Boss N° 6 (Hugo Boss)

Fancy package, working class contents.

It seems fitting that Ryan Reynolds is the recent face of Hugo Boss' sixth masculine release. The actor is a middle class success story, a man who made his way to the top without the help of wealthy parents and trust funds. Likewise, Boss N°6, also known as Boss Bottled, is a modest fragrance that has become a sleeper classic, something of an olfactory signature for the late nineties, and arguably the first in a short but prestigious line of sweet, semi-gourmand fougères of that time period.

But is it a fougère, really? It contains two simple accords, the first being spiced apple, and the second a vanillic woody amber. Bear the lineage in mind; Cool Water's main accord is crisp lavender and crab apple, followed by tobacco-tinged woody amber and musk. Ten years later, Boss N°6 arrives with an even bigger apple note, this time very red and edible, followed by a saccharine bouquet of muted florals and synthetic woods, punctuated by hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Perhaps one could say it's an oriental, but good ferns have a way of hiding lavender and coumarin in plain sight. In Moustache, the lime and green notes disguise the lavender, with an oakmoss note serving as a bittering agent for the hefty slug of hay-like coumarin that follows.

In N°6, the lavender is mated to spiced apple, preventing it from smelling feminine, while the coumarinic effect of a true fern is evident in the drydown's powdery aura of almost-edible warmth. I think N°6 was the inspiration for Chanel's original Allure Homme, which came a year later. However, I don't find Annick Menardo's fragrance to be as compelling as Jacques Polge's. Allure presents a fascinatingly complex structure as a suave blend, with few notes outright discernible, yet all somehow very detectable. Fragrantica has recently lost credibility with me in the note pyramid department, as much of their pyramids have suddenly changed to exclude notes that are present in various compositions, and include notes that have nothing to do with them at all. Allure is a victim of this development, as its Fragrantica pyramid now lists silly things like coconut and peach (neither note exists in Chanel's scent).

However, once upon a time, Allure's pyramid accurately included rosewood, which is conspicuously absent from Boss N°6. Also missing is Allure's stunning synthetic labdanum, and the deep sandalwood impression I get about five hours into wearing it. Boss is all about soft, smooth notes, with a creamy take on woody amber, which is why I consider it a "warm" scent. It also plays a bit safe and bland. The word "innocuous" comes to mind. Many guys refer to apple pie in their reviews of N°6, and while I don't get that impression from it, I can certainly understand it, given the combination of gourmandish cinnamon and herbalized red apple.

If you're looking for a more convincing apple pie effect, I recommend trying Aubusson Pour Homme, or Witness by Jacques Bogart. With Boss N°6, you're better off expecting a very soft, sweet teddy bear of a fragrance, the sort of thing American males used to wear, back when Bill Clinton was President and Britney Spears still topped the charts.

Boss Number One (Hugo Boss)

The eighties were about the two Pierres: Bourdon and Wargnye. Both men defined contemporary masculine perfumery by creating the greatest fresh fougères of all time. Bourdon's two colossal claims to fame were Kouros and Cool Water; Wargnye gave us Drakkar Noir and Boss Number One. All four fragrances can be classified as "fresh," although Kouros falls more in line with the "woody-ambery" category, nodding to the musky pre-war ferns of the early twentieth century, rather than the marine-aquatic trends of the nineties. Cool Water paved the way for virtually everything found in the men's section of department stores. Likewise, it is said that Drakkar Noir is the most imitated masculine, even more so than Cool Water. But what about Wargnye's lesser-known 1985 masterpiece for that little German brand, Hugo Boss?

Boss Number One is a sadly overlooked fresh fougère. The H&R Genealogy places it between Lauder for Men and Givenchy's Xeryus, which makes sense - it's fresh, but not groundbreaking. Nevertheless, it's a pleasantly refined masculine, full of smooth, closely-blended notes that work strikingly well together. The interesting thing about it is how it manages to make tobacco, honey, rose, jasmine, juniper, and moss smell shimmery and bright, like a summer afternoon through a champagne glass. I smell in its heart a considerable hit of dimethyl anthranilate, that fruity-floral molecule residing somewhere between mandarin orange and Concord grape, and I'm reminded of the original Giorgio. However, the presence of lavender, patchouli, and orris elevates the fruity sweetness into a classier realm. This fougère adopts an affecting soapiness, a pureness and simplicity that makes it one of the least pretentious colognes of the European New Wave. If you like classic freshies, this one really is Boss.

Hugo (Hugo Boss)

Remember Hugo? It was 1995. Bill Clinton was president. Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi duked it out in the US Open. Pierce Brosnan was James Bond. And we all had a few short months left before the Spice Girls ruined our lives. It was a good year, made better by Hugo Boss. Their fresh chypre reinstated some backbone into a market increasingly overrun with citrus chypres in the wimpy L'Eau d'Issey caste. It wasn't another glorified lemonade/sage/amber fragrance. Hugo had an earthier countenance, with more than a few nods to Cool Water, Sung Homme, even Aqua Velva, backed by a brusque melange of floral and woody notes. It was its own trendsetter, a template for a few dozen spicy-fresh chypres in the years to follow.

Despite Bob Aliano's talent and Hugo's cheerful demeanor, I could never get into the Hugo Boss brand. It seemed a little downmarket to me. Of course, back in the nineties I had no idea Boss No.1 existed, nor could I foresee the future arrival of Baldessarini. Hugo, Boss Elements, Boss Bottled, and Hugo Dark Blue were pretty much all I knew of the line, and I thought little of them. The nineties belonged to Hugo Boss, and I hated the nineties. So Hugo, while duly noted, made a vague impression on me. Fast-forward eighteen years, and I'm smelling this frag with a new nose, and finding it to be quite nice. It's nothing amazing, mind you, but it's very well balanced, smells fairly natural (although it "feels" synthetic overall), and has admirable complexity. Its structure is a true chypre - bergamot, labdanum, and oakmoss - but those bones are buried under loads of green apple, lavender, sage, mint, patchouli, cedar, geranium, fir, and nutmeg. There's a healthy slug of white florals in there, too.

This was popular when I was a freshman at Notre Dame here in Fairfield, Connecticut, and I can see why. Hugo is inoffensive, crisp, spicy, a little sweet, a lot woody, with a pleasant woody amber and plenty of laundry-grade musk upholding the pyramid. It's the sort of fragrance that a jock can spritz on before a party, and have all the girls treat him like he's wearing Dior or Chanel. I was never a jock, and wore Tommy by Hilfiger on the rare occasions when I wore anything at all, but I guess I could have made Hugo work for me. Then again, there's something a little anonymous about it, like it's trying a bit too hard to keep its array of herbs and woody notes in line, letting nothing stand out and take charge. The guy who wears Hugo might be introverted, shy, even overlooked, and we all know anonymity is a terrible fate for anyone in high school.

Boss Selection (Hugo Boss)

There needs to be a moratorium placed on masculines that reinterpret the tired, scratchy, and cliched formula of pink pepper, violet leaf, and musk, at least until someone tackles it from a new angle. One of the reasons I've avoided the house of Boss here on From Pyrgos is that I have a dreadful association with the brand: Boss Selection. This was my brother's college spritz five or six years ago. And I thought even less of it then than I do now, although it hasn't really improved in my estimation. The only difference today is that I understand what I'm smelling, and I appreciate that it is a mildly well-crafted and inoffensive fragrance for people who don't think much about fragrance. Sadly, the requisites of imagination and good raw materials aren't even remote considerations for the people who come up with stuff like this. Even college guys deserve some compositional tension and a few realistic notes to compliment whatever cheap thing they tackle their classes in. At least try to put a spin on the easily-exhausted realm of fresh-woody aromatics. Otherwise, what's the point of even bothering to create them? You're wanna make more money? Go sell tires instead.

Everything about Selection is drab, from its clunky, colorless bottle, to its spicy-fresh Blah-ness, to the deeply uninspiring magazine ads of chiseled nobodies in well-tailored suits. I'm almost positive Hugo Boss' advertising department is a sweltering back-alley office in Bangladesh, with guys cutting and pasting models from photographs and bundling them off at a seventy-five percent discount to wherever HB operates from. That this fragrance is still out there (and presumably selling) flabbergasts me, but when I peruse the fragrance counter at Kohl's, I bump into at least five or six incarnations of Boss Selection. I imagine the stubborn bastards behind them will likely die with briefs for more peppery-musky Blahs clutched to their chests. I try to live life with one thought in mind: do I mind dying with this fragrance? If it gives me pause, then chances are it's a no-go (if I haven't already purchased it), or it's a goodbye (if I have). When it comes to Boss Selection, simply pass altogether. This isn't even worth a try.