Like many modern men, I've always had a love-hate relationship with ties. At school, we expressed our individuality through the way we wore our ties. Mine ranged from string thin to cartoonishly fat. The shirt collar was left open, the tie knot askew. I was proud of my button-down shirts, which were relatively rare. The downside is that I can't stand them now.
I thought about this the other day when I was invited to a "black tie" dinner in London, hosted by The Bookseller. As I didn't have time to rent a tux, I wore a black Agnès B suit with a black silk Dior tie. It looked slightly Reservoir Dogs, but with silver cuff links and polished J.M. Westons, it passed muster. In truth I was slightly disappointed that I didn't have the right rig to wear a bow tie, as I take a certain pride in knowing how to tie one. It's a vanishing skill, but a pre-tied bow tie is a nasty object, like a discarded toenail.
As for daytime ties, I wear them rarely. I like the unaffected look of a smart suit with an open shirt. But some occasions - interviews with captains of industry, presentations at conferences, certain restaurants - require neckwear. After years of experimentation, I've found three forms I like: plain silk, dotted, or knitted. They should not be too wide. But not too modishly thin, either, or you look like a juvenile rock star. Dior does an intermediate width, as does Agnès B.
On reflection, the knitted tie is the form I prefer. It's smart, yet nonchalant; perhaps even a tad intellectual. It does the job, but you don't look like a Wall Street banker contemplating ruin. The fact is, it hardly seems like a tie at all. For me, style always comes back to understatement.
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