The Viking-sounding name* notwithstanding, Hoggar brandishes no sword. Instead it is so squarely in the noughties’ ‘masculine’ mainstream it hurts. The formula goes: overwhelm with talcy sweetness and call it tonka, give it a squeeze of citrus to remind peeps of the sting of aftershaves, round off with sugared ‘woods’ – et voila! So popular is it that even Guerlain muscled in on the act recently with its ideal bloke, though that chappie had chewed on a few almonds to appear a bit more interesting.
Alas, poor Hoggar, thou may be inoffensive, nay though wagst puppy dog tails most eagerly, but thou be lacking sorely in cojones.
* Hoggar is actually a mountain region in central Sahara.
The synthetic combination of bergamot and cedarwood is pernicious. I have known very few fragrances that I found as annoying as Hoggar is when it hits my skin. I bought a bottle blind and it’s another one of my regrets of blind-buying decisions. Regardless of when it was developed, I find Hoggar one of those ‘90s offerings that have that synthetic, conglomerate miasma thing going – only this one is worst than most. In four attempts I have never been able to keep it on my skin for more than fifteen minutes – in the past that has only happened with leather, violet leaf, or orchid prominent fragrances. There is no note listed in Hoggar that I dislike, so I’m guessing my problem with it is the quality of the ingredients or the proportions of the assembly, or maybe it’s the skin reaction thing. In any case, this is an emphatic thumb’s down.