Paperjam

The Timeless Tyranny Of The Tie

Weird // Nick // 9th July 2004

Here I am again, sitting in front of a blank page. Well, a blank screen, anyway. It’s always the same, the white void staring at me, an accusing yet eloquent nothing which chuckles at its pure reflection of my mind. Starting is the hardest thing, waiting for some inspiration, some random collision of thoughts that may spark off the drive. I want to be drawn into an idea, to play with it, to delight in the joy of bouncing arcane knowledge against strict logic and teasing out an argument, a train of though that might amuse or inform or inflame. Instead I sit in moribund hope that I might manage to eke out just a couple of points of meaning.

Nick's Tie Wardrobe

So instead I’m going to talk about ties. Yes, those things us men wear around our necks. I hate them. Not just dislike, or find uncomfortable, or think are faintly ridiculous. I think they are singularly responsible for the decline of western civilisation, moral and intellectual. This may sound a little harsh. Surely the growth of avaricious consumerism or the waning power of the ethical authority of the church has more to do with that. When we are destroying forests, throwing our chemical detritus into the seas and believing that Vanessa Feltz should be put on TV rather than a home for the irretrievably mentally ill, isn’t blaming the humble neck-tie a bit rum? OK, so I’m pushing the point a bit far, but I think it’s a case of cause and effect, and sometimes these two elements are so inextricably bound together that its difficult to pull them apart. I’ll start off with the easy bit, the physical side, then get to meat of my argument.
Ties are ridiculous objects. Disregarding some of the more outlandish novelty items that would condemn wearers to a quick jaunt across the river Styx in a more civilised age, what point do they serve? Let’s try to make a list:
They hide the buttons on your shirt. Do they need hiding? Are we really so obsessed with clean lines that we want to deny the basic necessity of buttons?
They catch food that misses your mouth. Eat more carefully, I say.
They point to your privates. As if we didn’t know where they were. That’s what belt buckles are for, but we won’t get into that one. I think trousers that fit in the first place would be better.
They justify button down collars.
Erm.. OK I’m struggling now.
But that’s the point. There is little physical justification, particularly when you consider the downsides:
They are bloody uncomfortable.
They are a pain to tie right, so you don’t get the thin bit twice as long as the fat bit, or end up with the label facing outward.
They are so damn uncomfortable.
Yes, the third point is a repetition, and the second is over-emphasised but the first is all you need. Add the previously mentioned sartorial horrors and you’ve pretty much tied up the physical argument.
So what about the emotional reasons? Let’s divert briefly to a short history, which may be somewhat enlightening. I hasten to add at this point that the details were gleaned from the cribber’s friend, the Internet, so may be partially or entirely incorrect.

The Timeless Tyranny of the Tie

If you consider the French revolution to be one of the great leaps forward in human history, think again.
Next time you tug at your collar on a sticky summer's day, remember that during that momentous event, out the window of the Bastille went much of man's sartorial freedom of expression. No more could a gentleman get away with preening at a ruff the size of a spare tyre; no more could he be seen in crimson garb equally as splendid as that of his good lady. For the sake of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity we sacrificed Fashionability. "From now on it's just coat, pants, and shirt, Garçons - nothing too flashy, though we will give you a little leeway with your neckwear." Since that decree (sometimes attributed to Robespierre), men's fashion has evolved at about the speed of Darwin's tortoises. Above all, the tie has shown its genetic superiority - for nearly 100 years it has survived as the smartest of fashion accessories, with the usual random variations from generation to generation in the spot-size or blade-width. But what is the ancestry of your favourite royal-blue striped neckwear?

The Birth of a Fashion: Cravats

Some say that Chinese warriors of the second century BC were buried with their neckties on, and that the Roman legionnaires of 200 AD were sporting scarf-like neckties whilst repelling the odd Barbarian. It is still most likely that such adornments were not so much ornamental, however, but were used to pad and support armour, or to keep warm during winter campaigns.
Nevertheless, it does appear that like many useless ideas, the concept of neckwear of no utilitarian purpose whatsoever originated in the military. The story goes that Louis XIV adopted the decorative silk scarf in 1636 from a group of Croatian mercenaries visiting the royal palace - and thus the word "cravat" is derived from "Croat". Another theory has it that the cravat evolved in England, as a means of holding together the linen and lace collars of the day, out of the way of a man's long flowing coiffure.
As the 18th century unfolded, so did the cravat, becoming longer and lacier at its ends. For a while it looked like the cravat had had its day when the stock, a heavily stiffened strip of material fastened at the back of the neck, became popular in the middle decades. But after the publication of several treatises on the health risks involved with constricting high collars, the cravat made a welcome comeback in the 1780's.

Which brings us once again to the French Revolution. It was here that neckwear probably first took on a political symbolism, as the Republicans were donning large coloured neck cloths to proclaim their allegiance, red being the colour of choice, of course. These neck cloths were known to measure up to 15 feet long, and could be wrapped around the neck 10 times until the ends were tied in a bow. Not too surprisingly, these radical cravats were known as Incroyables.

Across the Atlantic, colonists opted for a more pragmatic look in the mid-18th century. American men broke through class lines peacefully and embraced the bandanna, a large colourful handkerchief knotted loosely around the neck, originally exported from India to absorb the sweat of working class Europeans. The first half of the 19th century was the golden age of the cravat, especially in England. There were a myriad of knots in common usage for this strip of muslin or silk swathed high above the collar. Those fellows not busy digging in the coal mines spent their time going to classes on how to tie an Ascot, Osbaldeston, or the latest configuration introduced by the most famous dandy of all time, Beau Brummel. The Brummel edict has lasted until this very day - namely, that sartorial elegance and superiority is distinguished not by colour and decoration, but by perfection of fit, quality of cloth, and impeccable grooming. And by an exquisite tie, of course.

The Shrinking of the Cravat

The 1840's and 50's saw more of an emphasis on the bow, and some smaller versions of the cravat were becoming known as "neckties". One of these, the Byron, was fashioned after that worn by the lord-poet himself, over an unbuttoned and unstarched collar (somewhat daring, but he was an artiste, after all). It is here that bow-tie enthusiasts can clearly identify their ancestry.

From the 1860's to the 1880's things took a turn for the worse, due to the custom of using every button on a man's coat, right up to the neck, leaving very little of anything visible. Likewise, collars in the 19th century went up and down in both height and starchiness like the pistons of industry, also having a large influence on what could be swaddled around one's neck. The cravat was narrowing in the middle, so that it could be accommodated under a turn-down collar, and generally became smaller and narrower.

In the 1890's the four-in-hand (the one you may even be wearing as we speak) and bow ties were knots that made regular appearances, preferably in striped neckties of only two colours. The four-in-hand derives its name from the knot used by a coach driver to control the reins of a team of four horses, but also shared its name with that of a London horse and sporting club. Most likely it was the dandies frequenting the club in the middle of last century who made the knot popular, having more of an interest in their own looks than the winner of the third race at Ascot. The sailor's knot, a long necktie in a reef knot, was also worn around that time, but perhaps due to the demise of the British Fleet, was no longer seen after the end of the First World War.

By the 1920's the cravat had well and truly been superseded by its smaller descendants, except on more stuffy occasions when the scarf-like Ascot was worn with morning coat. The neckties from early in the century were rather plain, of woven or knitted silk, with red, white and blue being particularly popular colours. Small patterns and diagonal stripes were featured from the end of the 1890's on regimental, club and school ties, and these became extremely popular after the Great War, when worn with sports clothes or lounge suits. The authoritative male fashion magazine, "Tailor and Cutter", wrote in 1900 about the trend towards the blue and white spotted tie, that "taken on the whole, it is the necktie in which the English gentleman looks best." It seems nothing has changed since then, except perhaps for the size of the spots.

It is around this time that the perils of men's fashion were brought to the attention of the world by one Dr. Walter G. Walford, in the 1917 treatise "Dangers in Neckwear". The good doctor wrote that tight starchy collars and ties cause infirmity due to the retardation of blood flow to the brain. Not only does this go a long way towards explaining the Russian Revolution and the First World War, it did leave an impression on the wacky fashion designers of the day, and collars soon become more flexible, approaching the kind we have today.

The Father of the Tie

The honour of father of modern necktie construction goes to the American tie manufacturer Jesse Langsdorf, who in 1920 patented the all-weather wrinkle-free tie. The secret ingredient turned out to be the all-important slip-stitch running down the back of the tie, which is stitched together from three pieces of material, cotton tape, and a lining of wool, or even rubber in the early resilient versions.

The thirties once again saw conservatism reign, even down to a man's necktie. The British and the Europeans were still the arbiters of style, and those with the most influence were of course the Royals. It has been said that Edward VII could have his whole evening spoilt if one of his guests wore the wrong tie (usually an American in checks). The Duke of Windsor led the post-Depression fashion-suppression, with muted suits and ties strictly in solids or stripes. The legacy that has been left, however, was a more subtle one - and this is where bona-fide tie enthusiasts really get excited - for the Duke had introduced the world to a new knot. You know - the one that that aspiring royal Ronald Reagan used to wear.

The Tie Boom

Evil

After the Second World War, the status of the tie was to change radically for the better. The post-war tie boom allowed men to really express themselves in the language of clothes. In 1948, Esquire magazine introduced the Bold Look of a wide shouldered jacket with oversized lapels, a wide spread collar and a 5 inch-wide Windsor-knotted tie. The United States was leading the world of fashion, introducing mass production of prints on silk and rayon ties. The revival of art deco led to dynamic bold geometric designs. Use was made of both futuristic motifs from a newfound optimism, and also those from ancient cultures such as the Aztecs and the Egyptians.

Narrative ties were all the rage in the late forties. Man hung depictions of his best friend the canine from his neck, not to mention hula girls, cowboys, and even hand painted atomic bombs (another one for the "Only in America file"...). Salvador Dali even produced a line of controversial ties, complete with melting clocks.

Ties began to take on personalities of their own - there was the Belly-Warmer which made it big in 1943, whose characteristic feature was its extraordinary width and its penchant for scenes of Hawaii, complete with naked women (usually on the reverse side). Van Heusen produced ties in 3 sizes - Small, Medium, and WOW! , available also in 3 dimensional patterns to "tease the eyes". A tie whose design was on the more outrageous side of incredibly gaudy became known as a "Ham and Eggs" tie - on which breakfast spills and splatterings were guaranteed never to be noticed.

In those good ol' days, when a gentleman found any excuse to get together with his peers in a dense atmosphere of cigar smoke, tie societies were in their hey-day. America in the 40's boasted a tie-swapping club with 3,500 members, who exchanged some 17,000 of their ugliest creations in just 6 months. Tie shops had trade-in deals, and magazine articles featured Frank "I-tied-it-my-way" Sinatra with his collection of 500 ties.

That sacrilege of an invention, the pre-tied tie, was not a brainchild of the seventies, as you might think. Ready tied models were already appearing for the male-with-no-shame at the beginning of this century. America produced the "One In Hand" and "Slip-Not" Tie Companies, all with patented designs. But these mutations were not the real threat to the health of the tie, following the boom of 1946-1948 - the real culprit was the growing undercurrent of (dare I say it ?) - Tielessness.

Post-War Decline

Against all odds, the tie did survive the neckwear crash of '49, albeit in sombre shades, accompanied by narrow lapels and a conservative demeanour. The narrow, square-ended, knitted mis-creation unfortunately became accepted garb. A conservative British fashion writer complained that the tie had become "a dreary bit of rag tied round the neck, the wrong size and the wrong shape to give any real emphasis; emphasis which should be as logical and effective as the punctuation in a sentence." Semicolon or not, the fashion slump of the 50's was relieved by the punks of the day, the Teddy Boys, with their Slim-Jim ties which were basically a creative use of bootlaces. There was also some comfort to be derived from the introduction of paisley and small florals in the 50's, often on the latest version of artificial silk.

Meanwhile, the bow tie somehow remained a viable alternative, with somewhat of a renaissance in the 50's, slowly increasing in width until its appearance in velvet at a size rivalling Dr. Doolittle's giant butterfly. It was also only in the 60's, strangely enough, that "black tie" could suddenly be red, green or blue, with a matching cummerbund.
The growth of the bow was also accompanied in the mid-sixties by the reincarnation of the necktie as the "kipper" tie, with its conspicuous width of 5 or 6 inches of outrageous psychedelia. This rebirth in design was perhaps an essential development, with informality and a new found freedom in dress otherwise threatening to condemn the tie the way of the stock and ruffle.

Even "black tie" formalism came under challenge in those radical days. That royal rascal Lord Snowden had a white silk turtle-necked "evening shirt" made in the late 60's, which he wore under a conventional (but needless to say, stylish) dinner jacket. Turtle-necked clones soon cropped up all over the place to the embarrassment of tuxedo-touting purists.

How ties will be worn in the future, probably.

But the wearing of a tie was never challenged much around the male-dominated office. We even got through the seventies, with its safari-suits and spread collars, showcasing tufts of tangled chest-hair. The width of the tie continued to grow into the middle of the decade, as did profit margins with the marketing of "designer ties", led by Pierre Cardin.

The eighties saw the advent of the "power-tie", when the high-flying executive took to pale-yellow or red silk, adorned with an array of small dots or diamonds. But just as a leopard can't change his spots, changing to the latest power-tie proved no protection for Wall Street's power-thieves.

Thus it seems that we can either celebrate or mourn a century in which no serious modification to a man's neck-attire has occurred. I think it is a safe bet that you shouldn't throw out your old ties quite yet as we peer over the tie-rack into the 21st century.

Scientific studies have shown that the width of ties correlates rather well with the length of women's skirts and the stock-market indices. It is not known which is the cause, and which is the effect, however.

So what have we learned from this little side-step into historical treatise? Not a lot, I suggest, other than over the mists of time there has never been any real justification for the cravat, bow tie or current necktie other than one of the whim of fashion. And fashion is a dangerous creature.

The psychological noose

It is blasé to compare the tie to the hangman’s noose. All you have to do is turn it upside down and you have a fine executioner’s tool. Last year some 35 murders in the UK were achieved by the less inventive criminal minds. There is every reason why the tie as well as the belt is taken away from the depressed prisoner. But these are little things compared to the true hideous power of that evil bit of cloth.