Daisy Eau de Toilette

This is every mall perfume mixed together, and then turned up to the extreme. This bottled the lousy feeling of screechy fluorescent lights and stale food court sweets wafting through the mall. After you manage to wade through the bargain white musk and synthetic florals that is the heart of Daisy, it has a flicker of depth. But sadly, it quickly careens into a vat of sickly cotton-candy, more maltose syrup than vanilla. It’s offensive in how generic it smells, it’s perfume devoid of love—it is fragrance without a soul. Daisy is an uncanny replica of every uninspired fragrance of the last two decades, and still it is stomach-churningly wrong in its imitation of the blase.