Day 12: Love, Sephora, & Perfume in Paris
06.01.2015 - 06.02.2015
Finding perfume is a lot like falling in love. A scent strikes you and you just know it's one you can connect with and wear for a very long time. Buying a new perfume was on my "perhaps" Paris list. "Perhaps" because it is never a sure thing you will find the right one. Kind of like online dating. How many dates would you have to go to find someone you have chemistry and compatibility with? That's how I am with perfume. I find very few that I like; fewer that I love. And if I'm going to wear a scent, I need to love it.
I thought my search for perfume would bring me back to Sephora; the perfume and make-up mecca of Paris. In 1999 I entered Sephora for the first time. The flagship, original store was and is on the Champs-Elysees. I remember the experience as clearly as, well....any other significant first. The smell, the allure, the staff all dressed in black (what else?), and rows and rows of perfume, make-up, lotions and potions. I spent hours trying on perfumes, which you spray on tiny pieces of cardboard instead of your skin, so as to not confuse the scents. Finally, when the selection gets narrowed to a mere two, it's time for a spritz. One on each wrist. Then, you wait for the alchemy to take place. Perfumes smell differently on your body and change as they interact with your own chemistry. I love science. Especially when it's intertwined with magic.
A year or so after losing my virginity to Sephora in Paris, I discovered there was a New York City Sephora on Fifth Avenue near Rockefeller Center. That one too, was bliss. Sadly, it has since closed. But now Sephora is ubiquitous. It is even in Penny's department store. Really.
Anyway, I planned to reunite with the Champs Sephora at some point during this trip, specifically to see if I could find a new love. But love is funny. Sometimes it finds you when you least expect it. Yesterday while walking through St. Germaine, a petite table holding a single, elegant bottle suddenly called to me. Next to the bottle were those tiny pieces of cardboard. "Try me," the bottle whispered. Feeling a bit like Alice through the looking glass, I sprayed, smelled, and waited. Suddenly, a man appeared in the doorway. He spoke in French, a bit too quickly for me to catch what he said.
"Je parle Francaise, un peu," I said. He smiled. "Ah! In English, then. Give me your wrist." As he gently misted my wrist, I knew I was lost. The fragrance was intoxicating. It was all there. Light, charm, elegance, familiar yet at the same time new, a suggestion of gardenias on a summer night, slightly romantic with a hint of sexy. It was love. It was Only for Her by Hayari-Parfums.
"I'll take it," I said, without even asking the price.