Bonobos

189 comments later, we are excited to announce a winner to last week’s navy shorts competition.

First, the honorable mentions:

Jack McDonald for “Ian McGuires”. Rick Wittenbraker for “Poop Deck”. Will Hutchinson for “Navy S.T.E.A.L.S”. Mason for “the Ben Franklins”. Tod Nocella for “The Spartans” - which accurately describes these shorts. And AJ Crane for “The Pool Boys” - the witty, terse prose which which had us rolling so much so that it bears repeating:

In a job where great buns are a prerequisite, a good pair of shorts is second only to a long pool net when it comes to success. The fit of these shorts will guarantee a good show for all the babes at the pool while the color will protect you against embarrassing splashes to the crotch.

But we don’t fancy ourselves handsome, womanizing, vapid summer lovers - it just didn’t fit. Ah well.

So who is the winner? 1st place - M. Dugan, of Rockville, Maryland, perhaps? Your submission was our favorite. We are naming the shorts the Navy Bleus and using your write up on the Monnets as the brand identity. Below is Mr. Dugan’s original submission.

The Monnets (As in EU founding father Jean Monnet)

With his country in mortal peril, Jean Monnet rose to the occasion. Although his audacious plan to merge the nations of France and Britain in the opening days of WWII simply ran out of time, Monnet spent the rest of the Second Great War as he did the first- coordinating Allied production and organizing vital supply shipments across the Atlantic.

Monnet also knew a more relaxed side of life, traveling the world selling his family’s brand of premium Cognac: a one deal at a time re-education against the mass market mark-up behemoths of the day. Charming professionally and socially, he would live happily ever after running off with a beautiful Italian painter 19 years his junior.

Thus, a salute of purposeful navy bleu yet able to compromise with a relaxed lining in a pair of Bonobos shorts that will put everyone enough at ease to negotiate a European Union.

Saving the world at sea, high adventure in finance and trade, absconding to Switzerland- make waves behind the scenes with your Monnets.

 

We loved the write up, but thought that Navy Bleus, from the story itself, was a better name for the shorts than the Monnets. Today we ate our cake, and had it too.

Our navy shorts need a name. Can you help? If you can, you will gain notoriety at Bonobos as one of the first non team members to name one of our styles.

A winning answer does not need to include a full Bonobos write-up, but we will take a full write-up into consideration to determine the winner.

What better way to procrastinate on a Friday at work?

We made navy shorts in response to you. Many of you saw our razzle mcdazzle line of shorts, intense creations like the aquemini and the jungle kings, and said you could not pull them off. These navy shorts are here for you. Solid. Navy.

I am not going to say much more about them lest I give you any ideas.

Submit your answer as a comment to this blog. Feel free to comment on names (and write-ups?) on the blog which you do or do not like. By Monday, we will choose a winner.

It goes without saying that the winner will be getting a free pair of the shorts that he (or she?) named.

Navy shorts. Because only one style of Bonobos can be called what it is, and that style is called the khakis.

Bonobos khakis have arrived.

Like a Shakesperean rose, they are just as sweet as they would be by “any other name.” So for once, we call a spade a spade.

We have dabbled in khakis before. The khakithals lasted a few weeks. The series a lasted a few days. We hope that these last a bit longer.

These khakis are a medium weight stretch cotton - 98% cotton, 2% lycra. The color is classic khaki, a rich tan/beige hue with a hint of golden brown goodness.

We are excited to hear from the peanut gallery. Click through and check out the detailed photography. What do you think?

What other colors would you like to see from us? We have a whole bunch of new twills coming out, and we hope that we guessed right. We are doing more navy, like the midnight blues. For the moment we have plenty of brown, in the form of the brothers grinn. What else would you like to see?

Bonobos belts are back. Check out the new baby blue bar code, turqs and caicos, black and pink with silver, and pastel bias to see what we are up to. Too funky for you? Staple green, black, and navy are in the house.

The idea behind our belts

We love tie silk, but we don’t love wearing ties. These days, it seems weddings are the only time we really need ‘em (except for those of us who work at Alliance Bernstein - the formidable Manhattan asset management firm which clings to this neckwear tradition as ivy clings to brick in New Haven). We decided silk belts were a great way to marry our interest in providing you with excellent wardrobe staple and finding more ways to showcase the awesome silks we have been buying. We didn’t invent the silk belt, but we’ve done our best to imbue the Bonobos rendition with our signature style.

The pitch

And so we offer you, in very limited editions, premium tie silk wrapped around a durable backing, in a colorful array of styles and colors. They will move quickly, you should too.

The sizes

Our belts are offered in Medium and Large.

Medium - designed to fit waist sizes from 28-34. actual length of the silk belt not including the buckle is 41″

Large - designed to fit waist sizes from 34-38. actual length of the silk belt not including the buckle is 45″

Guys in sizes 33 and 34 can also wear size Large, but we’d suggest Medium will offer a cleaner fit. it boils down to personal preference…

The look

A leather belt should always match your shoes. However, with colorful belts in silk, the rule is cast away in favor of creativity and ingenuity. We suggest you wear these belts with all of your favorite shorts and trousers, and pair them with your favorite footwear - sandals, flops, sneakers, white wing tips…. it’s up to you. Our silk belts are not a formal look, more of a cocktail look.

The label

We stitched our label on the inside of the belts near the buckles, where we think it will best remain hidden from view. However, if you prefer to show the world where your belt was made, feel free to wear it inside out and show off the Bonobos label.

Check out the Navy Palms, hard at work, getting ready to be worn on steamy July and August nights.

The dog days of summer are here, the preorders came and went along with the longest day of the year a few weeks ago.

We’re hustling along, trying to produce you fresh new Bonobos; ultra lightweight cords and shorts.

Enjoy these pics from the heart of Manhattan, where the fabric rolls out onto tables, skilled craftsfolk cut, sew, steam and fold, and Bonobos taxi down to headquarters where they depart for your homes via the good people of Federal Express.

By now you’re surely wondering, “So what is corduroy, anyway?” To alleviate your uncertainty, let us tell you. Corduroy comes from southern Brazil, where it is mined from the earth by large-scale industrial tunneling machines . . . wait, that’s zinc! Sorry. Corduroy is actually a fabric of twisted fibers woven into a distinctive parallel pattern of ridges, or “wales” as they are known in the industry. Despite its Frenchified sounding name, most agree that it was first produced in the textile mills of Manchester, England. Contemporary corduroy is usually composed of tufted cords, with channels running alongside each tuft. But most importantly, corduroy can sometimes make a distinct sound when properly provoked, comparable only to highland bagpipes or the mating songs of humpback whales in terms of its haunting beauty. The gentle, sibilant whisper of cords in motion has even been known to bring tears to the eyes of certain pantmongers who dabble in this enigmatic fabric. Or so we’ve heard. In fact, Bonobos has some upcoming corduroy trousers available for pre-order that you might want to explore if you’re as cord-curious as we are. But, as LeVar so presciently caveated in “Reading Rainbow,” you don’t have to take our word for it. We’ll let the Shamdaisies and T3’s speak for themselves. And if you want to see how deep this rabbit hole really goes, check these guys out.

When is a pant more than just a pant? At what point does a trouser transcend its status as mere fraction of a wardrobe, and become instead a terse and definitive declaration of an ideal? I’ll tell you when. At the moment world-class alpaca wool is imbued with a rich, buttery hue, and cut to an all but bespoke tailored fit. This pant is special. Not in the sense that is unique or distinctly pleasing (although it is), because we believe all of our pants to be so. Rather, it is special in the sense that you will never own another pair within the same semantic universe. This trouser takes words like “comfort” and “style,” mills down the pith, and resurrects them in their truest form. This pant requires the definite article. This pant is the standard and exemplar against which all other trousers ought to test their metal. This pant is what it claims to be, and so much more. This pant is not just perfect. It’s Pluperfect.

Recent weeks have seen a strange fulmination of rumors regarding new pants. Haunted, half-shaped whisperings of a St. Patrick’s Day trouser hidden at a top secret military base; fuzzy photographs of a large ape-like creature lumbering off into the woods wearing sharp wool slacks known only as the G4. Here at Bonobos HQ, we believe strongly in the scientific method, and we investigate each pant rumor carefully before declaring it fact or dismissing it as fiction. One rumor, however, has us truly baffled. The only tangible evidence in our possession is the photo at left, taken by an infrared motion-sensing camera at the bottom of Loch Ness. What could it be? A sunken Viking ship? The flipper of a plesiosaur? A new herringbone tweed wool slack? It’s too early to tell. Andy and Brian are leading an expedition to investigate further in the near future, and unlike last year, they’ll be checking the batteries on the unmanned submersible camera.

Brian and father on last year’s expedition to uncover the fabled Seersuckered Sasquatch.

To those of you who asked us for a fresh, new pant formal enough for a Nobel Ceremony, yet versatile enough for Parkour, we have some bad news. Not gonna happen. But, for those out there searching for a stylish wool dress pant with an about-the-town flair, your ship has come in. No, not literally, stop looking at the harbor. We’re talking a new Bonobos style here. The G4, to be more specific, which is now available on our website for pre-order. Think heathered slate gray. Think cashmere blended wool. Think. Put them on for work and keep them on for drinks. Or take them off for drinks. That’s your business. These woolen delights will go fast, though, so get in your pre-order today and secure a G4 for yourself. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. That ship will have sailed. Damnit, stop looking at the harbor!

I met the old man at a weather-beaten shebeen in one of the many anonymous hamlets between Letterkenny and Kerrykeeel – shires too small and indefinite to bless with a name, yet too stubborn to sink quietly into the bog from whence ages prior they had sprung. His cheeks were burnished by years of the craic, and his face marred by near a century of tussles, yet his eyes burned bright and true. On his head he wore a plastic derby that said “100% Irish,” and in his hand was a plastic yard glass filled with bright green beer. Perhaps it was his quiet greeting in gaeltacht Irish that beckoned me over to him, or possibly his blinking LCD shamrock necklace, I can’t recall. But in either case I rose to greet him. We exchanged pleasantries and sipped quietly at our drinks, and a comfortable silence enveloped us. Slowly, that silence gave way to talk of rumors that had been swirling like a Lughnasa mist . . . strange stories of a legendary pant strong as the great Cuchulainn, yet lovely and yielding as the flaxen hair of Fionnula herself. A pant even greener than the Mint Julep, or the Gaelic trouser of yore. “T’is true?” he asked me with an urgent expectancy. “Are the pants real?” I turned up the collar on the threadbare Aran Island sweater that served as my only armor against the cold, and I nodded. “A pant is coming,” I answered in hesitant confirmation, “to celebrate the day of Naomh Padraig. A pant that will live forever in song and lore.” The old man’s eyes flared like bonfires in miniature, and he shook with uncontrolled emotion. A howl of joy erupted from somewhere deep within, and I ordered us two Irish Carbombs from the surly publican behind the bar. We toasted to the new trouser style soon to grace us in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, and I got out my wallet to pay, only to realize that I hadn’t nearly enough, thanks again to the weak dollar. The old man told me not to worry, and removed a thick wad of Euros from his billfold. “This one’s on me,” he said, “but I want a pair of these new pants.” Soon, my friend. Soon.