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A few weeks ago, I made the mistake of going into Bonobos with some friends and touching the inside of the Nomad 2.0 Sweatpants. From a distance, these sweatpants are nothing groundbreaking — they have a “cool modern man” silhouette with a slim fit, are tapered at the ankle, and come in standard colors like navy, black, and gray. But the fabric — oh my god, the fabric.
The fleece lining of the pants is outrageously soft, to the point where I could not stop manhandling the merchandise. I wanted to rub my face on it and then commission sheets out of the same fleece cotton. It was truly delightful, but the $118 price tag was decidedly not.
Days later, my fiancé went to a Bonobos sample sale and made out like a bandit. Among his finds were The Sweatpants, in my preferred bright blue color and at a serious markdown. When I heard he only bought one pair, ostensibly for the two of us to “share,” I made him return with me to the sample sale later that afternoon. There were no longer any sweatpants available, and the scene at the sale was scarily reminiscent of that Broad City episode. We resigned ourselves to sharing one pair of sweatpants. It’s been hard.
The men’s size medium is a perfect fit for him and perfectly slouchy-cozy on me. They’re still so soft on the inside, even after multiple washes. The feeling of the fleece lining on my bare legs is about as comforting as a piece of clothing could possibly be, like I’m in a fuzzy embrace where nothing else matters.
If we come home from a night out together, we scramble to see who grabs the sweatpants first and the winner crows triumphantly at the sad, sweatpants-less loser.
Go forth and touch these sweatpants. You will not regret it.