At least five, usually six days a week, I wear a tie.
Neckties were already becoming somewhat passe before COVID made it acceptable to wear pajamas in public. Since then, life seems to have become even more casual, although I do see a slight return to civility and maturity in folks’ professional wardrobe, although more and more men have absolutely no idea when or where to wear a tie, much less how to tie a half-Windsor.
I fully understand not all professionals wear a vest, coat and tie every day. I do not expect everyone to meet the same standards I set for myself. It isn’t wrong, just different. My daily wear reflects how I was brought up, with no slight intended toward anyone. My daddy taught me to try and dress well out of respect for others, my trade and myself. That includes wearing a tie most of the time.
It’s not the philosophy of the tie that gives me conniption fits.
It’s simply the color.
I prefer a simple, smooth, silk black tie. Red, maroon or dark blue are okay, too. I do have a black and red one that I wear on a regular basis, and a red and blue tie that’s more than 60 years old that I occasionally wear for sentimental reasons. Most of the time, if I have a choice, it’s going to be a simple black tie. Black goes with everything, so I don’t have to be concerned over mixing stripes and spots or plaids or polka dots or whatever.
Yet somehow, someway, folks can never seem to understand this simple concept. Even my bride who has watched me wear a tie for more than thirty years, tries to sneak something colorful in on a regular basis.
While I prefer a plain, solid tie and a plain, solid suit, I will cheerfully wear a bright, sometimes even gaudy vest, occasionally with a tie that matches. That’s color coordination enough, in my book. It’s bad enough that I sometimes wear colored shirts. Sometimes I am whimsical and opt for a camo dress shirt, or even a bright red one. That’s usually because I can’t find a clean white, blue or black Oxford, but at least the shirts are there and I wear them with minimal grumbling. One would think that might be enough to satisfy those who insist I wear a “pretty” tie.
One would be wrong.
I repeat: I like a plain tie. A solid, plain tie. Preferably black.
But folks who love me seem to see that as a challenge. It’s like I’m the last remaining sinner in a community of green-and-pink tied saints, and if I don’t have something with bright yellow stripes I’m going to hell.
I applaud those men who are willing to wear some convoluted pattern of swirls and stripes and designs out of a Van Gogh nightmare. I raise my coffee cup in salute to those who wear themed ties, decorated with fish, deer, lawnmowers or sports cars. I am amazed at those who wear hand-painted ties. I salute the patriotism of my brethren whose ties are a riot of red, white and blue, as well as the festive spirit of those who wear Christmas ties complete with enough bells for eight tiny reindeer that play music when you press a button.
I’m happy for them – but don’t expect me to willingly wear such.
Years ago, a friend jokingly suggested I get a camouflage tie. I snorted and said “Never.” That year at Christmas, guess what I had? Yep. A camo tie. The bonds of friendship required that I wear it, and I still do on a regular basis.
Someone recently suggested I get a tie in “nice spring colors.” Not “a” color, mind you, but “colors,” as in plural. Again, I snorted. Somehow a paisley foulard just doesn’t work with a gray beard and a dour expression.
Again, I am happy for those men who enjoy having a carnival wrapped around their neck in the name of fashion to do so. They are welcome to my fair share of the flashy ties, a share which seems to increase disproportionally every year.
There is a certain point in time where it’s purely habit for people to ask a man what he wants for Christmas or his birthday, since they have already decided they’re buying him a tie. I’m not sure when that age actually occurs, but I know I passed it years ago, and still have a problem circumventing the whole process by just asking for a plain simple black tie.
Since I am not one who wishes to appear ungrateful or wasteful, I end up wearing almost every tie that makes its way into my wardrobe, like some hand-woven coral snake. There are a few that, if faced between giving up my Second Amendment rights or keeping my guns by wearing that particular tie, I would have to think for a moment, but generally they all rotate through.
Sadly – for me, anyway – that sense of thrift and filial duty create a self-perpetuating problem. I can’t tell folks no, since I don’t want to hurt their feelings. I mean, they were kind enough to want to give me a gift. You can’t just refuse something like that. It’s rude. Ergo, the conversations go like this:
“I saw you wearing thus and such tie once in 2006, and when I saw this one, I thought you’d like it.”
“My late husband always thought a lot of you. He never wore this tie, and I gave it to him for our anniversary. Would you like it?”
“These colors will look so good with that vest you were wearing the other day. They’re a lot brighter than that old black thing you always wear.”
And so on.
While I have reached the age where neckties are an expected (and appreciated) gift, I haven’t yet reached that age where, as a man, it is acceptable to snarl at a well-wisher and leave a necktie in its box to be discovered by whomever has the misfortune to make some sense out of what little estate I may leave. I doubt I would do that anyway, but that’s beside the point.
I think the next time someone mentions that I should wear a colorful tie, I’m going to remind them that black is a color; indeed, it’s all the colors in the spectrum rolled into one.
That argument might not work, but it’s better than being all tied up with a closet full of pink and turquoise polyester lawnmowers that play Christmas carols.
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