I have a confession to make. I am a complete, utter, incessant commitment-phobe. No, not with men. With perfume.
My guilt is scattered around the room, at the bottom of my clutches, in the car. I collect samples nearly every time I go shopping… but I still haven’t found the one. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that ever since I was a little girl, my mother and grandmothers would tell me that a woman ought to have a signature scent. I thought I found one–Juicy Couture–when I was 17, but love quickly turned to hate and I donated the bottle to my sister.
Another favorite–Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle–seemed promising, but the love affair died along with my relationship with the man who adored it. Lately, I’ve been toying around with Miss Dior Chérie, Hermés ‘Kelly’, and Burberry Brit Sheer… but none are quite right. Please tell me I am not alone in this, mes chéries…