So Knot Me

The Windsor

I'm not a fan of the windsor, to tell you the truth. There is something ostentatious about the windsor knot, like you're trying too hard. At best it makes one look smugly self-satisfied, at worst like a footballer on the way to court. It undercuts any attempt at nonchalant cool, which is surely the aim of a man forced into such attire of on a morning.

I don't worry too long about matching ties to shirts, I pretty much keep it simple. When in doubt, Friendly Fire (blue on blue); this motto has, more than once, saved me vital decision making seconds in the morning coffee cornflake keys scramble out the door.

Frenchmen

I always wanted to wear a tie like a Frenchman in movie. Vincent Cassell, maybe. White shirt, thin black tie, espresso, cigarette. That's it, no job needed, just sit around, doing that and being French. But I don't smoke, and I'm pretty sure that's an essential part of the deal. You can be ugly as sin, but if you're French, and you smoke: you're gold.

What age do you get to when the wearing of a tie is almost essential to preserve your dignity? When I'm old, and look like a taxi driver, I'll always wear a tie. I'll hide behind elegance in the grey suit and unbuffed shoes.

The Half Windsor. This is something I should think about more. That's where we should be. If you're going to teach you son something useful, go with this.

The School Tie

It might have a real name, but it should be called the school tie. Why do they teach you that? Must be because it's the best knot to tie badly, articulating your anti-authoritarian adolescent angst. Have at thee, hegemony, the hoodies seem to say, not only is my tie an inch long but it is an insult to the Windsors.

The Shelby. Something suspicious about that final maneuver.

The Black Tie

The exception. Always forms a perfect knot, first time. From Charity shop cheap to cashmier silk. Ties must respect those that move on. I guess it's a bit of a shop window for them: after all, what man goes to the next place with an open shirt?

The Dickie Bow. No real need, is there? There's always one fella at every wedding who can sort you out. He'll wander in to the Grooms inner circle on D-day, on the pretense of an errand, and opportunely offer a helping hand, leaving the room, a conquerer, with a false modesty that fools no one. You whisper when he's gone that he practices for such occasions.

The Clip On. Never seen one, to be honest. Can't believe their convincing.