In London, the fashion set buys its flowers at Flowerbx—the delivery service and shop at the Chancery Rosewood hotel, founded by former Tom Ford senior vice president of communications Whitney Bromberg Hawkings. The single-stem bunches—tulips, ranunculus, and anemones for spring—arrive in elegant glass vases with enclosure cards. They also offer floral-scented candles wrapped neatly with a ribbon. The space itself is just as beautiful as the blooms it houses—now more than ever, as artist Marc Quinn takes over with several installations, including Frozen Head (White Orchid),2025. It all makes for an especially lovely spring errand. (flowerbx.com) —Elena Clavarino

Asked to describe my perfect date, I concur with Miss Rhode Island’s inspired take in 2000’s Miss Congeniality: “April 25th. Because it’s not too hot. Not too cold. All you need is a light jacket!” In the spirit of light jackets and teasingly warm temperatures, I’m reaching for my trusty Barbour. Though—warning(!)—so is everyone else in Manhattan. If blending in isn’t your thing, we recommend Paul Smith’s take on the classic: the Sugarlump Bedale Casual Jacket in royal blue, the perfect statement for that so-called perfect date. ($705, barbour.com) —Carolina de Armas

Sometime while watching Wimbledon during last summer’s London heat wave, my wife and I found ourselves agreeing about what a uniquely attractive scent is yielded when popping the top of a new can of tennis balls. Leave it to the exceedingly clever minds at retro sunscreen brand Vacation to come up with Ball Boy, a 1992 Commemorative Edition–scented candle made in collaboration with tennis-goods brand Prince. Designed to evoke that very aroma, with notes of freshly uncanned tennis balls, Vacation sunscreen, Prince cotton sweatbands, and courtside cucumber sandwiches, it’s a home fragrance gem. ($42, vacation.inc) —Spike Carter

After a six-year hiatus, Morrissey returns with his 14th solo studio album, Make-up Is a Lie. It arrives after several delayed and unreleased projects, which inevitably led to high expectations and left certain fans with somewhat of a headache (which is also the name of the fifth song on the album). The former front man of the Smiths revisits familiar territory—his self-reflections, or, rather, complications, surrounding romance, fame, and politics. The opener, “You’re Right, It’s Time,” immediately sets the tone for the 49-minute, 12-track set: “I wanna move away from those who stare at screens all day / I wanna speak up and do not be trapped by censorship.” Politics aside, the album nods to Morrissey’s nostalgic rock roots, thanks in part to his former guitarist and co-songwriter, Alain Whyte, who appears on the aforementioned “Headache” and “Zoom Zoom the Little Boy.” Despite the naysayers, loyalists will find exactly what they came for: vintage Morrissey. And that alone is worth the listen. (spotify.com) —Gabriella Maestri

As stars descend on Hollywood’s Dolby Theatre this Sunday for the 98th Academy Awards, I can’t help but think of four-time winner Katharine Hepburn, who barely batted an eye at her best-actress accolades. Save for a 1974 visit as a presenter, she never attended the Oscars to claim her gold-plated statuettes, stating, “My prize is my work.” Hepburn was known for her headstrong nature, but her most vulnerable performance is also one of her most overlooked. In Summertime, she plays Jane, an insecure spinster who dreams of romance while visiting Venice. When she finally falls in love with a married Italian shopkeeper, she finds she must confront the impossibility of their affair before she returns Stateside. It’s tender, it’s dreamy, and the sun-drenched views of Northern Italy offer the perfect backdrop for some vintage romantic longing. (hbomax.com) —Maggie Turner

“The dog dies in this.” So begins The Best Dog in the World, an essay collection edited by Practical Magic author Alice Hoffman and contributed to by 14 novelists, journalists, and essayists. Rom-com writer Emily Henry pays tribute to a pit bull named Dottie in an essay that opens with the aforementioned warning. (Isn’t that the cruel compact we knowingly enter when we bring a dog into our lives? That we will love them so fiercely for their brief lives, only to miss them for the rest of ours?) Jodi Picoult writes about a beloved mutt named Alvin; Roxane Gay, about a Maltipoo named Max; Elizabeth Strout, about a water-loving Lab named Ethan. And, yes, all the dogs die in the end. But as the essays so poignantly remind us, the grief of losing a canine companion is matched only by the singular joy of having one in the first place. ($22, simonandschuster.com) —Paulina Prosnitz