Cole Sprouse Is Elevating the Friendly Fit Pic to an Art Form

Photo credit: Hearst Owned
Photo credit: Hearst Owned

From Esquire

You sitting down, man? You might want to sit down. Because Cole Sprouse went full nuclear this past weekend on the ‘gram and I’m SHOOK. Cole Sprouse! Let’s go, baby. Wow. *Whistles slowly* You dog. You dirty dog. More like the Sweet Fits of Zack and Cody, am I right?!

In his breathtaking tableaux of excellent outfits—thirst-trapping nip slip very much included—the younger of the Sprouse twins (by a few minutes or so) captures the blissed-out zen energy of the L.A. creative in repose, chipped black manicure and all.

Of course, this isn’t the first time the former child star and current wispily mustachioed heartthrob has flirted with the coveted menswear triple crown (sports!) that is getting off multiple big fits all at once. The man is no amateur. But the difference between your fit pics and his is that when Sprouse hits one of his boys to pull up ASAP and capture whatever heat he’s rocking, he calls a photographer friend and stages a full-on impromptu photoshoot. The man is elevating the friendly fit pic to an art form, and doing it all wearing a version of what might aptly be described as Harry Styles lite, which, if you’re literally anyone else, is a very heavy look. I mean my god, man. This dude’s hitting for the fucking cycle. (More sports!)

There’s no better feeling in the world then when your boy flicks you up, making sure to capture the entirety—and enormity—of your fit with the patience of a parent gently encouraging a firstborn child to take his/her first steps. (It’s all downhill from there. No one gives a shit after that. I’m a middle child and I didn’t learn to walk until I was, like, five and a half.) In his tropical knitwear, slim-but-not-skinny denim, and Cuban-heeled boots, Sprouse doesn’t waste a moment of the precious opportunity, spotlighting a veritable cornucopia of current menswear touch-points with what I’m tempted to call aplomb. Fuck it. Yep, it’s aplomb.

Print this shit out and hang it in the Louvre, man. Fuck the Mona Lisa. Leonardo da who? I’m ready to throw elbows alongside a gaggle of slovenly American tourists doing their gosh-darnedest to catch a small glimpse of Cole Sprouse’s framed fits.

You do you, Cole Sprouse. You do you.

Looking to channel the vibe? Start here.

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