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There are a nearly infinite number of battles on the Internet, but we at �����ԹϺ��� get fired up over some more than others. The latest? The recent debate about whether sweatpants are poised to replace leggings, ye olde Millennial staple, as peak athleisure wear.

It’s a tale as old as time. The up-and-coming generation on whom the nation seems to be focused rejects the clothing of the generation that preceded it, choosing their own style that makes whatever came before seem hopelessly lame and outdated. In this case, Gen Z is opting for looser, baggier clothing—even at the gym.

For the uninitiated, take as the paradigm of what’s cool right now. Then read , where redditors debate getting rid of their black leggings forever.

So, are leggings actually out? Who works out in sweats anyway? Because we at �����ԹϺ��� pride ourselves on asking the big questions, we put two staffers head-to-head on the issue. Here’s what they had to say.

Sweatpants Are Definitely the New Leggings.

First, an admission: leggings do have a place in my life, and it’s a really important one. They are the only pants that allow me to actually maintain tree pose when I do yoga. More billowy bottoms create a situation where, no matter how firmly I press, my heel continuously slides and I spend the whole pose resetting my foot with my hand. So, thank you for your service, leggings.

That said, I certainly do not spend my days in leggings. I do not believe they’ve earned the leisure half of their purported athleisure status. I don’t like to have anything suctioned to my skin for an entire day. When I realize I have unwittingly spent a lot of time in a pair of leggings, I peel them off as quickly as possible and can practically feel my legs sigh in relief.

I also feel like I bring the wisdom of experience to this debate. I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Millennial (a fine 1988 vintage, in fact), so I came of age at the peak of the leggings frenzy and thus spent years hanging out and exercising in them. It took a lot to finally admit that I just didn’t like leggings—even when they were considered the go-to sportswear.

These days, I spend most of my non-exercise time in jeans and barrel-style workwear pants. I don’t mind structured fabric (in fact, I like it), but I don’t want anything tight on my lower half. My legs like some room to move in their clothing cocoons. That said, I have really gotten into the matching sets game, and I have a few pairs of joggers with matching sweatshirts. These serve me extremely well because they can easily transition from “put-together mom at drop off” to “I am actually now going to do a quick plyometric workout.” I know the whole “busy mom” routine might read as boring or tired (we won’t get into the whys of that), but when you are a parent trying to accomplish some subset of the endless tasks assigned to you in the course of a day, an outfit that can do more than one thing is valuable. A certain masculinity comes with a matching sweats set versus a leggings and sweatshirt outfit, and our culture gives a little more grace—or at least less excoriation—to the masculine.

Then, there’s the actual feeling of working out in sweats. When I exercise in sweatpants, my joints feel a greater range of motion. When I run in sweats on a cold-weather day, they keep my legs cozier and they allow me to work up a bigger sweat. I’m like a wrestler. I’m Rocky running up the stairs. I like that.

And what if I got dressed for the day with every intention of doing an afternoon workout that didn’t come to fruition? Well, in that case, I got to spend the day in sweats instead of leggings. That’s a win, too.

— Ryleigh Nucilli, columnist and former digital managing editor 

My Leggings Will Never Be Replaced. 

I get it, Gen Z: sweatpants look cool and casual. You can sleep in them and then go straight to the gym, where it may appear to any passerby as if you just wandered in off the street and began working out by happy accident. That’s a kind of cultivated nonchalance that I—as a type-A, semi-professional, wannabe athlete—only dream of one day possessing. But, let me tell you, whippersnappers: I, too, was once hesitant to board the leggings bandwagon. “Leggings aren’t pants!” my mother would chide in the early 2010s. “Visible panty lines are unseemly!” my high school friends would gasp. But you know what? Leggings are goddamn practical, and I’m never going back.

For one thing, the stretch is unmatched. If I’m climbing, I want to be able to hike my leg up by my face without having to adjust the crotch of my pants first. If I’m running, I want to maximize my stride without fighting fabric. I love being able to stick a phone in a thigh pocket without feeling like it’s going to bounce around and whack me in the leg with every step. And, as a very sweaty person, I like the thinness of the material and the sense that I have a second skin rather than some cumbersome exoskeleton with a fat waistband and cloyingly fuzzy interior.

Leggings are also practical outside of sports use. They’re stretchy enough that I can sit criss-cross applesauce in my office chair or high-step into my van to put groceries away. They take up very little room in a suitcase, and they double as a base layer on ski trips and ice-climbing outings.

It is true that leggings leave little to the imagination, and, as such, not everyone finds them sufficiently versatile for post-exercise use. However, I believe that stigma is rooted in the sexualization of women’s bodies and on a . Shaming people for wearing leggings in public is an unfortunate misogynistic offshoot that shouldn’t stop us from dressing in ways we find practical and comfortable.

All that said, what people think of my leggings is neither here nor there. I’m wearing them for athletic pursuits first and foremost, and I don’t do sports for the aesthetics, or to feign only casual interest. I do sports to clear my mind and push my limits—and I’ll be damned if I let my clothing get in the way, even in the name of convenience or fashion. And if I end up wearing my leggings home afterward, or to the grocery store, or to lunch with friends? So be it. Hot take, mom: leggings are pants. And I’ll keep wearing mine until the day I die.

— Corey Buhay, interim managing editor