Bonobos

In the words of our CEO: “We love Canada. Universal health care, one of the greatest songs of all time (”What a Good Boy” by Barenaked Ladies), Sidney Crosby, the loon, Whistler, the burgers of Vancouver, Cirque du Soleil, polar bear migration, and the BC Lions. In fact, we’re soon producing an animated film about Bonobos entitled The History of Pants which is being made in… you guessed it… Canada.”

When Jon read about Bonobos and our awesome returns policy in Uncrate, he decided to take the plunge with some khakis.

As I entered my senior year of college, most of my friends were starting the law school application process of were applying for jobs at consulting groups and investment banks. But I, a lifelong lover of classical music, knew that I wanted to devote my career to something of more personal significance to me, and also that I wanted to make a different kind of contribution to our world. Following this dream, just two years out of school, I have now found my way to the Metropolitan Opera, where I work in the Artistic Department as the Assistant to the Artistic Administrator.

The Met is one of the largest arts organizations in the world with an annual season of 220 performances of more than twenty-five operas! Along with my boss, I am responsible for planning this season, designing our complicated rehearsal and performance schedule, and casting all of the singers. I spend my days working with devoted colleagues to produce the highest level performances for our audiences night after night—a task that is made only more challenging given the current economic situation in the world and the increasingly pinched budgets of not-for-profit arts organizations. I believe that the salaries we forgo are worthwhile because of the privileges we gain; I work extremely close to the production and dissemination of extraordinary music—music which has an exciting impact on the life of our city and on our broader society.

My job does not save lives, but I think there is truth in the adage that art makes life worth living.

Despite the pervasive view that opera as the most elitist of art forms, I think that the Met’s contribution to our society is more significant than simply providing entertainment for the wealthy and erudite denizens of the Upper East and West sides of Manhattan. Under the leadership of our new General Manager, the Met endeavors to inspire ever-broader audiences with our music. From high definition telecasts to movie theaters around the world, to discounted rush tickets for students and seniors and training programs for aspiring opera singers, the Metropolitan Opera is not solely in the business of serving the wealthy, but rather of perpetuating opera—at the very highest level—for the next generation, and of bringing this magical art form to new audiences.

Despite the pervasive view that opera as the most elitist of art forms…. the Metropolitan Opera is not solely in the business of serving the wealthy, but rather of perpetuating opera—at the very highest level—for the next generation, and of bringing this magical art form to new audiences.

The Band of Brothers space on your web page identifies teachers, nurses, and firemen as ideal candidates for the discount—these are the kinds of people who truly sacrifice their own earnings and even take personal risks in order to make valuable contributions society. My job does not save lives, but I think there is truth in the adage that art makes life worth living. And I think my work, and the work of the Met in a broader way, contributes significantly to the cultural life of our city and of our world. I am tremendously proud of my work for the cultural life of New York, and hope you will agree that this work makes a worthwhile contribution.

On a personal level, I would be grateful for the discount in order to augment my wardrobe! A part of my job is to attend operas and to interact with patrons and singers at nightly performances, and also at special openings and galas. As one of your colleagues recently wrote in the Bonobos blog, dressing to impress at the Met is a challenge! On my limited budget I am grateful for any assistance I can get to dress both fashionably and affordably; I know Bonobos will help me with the the former—I also hope you can help me with the latter.

Need a (literally) last minute gift?

The ninjas are staffed today, at Bonobos HQ in New York City, to help out anybody who’s decided to play chicken with his or her holiday shopping. (Though you could always skip the less-than-Bing-Crosbian NYC weather and score a gift certificate online!)

We’ve got a ton of pants and holiday cheer to spare. We’re here until 5 p.m.—then we’ve got to jet north and pinch-hit for Santa. Elves are fine for the off-season, but come crunch time nothing beats ninjas.

We wish you all a joyous holiday—thank you for your incredible support this season.

If we’ve said it once, we’ve said it a thousand times: Trousers with a boot cut look pretty awesome. They create pleasing lines and drape excellently, lengthening and elongating the leg—great for all guys, but especially those with more muscular builds. It’s a classic, confident look that we wholeheartedly endorse.

But that’s not an easy line to tow these days. These days, skinny jeans are showing up on every zippered-hoodie-and-enormous-headphone-wearing, LiveJournalling-at-the-independent-tea-shop-on-his-new-Macbook hipster in town.

Guess what, hipsters. Checkmate. Do not pass GO. Go to bed without supper. The indestructible superhero Wolverine wears his trousers with a boot cut (see below), and he looks PRETTY AWESOME, WOULDN’T YOU AGREE AT THE PERIL OF AN ADAMANTIUM CLAW TO THE FACE?

In all seriousness, when costuming directors needed a trouser to reflect the feral fearlessness of this complex character (portrayed by the unbelievably versatile Hugh Jackman), only one cut made the cut; only one cut afforded Jackman the room he needed to kick maximum ass. Now that’s one Regalian Australian.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that some guys do look great in a straight-leg, which is why we began experimenting with that cut in some of our dressier offerings. We dipped our toes in the water with the SL5000, and have continued with the jaw-droppingly fly Ganache, and most recently, the Marlinspikes. Coming in 2009 we’ll have a straight-legged version of the Shoguns, as well a re-imagined McCain (the Straight-Leg Express?).

Maybe one day we’ll even introduce a straight-leg trouser in purple. You know, for the criminally deranged. Would you buy a trouser called the Why So Serious?

I am a physical education teacher, originally from New Zealand but now working in Qatar, at the American School of Doha. This is a school that provides an American curriculum to the expatriate kids who come to the country because of their parents’ jobs.

We recently had parent-teacher conferences, and though most days I am fortunate enough to wear comfortable athletic clothes to work, there are times such as these when I am I prefer to look more formal. On these occasions I do like to dress well—many of my peers have this odd notion that all I have in my wardrobe are shorts and sport polos, and I enjoy proving them wrong.

I have enjoyed sports and being active my whole life, and I love that my job that allows me to encourage others to enjoy being active.

I was fortunate enough to be able to play my chosen sport, volleyball (both indoor and beach) to a relatively high level. However, playing a sport dominated by people a lot taller than I am, I had to work very hard to improve my jump skills. This meant a lot of work in the gym on lower body strength. The obvious side effect of this was the development of my gluteus maximus; it was with great amusement then that I read the sizing guide and saw the term Bubble Butt. It is a term I am very familiar with and one that causes my friends and family lots of laughter.

My wife and I chose to move overseas and teach as a chance to travel and work at the same time. We had not planned on ending up in the Middle East but this is the school that had jobs for the both of us. Shopping here is not too bad, especially if you have money to spend—there are a lot of people here involved in the oil industry doing very well, but for a teacher, buying the nicer clothes takes a chunk out of the wallet.

(I really like the look of Bonobos pants, especially the anti-taper sentiments!)

If your heart is set on giving the gift of trouser excellence this year, it’s not too late! We’re firing on all cylinders to bring you awesome trousers right down to the wire. All orders placed between now and Monday are shipping for free via 2-day express with FedEx. On Tuesday we’ll offer discounted overnight shipping for delivery on Christmas Eve. With the reintroduction of the Clean Slates and the launch of our superbly chic Marlinspikes, there’s no reason not to change someone’s wardrobe forever.

We’ve also added a gift box option at checkout, so if you like, your trousers will arrive in an elegant box tied with blue ribbon—best of all, our logo doesn’t appear anywhere on it, so your loved ones won’t know until the moment of truth that their days of frumpy-fitting pants are numbered.

Of course, you could always leave the ball in their court with an awesome Bonobos gift certificate. We launched this feature just a few weeks ago, and it can even be sent via email—so if you need a truly last-minute gift, it only takes a click or two of the mouse to send any denomination of Bonobos store credit to any inbox in the world.

Oh yeah. I’ll take ninjas over elves any day.

Whoa, Stu. We do trousers—politics is a completely different thing.

(Or is it?)

But thanks for your awesome support! Keep rocking your Black Flags, Shoguns, Snapdragons 2, and Bryan Wolff Browns in the dashing manner that only the Brits possess!

We love connecting with other entrepreneurs—take Noah N. Glass for example. Brian hates ill-fitting pants, Andy hates traditional retail shopping, and Noah hates waiting in line for takeout. He decided to use technology to solve this problem, much like the Bonobos webstore bypasses arduous retail shopping. He founded GoMobo, which allows customers to order food online or via text message, and pick up their order without waiting in line.

Noah got started with the Obamas and G6, and had this to say about his inaugural trousers:

Bonobos feel like you’re wearing pajama pants, but look like a billion bucks.
Before bonobos, I hadn’t found a pair of comfortable pants that didn’t need to be “belted”: buying a bigger size for a better fit in the legs and tightening the belt extra tight.

I’m always seeking out ways to eliminate the hassles of the daily grind. I don’t like waiting in line for food: that’s why I created GoMobo, the “Fandango® of Food” that lets you Skip the Line® at busy lunch spots and coffee shops.

If Bonobos comes out with GoMobo-blue khakis built for line-skippers like me called “the gomobonobo,” I’ll buy ten pairs to give out to loyal GoMobo fans.

Stereotypes should be limited to audio categories. I purport that daily in my US History course. My name is Barry G. Hayes and I teach in a district where constant physical confrontations occur between the Hispanic and black communities. These students are worried weekly about wearing colors based on gangs. There is a stereotype that they dress to their ethnicity and the limits of what they have been exposed to in the scope of a violent world.

I push that misguided notion back with force. Students in my classroom are exposed to music from Argentina, Japanese anime, and wound dressing techniques of on-the-fly care in warfare. In America we come from a diverse background with a history of making something of ourselves. These kids appear stuck in a cycle of gang warfare, poverty, and lack of opportunity. As their ambassador, their teacher from a culture and world they have not experienced, I want to constantly give them license to enter a lifestyle outside their own.

Fitzgerald wrote of stylish men and disaffected women struggling to understand themselves. Men were starving in the streets in the Great Depression but had enough self worth to wear proper trousers and braces. Dueling was a gentleman’s sport, and there were rules for murdering your friend. Americans have long understood the need for style under pressure, we are a nation begun through war but founded on the most beautifully written documents imaginable. My students have not had experience with classic American style. They know violence and pressure but not the calm servitude that a backbone in American style can lend.

A modern American understands the world around him is dangerous, yet he strives to add grace, knowledge, and style where he can.

These students have not laid eyes on a proper pair of Bonobos. With admittance to the Band of Brothers, that hurdle of showcasing a world outside the gangs and guns comes closer.

(Attached is a picture of myself and a student demonstrating the difference between fisticuffs and flat-out brawling. Gentlemanly conduct always, sport.)

The world is constantly head faking me into learning things about customer service.

I’ve lived in my apartment in Brooklyn for three months now, and still haven’t gotten around to getting my cable hooked up. I don’t have time to watch TV and I occasionally—ahem—reappropriate wireless internet from one of my neighbors.

But it’s time to get legit, so I called up a company that, for the purposes of this narrative, shall remain nameless. I scheduled an installation for this past Saturday between 1 and 5 p.m.

Saturday rolled around and I waited.

And waited.

I forced myself to dismiss every daring notion I had of sneaking out for an errand. Murphy’s Law dictated that the moment I left my block to drop off some laundry or pick up a gallon of milk, the telltale white van would round my corner, I’d miss my appointment, and the cable company would exact their revenge for my inconsiderateness by disabling all broadcasts to my apartment except reruns of Hannah Montana.

Turns out I could have gone to a movie. Twice. Two cable guys arrived at about 6:15, but the moral of this story is not about punctuality—sorry, that was a head fake. Cable companies are legendarily unpunctual. No, this story is about what happened after the cable guys arrived.

While one of the guys got gear from their truck, the other sat on the arm of my couch, jabbing at a coaxial cable with a beeping doohickey that looked like a digital kitchen thermometer. At one point he had to examine the cable outside my living room window, so I offered him my Maglite. A gift from my brother the previous Christmas, my flashlight looks kind of like a light saber and will reign as raddest gift ever—until this year, that is, when my bro unwraps himself some Pinkertons. (Don’t worry; he knows already.)

The cable guy took the hefty flashlight and asked me if I was a police officer. “No,” I told him. Then, an afterthought: “I’m a ninja.” He wasn’t listening any longer, just fiddling with the cable.

Suddenly he made an airy, strained yelping noise and keeled over. He tumbled backwards over my couch, eyes wide, and began convulsing on the floor. He was having a seizure. I pushed him onto his side and whipped out my phone, dialing 911. Then I remembered that seizure victims are in danger of swallowing their own tongues, and sometimes you have to put something between their teeth to prevent that. I snatched a wooden spoon from my kitchen table a few feet away and held it ready. For the time, though, he was breathing—albeit laboriously. I didn’t want him to be afraid for his life on the floor of a stranger’s apartment. I wanted him to know help was on the way. I knelt beside him and told him to lie still and just focus on breathing.

The 911 operator seemed inappropriately calm, though by comparison I was probably inappropriately hysterical. I shouted my address into the phone. She asked me if the man had hit his head when he tumbled over, and in response I shouted my address again. She asked for my cross street, and I shouted my address.

Funny, nobody said the EMTs would arrive sometime between 6 and 11. They were simply on their way. (Sorry, I said this wasn’t about punctuality.)

Suddenly my foot was wet, and I became aware of an acrid stench and remembered that seizure victims can also become incontinent. My immediate dilemma—do I leave the man’s side to fetch a roll of paper towels and abate the puddling urine?—was like something out of Seinfeld.

His partner, in the meantime, had finished his business at their truck and traipsed back to my fourth-floor walk-up. He stood in my doorway, perplexed, as I knelt beside his convulsing partner, wooden spoon in hand, shouting that he was going to be okay. (I was shouting a lot, actually, which didn’t strike me as odd until later. The man was seizing, not going deaf.)

When the EMTs arrived the man was conscious but hardly lucid. He didn’t know which borough of New York he was in. He knew how old he was, but couldn’t recite his address. The EMTs gave him oxygen and prepared to carry him down the narrow stairs to the ambulance in the street.

His partner looked at me. “You’re going to have to call and reschedule,” he said, and turned to leave. Suddenly I wanted to jam my wooden spoon down his throat. That was it? His teammate had just had a significant neurological (and urological) event on my living room floor and all he could say was You’re going to have to call and reschedule?!

I finally put down my wooden spoon when it became clear to me that I would need both hands to mop my floor—which I did, vigorously, twice. With my floor gleaming again I reflected on the experience. All right, so I certainly didn’t expect the able-bodied cable guy to stay and finish the installation after the EMTs drove away with his partner, but when your customer has been through something traumatic—even something that is nobody’s fault—you’ve got to show a little extra care.

At Bonobos, we strive to bring a sense of empathy to every customer service interaction. After all, good customer service means 1) we will do everything we can to make sure your experience is flawless, and 2) we won’t bail if something does go awry. We’re in this thing together.

Eventually, I dutifully called up the cable company. Next available appointment? This Saturday. Sometime between 11 and 2.

My wooden spoon and I will be ready.