When I was a kid, my obsessions started small: carefully organizing my macarons by color before eating them, memorizing the lyrics to Céline Dion songs, or trying to master the art of cursive writing (à la my mother's impeccable teaching). These quirks, innocent as they were, followed me into adulthood—but naturally, they evolved. Obsessions aren’t just hobbies; they’re tiny revelations about who we are, what we crave, and sometimes, what we’re utterly unqualified for. Like love itself, they riddle us with intrigue and irrational dedication, often at the same time.

And, if you’re anything like me, your obsessions say as much about your dating life as they do about, well, your Google search history.

The Vintage Perfume Quest: Does This Smell Like Commitment?

Once upon an afternoon in Paris, I walked into a tiny boutique that smelled like powdered dreams and oranges. I imagine this is how movie heroines feel when they stumble into a magical portal. I was naïve, thinking I’d walk out with one bottle of perfume. Instead, I left with a notebook filled with scent profiles and an obsession that’s taken me from eBay auctions for discontinued Guerlain masterpieces to late-night rabbit holes about aldehydes.

Here’s where perfume and dating collide: to outsiders, both are exercises in attraction, a way to spark connection and curiosity. But for some of us (ahem, hi), they’re about storytelling—the way a scent can transport you to a rainy lavender field or the way a person can make you feel entire seasons in their presence.

Much like finding your signature scent, finding “your person” involves trial and error. You’ll try a few (sometimes disastrous) matches: the sultry one that burns out too quickly, the sweetly innocent one that gets cloying, and, every once in a while, the perfect blend that just feels like home. And for goodness’ sake, just like you’d let a perfume linger on your skin before committing to the bottle, let that new relationship breathe before you go wild projecting your romantic ideals.

Key takeaway: Life smells sweeter when you savor the process. And please, never wear something labeled "Vanilla Mist" to a first date—trust me.

French Cinema and the Perpetual Search for Meaning in Cafés

Let’s turn to my other love: cinéma français. Show me a black-and-white film with people arguing existentialism over espresso, and voilà, I’m glued to the subtitles. My playlist of life includes music by Édith Piaf and scenes of Catherine Deneuve brooding in pastel raincoats.

Naturally, my film obsession colors the way I approach romance. The French love story is always subtly charged, full of slow burns, stolen glances, and a duality of tenderness and tension. It’s heavy on saying a lot with very little, which—surprise—hasn’t exactly made my dating life a straightforward affair. One time, I accepted a date with someone purely because he had an intense gaze reminiscent of Alain Delon. Spoiler: intense gazes don’t necessarily translate to communicative boyfriends.

The greatest lesson I’ve taken from French films is that love is often more complex than neatly tied happy endings (or Instagram montages of Parisian couples on bridges). Love can be light and fleeting, or it can stick to you, sharp and bittersweet, like fresh black coffee. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that imperfections can hold beauty—messy moments, awkward pauses, and all.

Key takeaway: When in doubt, linger in the moment. Also, maybe don’t bring up Jean-Luc Godard’s entire filmography on a first date unless provoked.

Stationery, Fonts, and the Romance of the Handwritten Word

I’m not here to pass judgment if you love texting. I don’t hate it, but I’m deeply obsessed with the art of handwriting. This, I admit, is equal parts endearing and weird: there’s something thrilling about the texture of a quality pen gliding onto heavy stationery or obsessing over the perfect Moleskine notebook layout. Somewhere between personalized note cards and obsessing over vintage typewriters, I romanticized the idea of words as tangible tokens of affection.

There was that one time I started a correspondence with someone I was seeing—a mix of postcards and little folded notes slipped into books. Of course, I forgot that not everyone shares this particular eccentricity. My then-partner deciphered my writing style as "eccentric code-breaker scrawl," which, while true, wasn’t quite the review I was hoping for.

But to me, handwritten notes are vulnerability. One letter proves you’ve taken the time to gather your thoughts, to make your permanence known in a way texts or DMs can’t. Sure, they might misspell your name in ink or make asymmetrical folds, but that’s where the magic lies: in the beautifully imperfect way we communicate.

And there’s dating profundity in this: Be bold enough to express things the long way, to scribble your deepest affections regardless of legibility. Modern communication might frame us perfectly, but love is best in raw, flawed strokes.

Key takeaway: There’s nothing sexier than vulnerability—except maybe beige letterhead with clean serif fonts.

Why Obsessions Matter (and What They Teach About Love)

It’s tempting to think of our obsessions as quirks at best or embarrassing flaws at worst. But, really, don’t they make us lovable? The eternal search for the perfect scent, film, or pen—and the stories I’ve tangled myself in while chasing them—mirror the way we approach relationships. Every obsession teaches patience, attention to detail, and that joy in imperfection I keep coming back to.

So if your crush knows every vintage record shop in your city, or your date can tell you every single fact there is to know about the history of kombucha manufacturers, lean in. Their passion reveals the way they might love—not halfway, but with their whole, embarrassingly nerdy hearts.

I’ve learned to think of my obsession-filled brain as my own greatest love story. My quirks—sometimes impractical, sometimes mildly graceful—remind me why romance isn’t about omnipotent logic or zooming toward perfectly curated conclusions. The best stories, love or otherwise, embrace dualities: patience meets obsession, mystery meets revelation.

So go, explore your unhinged fascinations. Collect, smell, scribble, linger. Your obsessions don’t have to make sense to anyone but you—or, if you’re lucky, someone who wants to stick around and compare typewriter ribbons.

Final takeaway: Life’s too short not to be obsessed with the weird, beautiful, and delightfully unnecessary.