Arus Men's Hooded Classic Bathrobe Turkish Cotton Robe with Full Length Options at Amazon Men’s Clothing store

So I hardly ever do reviews, but this one merits it.I bought this as a Christmas Gift for my father. The thing is, my father has owned a ratty, clorox stained, semi-sentient purple bathrobe since before I was born. Said purple bathrobe had been an anniversary gift from my great-great grandmother to my great-great- grandfather, who had stared at its funky, clunky, Austin Powers-like pattern and immediately put it away in the farthest corner of his closet. My father found it in his teens, and proceeded to wear it for the next forty-something years of his life because whatever he may say, my dear father is a hipster at heart.Naturally, since it was bought on the early 60s and has been in use for 40 years, the bathrobe was not only a horrible-decoration-ruining-eyesore it also stunk of a terrible smell I can only describe as “moist and loud”—at least, as soon as it was used. It stank up every single article of clothing that was put on the washer with it, and everything on a four feet radius of it when it was hanged to dry. Mind you, the damn thing smelled like cinnamon and apples as soon as it dried again, a smell that I suspect it beat up our other towels to steal (at this point, when it was dry, the other towels would smell repugnant), so my father never believed me or my mother. So the damn thing stayed and we had to resort to creative way of keeping it away from the rest of both our clothing and towels. Like a creeping, sweeping plague, it would also slowly infect the towels around it with its hideous grape-marmalade-gone-bad color. I wept over my collectible brand-new Princess Belle towel, stained purple and smelling of despair and disgrace, and swore revenge for the remaining pieces that would go on to become garage rags when my mother said it was too damaged to keep using, barely two weeks after I received it.Regardless of this vow of furious vengeance, my quest remained unfulfilled until this past Christmas.The horrible, no-good, terrible bathrobe had survived all of my and my mother’s attempt on getting rid of it. Which included buying him newer and more expensive ones, secretly throwing it into the trash, Clorox baths to make it rip, one memorable time when we grew desperate and tried to set it on fire only for the damn thing to never even lit. The bathrobe reigned supreme, somehow always returning to the hanger on our bathroom door, even when one time I missed my 9:00 am class to personally deposit it on a city garbage bin while my father was out. We begrudgingly and disgracefully accepted defeat.Anyways, I did not have much hope for this bathrobe actually being put to use—it was just a joke gift destined to be donated as soon as Christmas time passed and my father did not feel guilty about it. I had already bought my father another gift, when this bathrobe was suggested to me as a “cozy gift for your loved ones”. As bathrobes seemed to have gone out of fashion and even the blood-thirst for retribution sworn by a then six year old tends to run out, I had lost hope of ever being able to replace the Purple Monstrosity. But because spite is one of the few things that keep me going on this lawless universe, I bought it and proceeded to forget completely about it as soon as it was delivered and wrapped (on time too, so you go, Amazon vendor!).Cue Christmas Day—we have all opened our gifts and have reached a point of terminal fullness when my father spots the gift wrapped box to him at the very edge of our Christmas tree. He cheers when he sees it is addressed to him and I, an idiot, encourage him to open it without opening my camera app because I couldn’t remember what I bought and I didn't want to be permanently embarrassed on the forever world of my gallery. He opens it, and through his face flash so many emotions ranging from “what in the everloving fork” to “I have finally decided who shall be the sole heir of my non-existent fortune”.This new bathrobe fits him as he wanted—not too short as to not cover his knees, but not too long as to drag on the ground. It was blue, his favorite color, and was of material soft enough so he would not complain about itching, but not so soft as to squash it’s functionality as a drying artifice. It is thin, not thick, which would have been a downside if it didn’t mean it was less weighty for his old man bones to carry.The hideous purple monstrosity has finally been disposed off. Long live the new marvelous bathrobe.TLDR: This bathrobe finally convinced my father to get rid of his old cursed bathrobe. Best thing at a reasonable price range. Don’t hesitate, get rid of your (or a loved ones) old bathrobe before it gains sentience.

I purchased this as a birthday gift for my partner and he absolutely adores it. I got the longer option and it fits him well at 5’9”. He’s worn it every day since he got it and loves how warm, soft, and comfortable it is.

I'm 6'4" and weigh 230lbs athletic build. I ordered the XXL Tall and it is a perfect fit. The robe is very nice, it's like being wrapped up in a nice soft towel. Not fuzzy like fleece. It's 1 downfall is that if you have cats that like to be held, when they knead on the robe it pulls really long strainds like the robe is unraveling. I found it better to just cut the strainds than pulling them.

great buy,quality,nice and thick,sleeve length perfect,fits a 6ft 225 man just right,he loves it,it will last for years,didnt shrink when washed,thank you

So, hypothetically speaking, let's say fortune has smiled upon you and you are eying early retirement. And let's say as you approach the blessed, eagerly anticipated date when you can slough off the crushing responsibility of your work and utterly insane demands of your bosses, you have made to yourself one, and only one, Unbreakable Vow: whatever else comes of retirement, you will not degenerate into Old Man Shambling Around the House All Day in His Bathrobe.A modest goal, one that ought to be easily achievable. All you have do do is get up, drink your coffee, shower, then put on some kind of actual clothing. And we had the pandemic to both lower societal expectations for what it means to be "dressed" and teach us how very loose and flexible the definition of "actual clothing" truly is, right? T-shirts, sleep pants, sweats, gym shorts, cardigans and jeans, just something other than a bathrobe, something that says "I have made the absolute bare minimal effort not to descended into reclusive eccentricity" to your neighbors and relatives so they don't call social services on you. So very simple, just don't become Old Man Shambling Around in a Bathroom All Day.And, after all, who can really stand to be a bathrobe more than an hour or two, right? A life time of Saturdays and Sundays have taught you that no matter how engrossed you may be in that spreadsheet and website you use to fiddle with your IRA or the news or that 4X strategy game on your computer, after a couple of hours microfiber becomes stifling and sweaty and makes you feel like you're getting a rash, flannel is too thin to keep your slowly-expanding expanse of surface area comfortably warm, terrycloth becomes kinda itchy on your back and tuckus, compelling you rise from your office chair or recliner, bathe and dress in something you wouldn't be ashamed to answer the door in at 4:00 pm.And so it went for me. And then I bought this robe.So comfortable. So amazingly, and continually comfortable and comforting. Sooo very, intoxicatingly, giddily comfortable after it's had that first wash. Breathes in summer, warm in winter, continual swaddling in comfort. All hail Turkish cotton. All praise unto it.And thus did the day arrive when I realized that because of this robe, my fears have been realized, my Unbreakable Vow to myself shattered. Showering late afternoon to early evening rather than morning. Robe descending into the embarrassing shabbiness of any garment worn five to twelve hours a day seven days a week and taken off only to wash. (And let's face it, *every* spanking new terrycloth robe is only 1-5 wash cycles away from disreputable shabbiness, so that box gets checked pretty quickly.)I thus have I been forced to to engage in unwelcome introspection and acknowledge I have become the Old (Aging Late Middle Age, Dammit) Man Shambling Around the House in His Robe, and, sadly, I'm distressingly, if covertly, okay with that.All because bought this ridiculously comfortable robe and now am actually going to buy another.It is too late for me, children! I am lost. But heed my warning. Whether you are retiring or just working from home with only infrequent Zoom conferences when you're expected to appear wearing work-appropriate attire, at least from the waist up: do not buy this garment! For if you succumb to its Siren Song, you too have taken the first step that ends with you becoming, before the very eyes of your relatives, friends and, most dangerous of all, potential heirs, the Old Person Shambling Around the House All Day in a Robe.