Bonobos

Even though most of our customer feedback looks more like Christopher Thornton’s, we do encounter our fair share of skeptics–which, frankly, we relish. We make trousers for men of discernment, and at any time we’re happy to answer (in detail) the question, “No, seriously. What’s so great about your pants?”

Sometimes, though, we receive inquiries that bypass skepticism and go straight to naysaying:

We’ll give it to this guy; he’s got cojones. He’s got strong feelings and he voices them–strongly. We respect that. We responded with a pretty detailed overview of why our pants are priced the way they are, and we think it’s important information for naysayers and believers alike to be aware of. Dave Eisenberg, a warrior poet and our Chief of Staff, answered:

   Just got your e-mail forwarded to me from our PR department and I wanted to address your points right away.

   I wrote a blog post on why our shorts are priced where they are here, which goes into our pricing in a lot more depth. I just poked around on Brooks Brothers’ site and found no fewer than 7 pairs priced at $250 a pop, so I have even more confidence that we’re doing the right thing. The major cost drivers in our products are the following features:

   1. Our pants are made in New York City. They are hand-sewn: We have a curved waistband that requires a unique sewing procedure that we would have a lot of difficulty outsourcing to a machine-based production facility in China (where Brooks Brothers does a good deal of its manufacturing).

   2. Our fabric is of a much higher quality than the stuff on their [Brooks Brothers’] basic pants (and certainly on anything in a major mass market retailer). We import our wool and cashmere from Italy and Belgium and our corduroy from Spain. The silk that lines our wool pants is made in Italy and bought here in America.

   The proper comparable for our $190 wool pairs is closer to this pair from Brooks Brothers. It retails for $1500 and is sold on their site for $525! That is drastically more expensive than anything we offer. They have a ton of pants in this price range, and all of their “Black Fleece” collection (this is where they use European fabrics) is more expensive than our stuff. It’s impossible for them not to be; they have to pay for fancy models, advertising, and other costs that we hate as former retail consumers.

   When you buy from a Brooks Brothers (or similar) you are paying for a ton of stuff that we don’t do. We have our employees and customers model our pants. We have never paid for glossy advertisements in magazine or on billboards. We don’t go to runway shows and we do all of our web development in-house. In short, all you pay for when you buy from Bonobos is our fabric, American labor, and customer service. No middleman, no store overhead, no department store staff to hassle you while you’re trying to buy, etc. We think it’s a better, fairer value proposition to our customers, so we’re going to stick with it.

   We believe in our philosophy. Not everyone can afford bonobos. Our worldview is driven by the fact that we don’t believe those who pursue the most lucrative careers should necessarily get to enjoy all of the spoils. So we make our pants a lot more affordable to people who choose careers where they help others on a daily basis. Policemen, firefighters, teachers, servicemen—these are just a few professions that have members in our Band of Brothers program. I’m sure that I don’t have to mention that no such policy exists at [insert retailer here].

   Would you be interested in trying a pair? We’ve got a one of a kind return policy, so if you’re not perfectly satisfied, we’ll pay you to send them back to us. That’s our business model and I sincerely hope we can be your “go-to pants store.” We’d love to have you as a customer.

We’ve published the exchange between Dave and the nameless naysayer here not to stroke our egos, but to earnestly invite anyone who thinks we can improve to contact us and let us know what we should do differently. We may not agree with your recommendations, but we will always respond thoroughly and respectfully.

Customer feedback is extremely valuable to us here at Bonobos. Whether critical or complimentary, when you voice your opinions, we take it to heart. Check out what one Bonobos man, Christopher Thornton, wrote to co-founders Andy and Brian about his shoguns and khakis:

Thanks for those enthusiastic words, Christopher! And thanks for rocking your bonobos.

I started wearing pants when I hit puberty, which was the 7th grade for me. I’m twenty-three now, so it’s been about 11 years that I’ve been dealing with my abomination of an ass.

I blame it on genetic anomaly, as I’m half-Chinese and half-Jewish (inasmuch as Jewishness can be considered an ethnicity in this country). It is something of a blessing that I never carry much excess fat, and I gain muscle easily - but that only really matters when I take my clothes off. On a day-to-day basis, the end result is that I look clownish in ordinary clothing.

Putting together a functional and socially acceptable wardrobe has always been a comically difficult task. My waist-to-ass and chest-to-waist ratios, if there are such things (I’m pretty sure there aren’t), are entirely incompatible with any kind of affordable clothing. Trousers that fit my waist have my ass bursting out at the seams, while trousers that fit my ass have waistlines so large that they sag down till my ass catches them.

When I was in high school, I figured I was Chinese enough to learn the art of sewing (is that racist? I think that’s racist), so for years I’ve been tailoring my own shirts. Still, I could never get the pants right. I worked my way through college, and my job required that I wear professional business attire. So I used my first paycheck to buy some nice new Banana Republic Dawson dress pants, and brought them to a tailor (who, I should mention, was both excellent and Chinese). So for about three years, I had four pairs of pants that were really perfect.

Then, during a game of IM rugby in my senior year of college, some people fell on my outstretched arm. I dislocated my shoulder and severed some important nerves in the process. The docs said my axillary nerve palsy would be permanent: that I would never regain full use of my right arm, that it would shrivel up and look deformed, and that I should probably stop exercising for a while if I didn’t want my lower body to look disproportionately large relative to my upper body.

In the end, my doctors turned out to be wrong. The palsy lasted only four months: just long enough for me to shrink two pants sizes and a shirt size, and long enough to feel like the excruciating physical therapy was futile.

So, one day, I sold all my clothes and bought a new wardrobe to fit my new body. I started regaining sensation in my right arm a week later. That was last year.

I graduated, and am currently taking some time off before law school. I’m back in my home town teaching high school Chemistry. The public school system in Florida is a comically tragic sort of thing, so I figured I could do some good here. Before me, no one in the history of my high school had ever gone to an Ivy League school, and I was one of only a handful of kids to go out of state. No one knew how to help me get where I was going, so I’m spending a few years here trying to fix that. I’m teaching Chemistry, chipping away at my $200,000 college debt before adding another $200,000 for law school, meanwhile grooming students to find themselves in the same predicament. After a year taking over my college loan payments from my parents, I can’t remember why pushing students to be half a million dollars in debt is a service, but I’m still going at it.

I’m poor as dirt and busy as heck, so I’ve yet to find the time or money to build back a wardrobe that fits. My clothes still belong to the kid who never recovered from his axillary nerve palsy. My students, though flatteringly, make fun of my ass and preposterously tight pants all the time. They variously refer to me as “Badonkadonk”, “Mr. Juicy”, “Mr. Bubble”, and somewhat less enigmatically, “Mr. Ass”. On the last day of school, I received a gallon glass jar and a poster, which constituted the “Free Mr. Chow’s Ass Fund - a Nonprofit Organization Dedicated to Raising Money for Mr. Chow’s New Pants”.

I’m not entirely sure what you’re looking for in a Band of Brothers application. I do know I’m probably over the word limit, and for that I apologize. So I’ll start to wrap up by making my request brief.

Help. Please help. Please free my ass. If not for me, do it for the children.

If any confirmation is needed of my employ as a public school teacher: I am a Chemistry teacher for the Lee County School District, at Fort Myers High School.

I’m not sure how much the pants would cost if my application goes through, or even that my application will go through at all. But either way, I do want to say how grateful and pleased I am that an organization like yours exists. I am beside myself with the kind of satisfaction one only gets in knowing some amount of rare camaraderie. I’ve always wondered how I could be the only guy who didn’t like the feel of jeans, looking for a very particular cut and fit in a respectable pair of pants without blowing hundreds in tailoring costs. And the fact that you even offer something like a Band of Brothers discount is incredible. I wish I’d met you guys in college. Then maybe I’d be with you bringing decent pants to the world, instead of explosions to high school Chemistry students.

Seriously. Bravo. And thanks.

All the best,

Michael Chow

P.S. For fun, I’ve attached two photos. In the first, I am wearing my favorite pair of pants of all time and wielding “The Rocket Launcher” - the external-rotation immobilizer I wore for the four months following my shoulder injury. In the other, I am in a fashion show, demonstrating the “Sag Effect” in the only pair of jeans I’ve worn in the past 19 years.

Dear Andy, Brian, and Rob:

I was fortunate to take my maiden Bonobos voyage on a fine Friday
afternoon in the Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field. I was a part of
one of the many soon to be inebriated bachelor parties that take to the world’s finest sporting venue to watch the loveable losers and take part in the ballyhoo that often accompanies the event. But being my first game of the year, it was imperative that I attend the game in style. Still smelling like last night’s bourbon beverages, I stood in front of my closet scouring it like Lou to a lineup card for the a shirt to accompany my baseball lined, red stitched, Cubbie Blue lightweight cords– The Clarks.

Armed with my day old beard and hangover providing an uncanny Piniella impression, I walked out into the 73 degree Spring Chicago afternoon and made my way to the bachelor party at the ball park. The Cubs jumped on Pittsburgh early, their bats making the Pirate staff  look as foolish as Orlando Bloom’s thespian skills in Disney’s three installments of Pirates of the Caribbean.

After seven innings of Old Style and Budweiser and a comfortable Cubs lead, my bachelor party compatriots were taking to the neighboring coeds with as much delicacy and grace as a German panzer division on a poorly defended Belgian town. It was time to stretch and head over to the adjacent watering holes. Little did I know a walk down the Bleacher catwalk and a kingly strut as royal as the hue of my fine pants to nearby Sheffields (a fitting place for pants called Clarks) would cause such a raucous. Sporting my Clarks, I was the dapperest dude in Wrigleyville, garnering the wanton attention of lascivious ladies and the equal chagrin of jealous males wallowing in their stonewashed denim misery.

I was a celebrity at the bar. “Where did you get those pants?”, “I need a pair of those!!” were as frequent as a the “Go Cubs Go” sing alongs. In my presence, fellow male bar patrons felt as comfortable in their inferior britches as Steve Bartman in a box seat. Girls couldn’t help themselves from pinching my fanny–now if this is a result of their curiosity on the soft feel of the light corduroy or the look of my posterior as result of the fine craftsmanship of the Bonobos pant, that remains to be argued.

The day was a complete success. A “W” flag was flapping above the scoreboard, the Northsiders remained atop the NL Central, my fellow bachelor party mates were over served, and my bottom looked as if I had made good use of a spray paint can in a Singapore parking lot. One may not be able to sport pinstripes within the Brick and Ivied hallowed grounds of Wrigley, but any fashion conscious, beer drinking, fun seeking guy can privy himself to the comfort, fit, flair, and panache of Bonobos.

Warm regards,
Jim Dowd

While I was heading home on the subway one night I looked around the car and thought to myself, why does it look like men are required to wear some combination of blue jeans, khakis, and a blazer? Ok, so in the case of khakis and a blazer it might not be the most professional look to peacock around the office. And jeans are an easy match with that peacock outfit when you head out on the town. But either way, I was ending up feeling bored or like I hadn’t quite finished my college (and post-college) need to shock the town with my wardrobe. Improbably but luckily, this coincided with the first time I bumped into Bonobos proprietor Andy. He and a friend met us at a downtown lounge – Andy in a pair of royal blue cords and Bobby in a pair of neatly tailored white pants with colorful trim – “Pants: Now In Color,” I thought to myself. I was sold.

I picked up three pairs and after a brief run in Manhattan, where I decided I could send the pants out on their own to do the evening’s “work,” it was time to take them on tour. The Shore Club Specials were perfect for New Years Eve in Floripa, where local custom required an all-white ensemble (though the subtle trim on the back pocket gave me a little edge). They were light enough to manage through an oppressively hot South American summer night, but tough enough to endure a Brazilian New Years Eve beach party (I still marvel at what the dry cleaner was able to accomplish). Bonobos’s Mint Juleps attracted just the right amount of attention after a handful of meetings in Las Vegas, without making me look like the hordes of guys pouring out of clubs that probably watched Tyler Durden in Fight Club a few too many times. But my favorites are still the F. Scotts. Maybe because they’re brighter orange than a pumpkin and I start missing Halloween beginning on the first of November. Or maybe because they’re named after the man that penned arguably the best novel ever written. But probably because they feel good and look better.

Thanks, Bonobos, for matching comfort, fit, creativity, and distinction.

- David Levy

In my house, I am more of a clothes-horse than my wife. Even though I’ve worked for non-profits the better part of my life, I’ve always managed to cobble together a wardrobe that I can be proud of. My wife sometimes teases me (I have the walk-in closet in our house) about my love of clothing, but then I have to believe the fact that I take great care about how I look that played into some of the reason why she was attracted to me in the first place.

I do admit, however, that of late, I’ve fallen into a bit of a pants-doldrums. I’ve managed to continue to find well-made and well-fitting tops, but pants, well, my pants were either functional, or they were jeans. Then, through the power of the internet, came Bonobos. When I saw the site, and began to read through, I thought only one thing… how can I get some of those pants?

Reading through the section on fit, I began hoping beyond hope that the claims could be true—could they really fit as well as they said? Dare I even hope?

A quick e-mail later, I found myself in contact with Andy, the CEO & co-founder. Andy’s a pretty chill guy for a CEO, and any CEO dressed to conduct business in a pair of F. Scotts is more than alright in my book. I was overwhelmed at the sheer amount of pants that he showed me. As the company’s first “sponsored athlete,” I really felt like a king.

The colors. The styles. Materials that were oh-so-pleasing to the touch. We’re talking kid-in-a-candy-store vibe, right from the jump. But then came the true test. I tried a pair on. And another… and another. I tried on every pair in my size, and while I walked away with only two, I vowed there would be more to come.

These pants fit so well, and look so good on. My wife loves how good I look in them. For the record, I decided upon the Midnight Blues, because they could do double duty, as pants I could wear for work or play. The second pair, well, that was a much tougher decision, but in the end, I decided on the Pink Panthers, because when else would I be able to buy a pair of pink pants that looked this good? After wearing both pairs, and loving the experience, I decided that the Panthers were just fine for work as well. They bring a certain sartorial edge to casual Fridays.

If you’ve read this and the other testimonials and you still haven’t bought a pair, then my friend, I fear you are beyond hope. There should be another word for Bonobos pants, since they are men’s pants redefined. Retaken. Reimagined. “Pants” somehow seems mundane. You merely function in pants. You live in Bonobos.

- Charles Guerrero

So two of my friends from business school recently started a men’s pants company and I am in love. They started selling these pants while at Stanford and they became the pants to buy — one guy even had all his groomsmen wear them (it was a casual wedding, but cute nonetheless).

These pants do:
• Make boy’s/men’s butts look really, really cute (think the guy equivalent of True Religion jeans)
• Have the perfect combination of real world and edge. They have really fun linings/ inner pockets combined with beautiful, very wearable fabrics (from khakis to twills to cords to wool)
• Allow preppier types to move away from their (pleated) khakis into styles that look hot on them without freaking them out
• Allow more adventurous types to buy the wilder colors, express their individuality, and look hot without freaking everyone else out
• Allow men to own something that other men will covet — most styles are made on a limited basis so when they’re gone, they’re gone
• Come with a 100% return policy, even years later
• Come with heart (from the website): “If you (belong to) any…profession where you’ve chosen to serve rather than to earn as a first priority, then you may qualify for a Bonobos ‘sponsored athlete’ discount… Essentially, we’d like to make our products a bit more affordable for people that have consciously chosen a career that is less lucrative. All you need to do…is to write us a short letter. We aim to accept all applications, and we try to respond within 24 hours.”

These pants do not:
• Cost an arm and a leg. 0 overhead costs = cheaper pants.
• Only look good on men built ‘heroin chic’ (read: uber-skinny). They are actually designed for men with normal and/or athletic bodies. I’ve seen them look good on lots of types.

So check out the Bonobos website — buy a pair or two for yourselves or the men in your lives, try them on, keep or return them. In fact, I just bought a pair of Black Swans for Scott as well as my dad!

- Jenny Heller

Dear Bonobos:

As a husky, formerly very athletic father of five (vintage 10 to 21 years), and with a very attractive and fashion forward wife, I have asked the impossible of pants: to be comfortable and durable (for me) and fashionable (for her, so as not to embarrass the missus at her fashion related fundraising events). I usually hit the Washington, DC default button for high style which is jeans and a blue blazer, but my introduction to the Bonobos portfolio has broadened my fashion horizons considerably since they first rocked my world this past Summer in Nantucket.

Case in point, we were in need of a vacation from a vacation to recover from an ill-advised family trip to Disney World over Christmas and New Year’s (24-7 Disney Hell ensued as I didn’t get the memo that the whole world would be there!). The missus and I decided an emergency parental recovery program was in order and we took off for 5 days to the Caribbean. I packed only the Mint Juleps and they carried me from beach and fishing to bars, restaurants, and of course, Da Conch Shack. The Mints held up splendidly. Comments from both sexes were very favorable, except for one Brit who was initially more concerned about catching fish than the people partying around him. After a heartfelt apology concerning the fish-nanary, our new friend remarked: “Where did you get those pants?”

World Peace will be achieved, one Bonobos pant leg at a time. Upon arrival back to DC, I was treated to a pair of Black Swans in the mail from the missus. All is well at home and I thank Bonobos for the assist.

-Rich Amons

Lovely photograph courtesy of Mary Amons

1) I usually dress like a man trying to go unnoticed, but wearing my Bonobos around has actually fooled a few people into thinking I was hip. Folks are digging the new idea that pants don’t have to fit like crap. The Capertons are the perfect pant to wear to Fenway, normally guys just wear jeans with their Red Sox jerseys but these things are genius.

2) I grew up on Dunkin Donuts, and I don’t want to abandon my roots, even if I may appear a bit “husky” at times. The great thing about my Midnight Blues is nobody has to know about my lacking self-control. They’re so slimming; for all my fiancée knows, I’ve been working out like a fiend and showing discipline at the dinner table.

Okay, my denims are having a tough time adjusting to their new neighbor. But hey, that’s tough because there are some new pants hanging around who are making those jeans nervous for their lack of substance and style. I told them that I would not be replacing them but that “the organization is going in a different direction.” I did not have the heart to tell them that they may not be seeing much playing time. This season, or next.

I am going to need more closet space now. I actually bought two pairs of Black Swans, nervous one might get hit by low-flying sea gull shrapnel at the beach or end up in that place where lost socks go.

First time I slipped on the Bonobos it was like form met substance and style in a secret rendezvous. You know, like a place I had always known existed but had never been? Putting on a pair of F. Scotts, I found myself dancing inside about the fit and the color. Orange. Yep, the orange F. Scotts are as amazing as the sun kissed fruit. These pants are all class and their fit may have you writing a Bonobosgram. I did.

Back in the 1920’s gentlemen were going places. Some fast and some slow. Whether you tried to Gatsby with your last and first dollar or write a great novel, whatever you wore had an understated style and it was made with substance. Come the end of the day you may have put on your Bonobos (if they had only been around) and sat down with F. Scott himself for a few short glasses of aged Inspiration. Your pants fit you right where they were supposed to and they knew it. Your body knew it too. No one was spending millions telling you what you already knew.

Substance is real; it is tangible and not ethereal (like the prices of some of the fancy labels in my closet). Some of us cannot fly to Milan this weekend to shop and that’s okay. We just need to get our shoes cobbled right. These pants need no introduction and they always work (while you play) or share the spotlight that seems to be flooding the room.

Finally some folks have listened to the Muse (and Men) and have created a line of pants that not only looks amazing but also works. Thank you gentlemen. I only suggest that they add a cautionary label: “WARNING: these pants will become your go-to pants.”

When I put them on, I was looking to go some place else already. Know that impatient but so excited feeling? Like, when is the next flight to Caracas so I can get back to that tiny café? Or let me get out of Boston for the day and slip “down to the Cape” and walk on the tiny strip of quiet beach in Wellfleet.

I am not sure when denim jeans became sport utility pants. These Bonobos are lightweight, but they are not lightweights. They are workhorses that are eager to be saddled up for a gallop or simply walked.

Look around and you will see which folks are wearing and living by choice. Lemmings do their thing but would not if they wore Bonobos.

Okay. I am now done. And my new Bonobos are just part of a beginning. We are grown ups wearing grown up clothing so let’s stop looking for a happy ending and remember the importance of a great many beginnings.

Life is more than segments of five minutes of joy.

These guys have gotten it right.

It’s up to you now. Take it one leg at a time.