These Are the Only Two Robes You Will Ever Need

This story is a part of New Year, New You, a package devoted to small, low-stress home improvement projects that, with a little effort, will dramatically improve your life.

In the early stages of the pandemic, as we all adjusted to inside living, DTC brands furiously targeted consumers on Instagram and on TikTok, selling leisurewear intended to bridge the gaps between our old lives and our new: high-end sweatsuits, soft socks, and other items meant to evoke comfort in the face of hideous uncertainty. It feels counterintuitive to purchase clothing for comfort without being able to actually touch the material, however, the promise of a good DTC brand is that their product is so outstanding that you will never be disappointed.

But it remains curious that a lot of the home goods that directly touch our bodies are sold through online platforms and not in real life. And of all the leisurewear categories, a robe is the sort of thing you need to see (and touch) to believe. Previously, I lived a life without a robe, but a cold snap and a temporarily broken radiator last winter convinced me otherwise. And if I was going to add another layer of leisure wear to my already-overflowing closet, I might as well test out all the options I could. So I called in a bunch of robes from DTC darlings like Parachute, Quince, Brooklinen, and Offhours and, over the course of a year, narrowed down my choices to just two, both of which I feel are necessary additions to anyone dedicated to living their version of the good life.

My criteria for a robe are primarily comfort-focused, with aesthetics being a close second. Functionality and ease of use are also important; can I wear the robe around my house and do the various tasks I like to do (making dinner, watching television, repeat) with ease? Is the robe comfortable to wear while standing and sitting, and, crucially, during any bout of extended illness? Does the robe hold up after many a wash? And, I suppose, since this does matter to many: is the robe itself a good-looking item of clothing that makes me feel good?

The runners-up 

Parachute’s classic bathrobe has the heft of a high-quality hotel robe and crucially, comes with two big pockets on the front, both of which are perfect for holding the remote, my telephone, and whatever else I may need during my sloth hours. Unlike a hotel robe, Parachute’s retained its softness after being subjected to the searing heat of a New York City laundromat dryer, and didn’t retain that crispy, cardboard-y feeling that some terry cloth robes get after repeated washes. But the armholes of the robe felt a little constrictive, especially when I sat down on my couch, and because of its pristine, crisp, whiteness, I felt a little nervous eating in it.

Another contender, Quince’s Organic Turkish Waffle Robe, is also reminiscent of a good hotel robe, of the sort one might find at a spa, and is lightweight enough to feel like I’m wearing nothing at all. This may appeal to others, but for me, a robe should feel hefty and should provide something akin to warmth. In a world where I have a sauna in the backyard of my tastefully decorated home, I would stock the area between the sauna and the cold plunge with a row of these for guests (or just for myself), but in my current existence, where my robe needs to serve many purposes, this one didn’t quite make the mark. If you prefer your robes on the lighter side, or want to evoke the feeling of a spa in your bathroom that is anything but, then Quince’s offering is just the ticket. Also, of all the robes I tried, Quince’s is by far the best bang for your buck, at a very reasonable $49.90.

The best everyday, all-season robe 

Brooklinen consistently turns out solid, well-designed linens and bedding at reasonable prices, so it’s not surprising that their robes, for me, were exactly what I was looking for. The Super Plush Robe is the platonic ideal of a hotel robe—squishy, comfortable, warm, but also quick to dry if you choose to use it for its intended purpose. My robe journey made me realize that the most important thing for me is comfort—if the robe is good, I should feel like I’m laying around in a blanket that just happens to have arms, thereby eliminating the need for an actual blanket. I’m pleased to report that the Super Plush Robe is as cozy and functional as it looks on the website, and at $99, that’s not a terrible deal.

I wore the robe in the winter and felt neither too hot or too cold; in the warmer months, itwas the right weight for me, someone who runs hot and doesn’t love to sweat. I noticed no pilling or errant threads after a brisk wash, either, and like all good linens and things, the material got softer over time and repeated use.

A note about aesthetics: colorwise, robes can be a bit depressing. There’s nothing wrong with various shades of oatmeal, gray, asphalt, and ecru, but I’d prefer a little pizzazz. Enter Brooklinens’s limited edition color offerings, most of which sell out quickly, and are just jazzy enough to feel special.

(However, if you skew maximalist and want your loungewear to match the riot of color in your heart, look no further than Dusen Dusen’s Reef Stripe robe, which skews a little circus tent, but in the best possible way.)

The robe to end all robes 

I’ll be honest: Offhours’ Home Coat is not cheap. At $295, which is more money than I’d spend on other clothing items that get much more wear, the Home Coat is the sort of thing that is an actual, definite luxury. Ads for it followed me around Instagram for a year or so, but a recent endorsement from a friend whose taste for leisure wear is unparalleled moved me to finally request one for testing. And after living in and with the Home Coat for a few months now, I’m sorry to say that it is worth every penny.

To call the Home Coat a robe is a generous interpretation, because it’s more than that: imagine a gently weighted blanket that feels like a sweatshirt, or a kitted-out, updated, and chic Snuggie, and you’ve got some idea of what the Home Coat has to offer. This is a garment meant strictly for lounging, so if the traditional functionality of a robe being something that helps you dry off matters to you, then that’s something to consider. (I wouldn’t wear this fresh out of the shower and I’m not confident in its abilities to absorb water like a traditional robe would.) However, while wearing it around the house, I performed my normal leisure activities and felt comfortably swaddled but never too hot.

I’ve washed the robe once and much like a good sweatshirt, the feel of the thing improves; the French terry material becomes softer with wear and the batting doesn’t move around or shift. And there are thoughtful details that set this robe apart from other of its ilk; the large pockets on the front are good for holding your phone, the remote, and once, for me, a can of coconut seltzer as I walked from the living room to the bedroom. Aesthetically, this is the most specific look of all the robes I tried, but there’s something nice about how blobby and pillowy it is; if Rei Kawakubo designed or wore a robe, I imagine it’d look something like this.

Truthfully, no one needs a robe, but you might find your life vastly improved with the addition of one into your day to day. Consider one robe, but if you really want to live the life of leisure that we should all strive towards, these two are the only ones you’ll ever need. 

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