With renewed resolve, I marched to Sephora. A kind man offered me samples of any perfume I’d like to take home, so I could really see how I felt about the scents. I narrowed it down to two (Issey Miyake Florale was the runner up), and although I purchased the Prada Infusion d’Iris a week or two ago, it was not until last night that I knew, for certain, that I had made the right choice. While in the Modern Museum of Art Sculpture Garden listening to the Julliard School perform for Summergarden (because where else would you be on a summer Sunday night in NYC?) a warm summer breeze wafted through the air. It smelled wonderful, the way you dream that summer smells while you’re buried underneath four layers of clothing in the depths of winter, and I realized that I was in fact smelling my own perfume.
Three months into my search for the perfect spring scent, the inevitable shift from rainy days to sweltering humidity here in New York City snapped me out of my indecisiveness. Would I forever continue on from perfume sample to perfume sample, never wholly satisfied but also never unhappy with a large sum of money going toward a perfume I may fall out of love with?