disorders, even probing antiviral options thanks to enzyme-targeting selectivity. Synthetic chemists tweak the structure with subtle substituent swaps or new salt forms, chasing improvements in safety and bioavailability. On the regulatory front, deeper toxicology and chronic-use research will guide the compound toward legitimate drug development or raise red flags to caution future work. Open, reproducible data sharing in academic and corporate settings may unlock hidden utility, especially as AI-driven drug design benefits from strong, clean chemical probes like this one. For now, trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate stands as a bellwether for smart, careful design in medicinal chemistry and translational neuroscience.
Working in health journalism, I get curious about chemicals you might find in a dense pharmacology text. One such name—trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate—captures attention, not for its length, but for its impact. You could walk into a university lab or R&D site and spot researchers focusing on compounds like this, quietly fueling progress in treatment for mental health. Most people will see this chemical linked to studies and clinical trials; its roots run deep in the search for better antidepressants.
Decades ago, doctors approached depression with monoamine oxidase (MAO) inhibitors, searching for hope in a bottle. These drugs stood out because they didn’t work the same way as more popular SSRIs. Fast-forward to now, and trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate—also known as SEP-225289—represents that next leap in the saga. This compound functions as an MAO inhibitor, too, but scientists aimed for better selectivity and fewer food or drug interactions. I’ve spoken with psychiatrists who recall challenging times with older MAOIs: cheese restrictions, worries about blood pressure spikes, tough side effects. The research around L-tartrate versions looks to do away with those headaches.
Researchers want options beyond the familiar. The landscape of depression treatment needs tools that work for folks whose symptoms don’t respond to standard drugs. Present-day data suggests that as many as 30% of people with major depressive disorder struggle to get relief after trying more than one medication. That’s not just a number in a chart; it’s lived-out frustration and lost productivity for patients and their families. If a new MAO inhibitor can offer fresh hope, that’s real progress.
Another part of this story comes from the chemical tweaks. Fluorine atoms—those “difluoro” bits in the name—help the drug bind more precisely, making it possible to target the right enzyme. The cyclopropylamine part has been a focus for medicinal chemists looking to improve absorption or increase how long the drug stays in the system. The L-tartrate salt helps with stability, making it possible to transform a tricky molecule into a pill with consistent, reliable effects.
People have a right to ask tough questions about new drugs. The history with MAO inhibitors comes with a warning label for side effects. Efforts have gone into making compounds like trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate both safer and more effective. Clinical trials bring raw data, but real-life stories will show if this compound works better and feels gentler.
Transparency, long-term studies, and hearing from the people who receive these treatments matter so much in this space. I’ve heard from families waiting for something that finally shifts the balance and lets a person return to daily life. That hope, backed by careful science, pushes the field ahead.
The world of mental health medicine houses a mix of high-stakes science and everyday struggles. Every new compound—especially those sturdy enough to get through preclinical hurdles—carries patient expectations. Living with depression means you pay attention to progress, no matter how technical it sounds. Researchers pressing forward with trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate are part of a bigger effort, chasing a world where more people find light at the end of the tunnel.
Walk into any research lab, hospital storeroom, or even a pharmacy, and compounds line the shelves—powders, liquids, solutions, vials marked with temperature ranges and sometimes warnings in bold red. I’ve seen first-hand what happens when those labels get ignored. A reagent that belonged in the fridge gets left out; a few days later, a whole batch of test results turns unreliable. Money wasted, time lost, and trust put to the test. In the home, people can also forget basic advice—a bottle of medicine ends up next to a sunny window, and it stops working as it should.
Storage conditions aren’t just about compliance or bureaucracy. They play a direct role in whether a product works, whether medicine heals, or whether research leads anywhere useful. Too much heat, light, or moisture can trigger breakdowns: proteins can denature, antibiotics lose their punch, volatile compounds evaporate, powders clump together. Failing to pay attention puts more than a line on a report at risk; it can put patient safety and whole experiments on the line.
Some mistakes happen out of habit. I’ve seen people squeeze every last sample onto a single shelf despite clear instructions: store at 2-8°C, protect from light, keep dry. Labels fade, fridges get overstuffed, freezers get power-cycled, and desiccant packets get tossed out with the packaging. Even simple oversight—like placing incompatible reagents together—has led to dangerous situations: say, an acid next to a base, or flammable solvents near heat sources.
Information gaps don’t help, either. Not everyone in the lab or clinic knows why a medicine needs to avoid humidity. Some don’t check expiry dates, or figure that one day in a warm truck during delivery won’t matter. Yet, real evidence says otherwise: vaccine potency can plummet outside recommended temperature; certain enzymes stop working if they aren’t carefully kept cold. In poorly ventilated spaces, fumes build up and pose health risks.
Taking proper care of compounds starts by knowing what they’re sensitive to. Instructions come from studies on stability, and they exist for a reason. It pays to understand why a vial might require darkness—maybe the active ingredient breaks down in light—or why something needs a sealed container to keep moisture out.
Clear labeling doesn’t only belong in regulated settings. At home, a simple sticky note—“Fridge only, keep sealed”—has saved me from spoiled insulin and ruined probiotics. In bigger operations, digital inventory makes it easier to flag items nearing expiry or products recalled due to improper storage. Temperature loggers aren’t just gadgets for show; they give accountability and proof, especially when it comes to medicines or chemicals worth thousands.
Problems with overcrowding or understaffing only get solved by training and making storage rules straightforward. Relying on memory in a busy setting rarely works. Routine checks, quick spot audits, and clear lists pinned to storage doors go a long way. In hot or humid regions, investing in reliable cooling or climate control pays off in the long run, reducing waste and risk.
As compounds grow more complex—antibodies, mRNA vaccines, custom reagents—storage instructions grow stricter and more crucial. Mistakes in storage are expensive, sometimes dangerous, but also preventable. Good habits, clear information, and smart equipment choices build reliability–and safe, effective results.
Working in a lab, I learned early on that every compound has its own “passport” – the molecular formula and molecular weight. On paper, these might look like nothing more than strings of symbols and numbers. That information, though, packs a punch for anyone who wants to understand what chemicals do inside our bodies, in medicines, in the environment, and even in things like the fuel in your car.
With the molecular formula, you see which atoms make up a molecule and how many. Glucose, for example, sports the formula C6H12O6 – six carbons, twelve hydrogens, six oxygens. That single line tells a chemist it came out of a living system and helps them predict what reactions it can take part in. My experience has shown that formulas act like cheat codes for chemistry: you know at a glance whether a substance could dissolve in water, crash out of solution, or mess with your food’s taste and texture.
When you’re dealing with unfamiliar chemicals, reading the formula and weight is a safety issue too. A safety data sheet relies on this info, and so does dosing when developing new medicines. People who measure out compounds have to avoid mistakes because the wrong dose can mean wasted money at best, danger at worst.
Think about molecular weight as the stamp on a package, letting you know exactly how heavy a mole of that compound will be. Sometimes I’ve seen new students fumble with calculations because they ignored this figure. It’s not just about lab accuracy, either. Take pollution in water, for example: to calculate how much of a toxin might end up in your glass, you need the molecular weight.
Drug companies wrestle with this calculation every day, working out how drugs are absorbed or broken down. Something as small as choosing acetaminophen over ibuprofen could trace back to molecular weight, since it affects how easily your body moves a molecule around. Even companies making consumer goods like plastics or shampoos pay attention to this, ensuring their products work as expected and don’t bring hidden health risks.
You learn fast that mistakes happen when people cut corners. In 2006, science news covered a recall due to dosing errors—incorrect molecular weights led to medicine batches with the wrong concentration. Scientists must double-check their numbers. Schools should push for more hands-on lessons where students practice calculating weights and formulas. It’s one thing to memorize periodic table values and another to connect those values to real substances you use every day.
Labs can adopt software that pulls molecular data straight from reliable chemical databases. This minimizes keystroke mistakes and helps researchers focus less on busywork and more on discovery. Safety protocols require that product labels match batch records from start to finish. Peer-checks and built-in redundancies in digital instruments keep errors in check as well.
Molecular formulas and weights help us keep science safe, smart, and honest. Learning to respect those numbers isn’t just a classroom exercise – it matters, whether you're mixing fertilizer or manufacturing a heart medicine.
Every job brings new risks—whether your hands touch chemicals, heavy machines, or even just sharp scissors. Loads of products reach our shelves covered in warnings, and plenty more come with a safety data sheet. Still, folks zip past instructions, sometimes missing something that turns a quick project into a painful mess.
I remember a landscaping job given to me in my twenties. The weed killer worked, but nobody said it could burn your skin if you handled it without gloves or that breathing the mist would make your throat raw for a week. Only after my skin itched and the coughing started did anyone mention the binder of safety sheets stored in the boss's truck cab. How often does that happen in workplaces, workshops, and even basements across the country?
People treat warnings on a spray bottle or bag of fertilizer as white noise. Yet, those little icons mean a trip to the ER or a lost afternoon can be right around the corner. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, millions of workers get hurt or worse on the job every year—often from something as simple as mishandling chemicals. The consequences don't have to be dramatic either. Chronic headaches, allergies or lifelong breathing issues often trace back to that familiar “it’ll be fine this once” attitude.
Emergency rooms see a steady flow of folks who skipped over instructions, either from habit or believing they already know what’s in a bottle. Teens using cleaning supplies in fast-food kitchens, homeowners bleaching their own mold, or a farmhand spraying pesticides—all these people walk the same line between safe handling and serious exposure.
Sitting down with stacks of technical manuals is nobody’s idea of a good time. If labels started speaking plain language, real injuries and accidents might actually drop. Instead of seven-point fonts and symbols nobody remembers from eighth grade, what if brands printed, “Wear gloves or you’ll regret it for two days,” or, “Do not mix with bleach—makes poisonous gas”? Direct, simple words stick.
Simple graphics, QR codes linked to video guides, or workplace huddles every Monday before starting a project can close knowledge gaps fast. In a small machine shop where I worked, the boss set up laminated cheat sheets with biggest dangers written in marker. Folks stopped grabbing tools without goggles and stopped rushing detergent down the sink. The change showed in fewer bandages and morning coughs.
Managers, workers, and even casual hobbyists all play a part in keeping things safe. Workers need a little push to check the label or ask a quick question. Supervisors ought to show—right at the start—where to look for hazard sheets, or point out the difference between cleaning up a spill and cleaning up a spill with acid in it.
Every time warnings shift from fine print to something that makes you pause, or training is more than a box to check, fewer people get hurt. Sharing stories, pointing out scars, or running through the what-ifs with new folks—this passes on lessons far better than another unread manual ever could.
Trans-(1R,2S)-2-(3,4-difluorophenyl)cyclopropylamine L-tartrate sounds like a mouthful, but in a chemistry lab, it's just another puzzle to solve. Every piece of research benefits from starting with a clear idea of how to turn a white powder into a testable solution. In most labs, you stare at this molecule and realize, you can’t just dump it in water and hope for the best. Solubility, purity, and accurate dosing all ride on the way you handle it.
This tartrate salt form comes with both a cyclopropylamine backbone and a pair of difluorinated phenyl groups—chemistry that points to moderate polarity, but not huge water solubility. In my own experience working with aromatic amines, adding extra functional groups like fluorines rarely makes the powder love water, even with a tartrate. The molecule does better in a bit of water mixed with ethanol, or a gentle dip into DMSO when nothing else works.
In most cases, if you want to dissolve 10 mg in a small volume, try using a 1:1 mix of ethanol and water. Tartrate salts dissolve easier than their freebase cousins, but stubbornness can come from those fluoro groups. In my bench work, I’ve seen this sort of molecule break down after some heating on a 37°C water bath, with gentle swirling for a few minutes. If weird floating bits persist, filtering through a 0.22 µm syringe filter does the trick. For cell culture or biology assays, sterile filtering keeps contamination out. For work in animals, you’ll need non-toxic vehicles—saline or PBS with a splash of ethanol usually beats pure DMSO for safety.
The moment you pour your dissolved powder into an experiment, pH starts to matter. This compound’s amine group can shift charges with each pH jump. Checking pH after you dissolve it helps keep your data honest. I’ve had experiments tip over just because the vehicle solution drifted more acidic than expected. A little dipping with pH paper or a handheld meter fixes surprises.
Accurate dosing turns into more than just weighing powder on a balance. These molecules can grab water from the air or break down under light. For this reason, splitting your stock into small, tightly capped vials under dry, dark conditions keeps potency from slipping away. I’ve had to toss stocks that went yellow under lab lights or picked up water overnight. Marking vials with clear dates and concentrations saves frustration weeks later, when you can’t recall what’s inside a mystery bottle.
Every researcher puts faith in their prep methods—and those details end up in publications for others to see. Mistakes create headaches and muddy results. So, it pays to test a few solvents, double check pH, keep solutions cold, and track every lot number like your next dataset depends on it. That’s not paranoia—that’s living with the reality of modern lab work.
Whether prepping this tartrate or anything else, a researcher’s curiosity and caution light the path. The tools are basic—pipettes, filters, heat blocks, sealed vials—but the discipline behind each step makes the real difference. By focusing on clean, transparent prep, the science gains ground and trust follows.
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