Patricia draws a portrait of her favorite season with her beloved scents.

Autumn is the gift we New Englanders receive in exchange for putting up with a sometimes severe, but always long, winter. Although I am rapidly reaching the age when “snowbirds” fly south to Florida for the winter, that prospect holds no appeal for me. I appreciate all four seasons, with autumn, the bittersweet reminder of approaching winter and our own mortality, remaining my favorite.

Pulling out the spicy orientals, the deep rich roses, the smoky incenses, and the warm ambers from my perfume cabinet in September is an annual ritual for me. They are old friends, hidden in protective darkness since April, and it is good to see them again. Into the cabinet go the sparkling citruses, light florals, and tropical concoctions that I have enjoyed all summer.

Still, never one to plunge into bracingly cold water, I ease myself into the fall perfumes, toe by careful toe. September, technically still summer for most of the month, can be quite warm and humid and not conducive to heavy perfume, so I wear what I refer to as my transitional trio.

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There are three places in New York I miss the most: Lincoln Center, Kalustyan’s and The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Lincoln Center houses not only The Metropolitan Opera, The New York City Ballet, and The New York Philharmonic Orchestra, but also a range of other performing companies. Kalustyan’s is a paradise for spice lovers. When it comes to art, the scene in Brussels is quite lively, but what in the world can compare to the Met? I love the way they curate their exhibitions, especially at the Costume Institute, and next spring there will be another interesting showcase. “Charles James: Beyond Fashion” will focus on Charles James, America’s best-known couturier, and will run from May 8 to August 10, 2014.

James was known for his architectural designs, and his study of human anatomy and mathematics. He was also generous in his use of color. As the WWD reports, “the Costume Institute will examine James’ entire career, including the years he dressed society doyennes like Millicent Rogers, Austine Hearst and Dominique de Menil, and was associated with his close friend Cecil Beaton, through his later years at the Chelsea Hotel (he died in 1978).” There will be 100 pieces on display.

“He really is a one-of-a-kind designer,” said Harold Koda, curator in charge of the Costume Institute. “Even if you look through the history of French haute couture and all the English couture designers, James stands out as a very idiosyncratic personality and artist and one of the few designers who, in his own lifetime, felt that his work transcended the medium.”

Photo via WWD: Nancy James in Charles James’ Butterfly Gown, 1955. Photograph by Cecil Beaton, The Cecil Beaton Studio Archive at Sotheby’s.

Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, Guerlain Shalimar, Bulgari Black, Annick Goutal Sables, Chanel Cuir de Russie, anything with woods. The only thing these perfumes have in common is that I disliked them after my first encounter and now they’re among my favorites. I even remember giving away a bottle of vintage Guerlain L’Heure Bleue because I dismissed it far too quickly. Now I want to kick myself! So please don’t repeat my mistakes. If you’ve ever taken one whiff of a perfume, determined that you didn’t like it and crossed it off your list, you might as well not have bothered to smell it. Making a decision based on one sniff would be like deciding that one doesn’t like Tolstoy based on the first page of War and Peace.

Any scent, however simple or complex, requires more than one encounter. For instance, professional tasters believe that it takes 5 to 10 tries to determine if you dislike a flavor, and the same theory can be applied to perfume. Since a fragrant blend will change its character and even style over time, it’s especially important to be patient. Even the mood in which you smell can play a crucial role in shaping your judgement.

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Opium. Even if you haven’t worn Opium yourself, just the name of this perfume by Yves Saint Laurent is enough to conjure its controversial and dramatic personality. Opium came out in 1977 and it marked a whole era with its spicy, fiery carnation scent. In the 1980s, when neither perfume nor hair could be too big, it held its own alongside Christian Dior Poison, Giorgio Beverly Hills and other heavy hitters.

My relationship with Opium and other big 1980s perfumes is ambivalent. I recognize their genius; I admire their boldness and verve. But whenever I wear Opium in all of its “pre-reformulation” spicy glory, it feels like I’m playing dress up. I can’t make it my own. But Yves Saint Laurent left us with no choice. In 2009, the house discontinued Opium and reintroduced a new version. The original formula of Opium contained so many ingredients considered allergenic that trying to save it was a losing battle.

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If you were to open my fridge and avoid having some unidentified jar fall onto your foot, you will always find fresh ginger. I’m addicted to its vibrant flavor. The twisted rhizomes covered with pearly, beige skin taste less of the earth from which they are dug out than of citrus zest, crushed lemongrass and green orange flowers. Ginger shares aromatics with all of these ingredients, and although the first impression when you pop a sliver in your mouth is an explosive freshness, the flavor soon becomes more complex. I add ginger coins to sauteed greens and fish soups. A few pieces also end up in my tea. Since I love the scent so much, any perfume promising a blast of ginger piques my curiosity.

One of my ginger favorites is Origins Ginger Essence. Introduced in 2000, it can even be called a classic, especially in comparison to so many launches that vanish after a couple of seasons. Ginger Essence is not a perfume masterpiece, and if you want the perfume equivalent of an epic novel, then don’t waste your time on it. It’s simply a ginger cologne that feels refreshing and uncomplicated. Since one can’t read only Dostoevsky nor wear only Guerlain (at least, I can’t), its happy simplicity is a pleasure.

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