THE JOURNAL
Whenever I am invited to an event that requires me to wear something remotely smart, my first thought is: which deranged tie can I wear? Even if the dress code allows for something more casual, the second that invitation hits the figurative doormat, I am straight onto the internet in search of the daftest neckwear I can find.
This search is no laughing matter. I am the proud owner of a super-wide bright red Christian Dior tie emblazoned with violin-shaped icons that I wore to a Jewish wedding in Buenos Aires (complete with yarmulke). I have a thinner blue, red and white tropical Prada one, which did nicely at a big do in Bordeaux earlier this year. And I have an assortment of ties in various states of disrepair picked up from charity shops over the years that range from the flowery to the downright Magic Eye-worthy.
Why do I love jazzy ties so much? Like all important questions about my identity, I take it to my therapist. “It’s about showing off, of course, but it’s about more than that,” she says. “To the observer, a jazzy tie says you are showing off, but for the wearer? What insecurities are you hiding?” Ah, good old insecurities – familiar ground. “It’s a way of compensating for a thin skin,” she says. “a way of saying something without having to say anything.”
I have always been confident that I have something interesting to offer in conversation, but, subconscious evaluations aside, perhaps my therapist is on to something. A bright, bold tie is a comfort blanket, albeit a very small one. It gives the wearer that extra inch in social situations. It makes a statement before anyone’s got off the mark. It is a silent witticism.
What’s more, a thoughtful tie at a formal party is a way of playing ball, but making a splash. It is the world’s tiniest yet most stylish rebellion. I see your clothing stipulations and I will comply, but on my own irreverent, eye-catching and hilarious terms. I think it’s important, too, to say that whenever I put on a suit and tie, I fear I look like an off-duty police officer or a sixth-form monitor. Maybe you do, too. The right type of painterly tie disintegrates this fear. It instantly signals something clear and powerful: I am not the assistant account manager of a satellite-town branch of Halifax.
The high-water mark of jaunty neckwear has to be those wide-cut, maximalist Versace ties, predominantly from the 1980s and 1990s, a real purple patch for mad-tie wearing. You know the ones – all Botticelli prints, lurid block colours and ornate gold detail. They somehow manage to imbue the wearer with the air of a mafioso while simultaneously being hysterically camp. They are ridiculously fun – and surely that’s the whole point of dressing up in this way.
Look at pictures of men wearing ties from that period. They simply looked like they had a nicer time back then. I have images, real or imagined, burned into my mind’s eye of 1980s newsreaders reeling off tales of disaster and chaos in fabulous neckwear.
So, men in ties in 2022, why so serious? If I’m going to a party, I don’t want to dress like I’d be boring company in a lift (even if I’m hiding the fact that I am). I want to dress like a Mondrian or a Kandinsky. Doing so across just a few inches of cloth means I am making a subtle suggestion, rather than an overblown statement.
A recent image of the world’s leaders dressing down at the G7 summit sparked a debate on social media about the death of the tie. In mainstream circles ties can be stuffy, a signal you are business-like or boring. But if your lawyer friends have ditched tailoring and ties, Gen Z have turned the concept on its head and reimagined a uniform into a subversive style choice. What comes around goes around. The same fashion subculture that ditched formal attire, say, five years ago is now nostalgically making it cool again. Wearing a creative tie in 2022 says more about freedom of expression than it does dress codes or formality.
I absolutely support the proliferation of the colourful tie in almost all its forms, but, like all bold style statements, you can get this wrong. Just ask divorced secondary school music teachers attending staff drinks. I am reminded of the toxic hue of a tie I once elected to wear for a huge, extremely posh wedding at Claridge’s hotel in London. Imagine the colour of vomit a toddler might produce having consumed an orange Mr Freeze and a warm Irn Bru and you’re near the mark. When, on an annual basis, my iPhone helpfully retraumatises me about this event via the cheery “On This Day” photo feature, it looks like a cry for help, rather than an interesting style choice.
The shirtmaker Ms Emma Willis knows the pitfalls of the jazzy tie all too well. “I am not keen on animals and figurative designs on ties,” she says. “I don’t think a man should look like a character. I love colourful ties to lift a dark suit against a plain white shirt – pinks, lilacs, lime green, aqua and sky blues. I would choose very good quality silk, linen or cashmere and go with between 6cm and 7.5cm at the widest point.”
Bright, fun, but not novelty – this is fine advice. The effects of the pandemic combined with the increasingly casual nature of men’s style over the past decade have resulted in formalwear taking a bit of a back seat in recent years. But, as illustrated by the fine examples on MR PORTER, designers are still having a ball when it comes to neckwear, which means we can, too.
“They’re conversation starters at weddings and indicators at social gatherings that you are there to have fun”
Our Style Director, Mr Olie Arnold, agrees that there is plenty of opportunity to fly the flag for a colourful tie this year. “Tailoring was everywhere in the SS23 collections, so there’s hope for it still,” he says. “There will always be people who utilise jazzy ties to express their personality. They’re conversation starters at weddings and indicators at social gatherings that you are there to have fun.”
And how would he wear one? “Go all in or go home,” Arnold says. “Mix it up with a patterned shirt and don’t be afraid of clashing.”
Hear, hear. If dressing today has taught us anything, it’s that there are few rules to bend. In a fashion world where irony is king and dress codes are dead, wearing a witty tie might just be one of the most irreverent things you can do. Just (don’t) ask your therapist.