By Neil Coupe
Last week, I attended a party in Northern Ireland and struck up a conversation with someone who worked for a company that manufactures ties.
It was a company with a long history, dating back to 1820, with a nice old-fashioned name, a Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria, and a logo from another era. I was delighted to learn that the British Isles still had a business in this sector, employing a dozen or so staff.
I was very keen to support the business, so tracked down the pleasingly archaic website and looked through the selection of Irish poplin and jacquard ties, some regimental, some not.
I appreciated the heritage of the business so just had to buy one. A nice pink and ecru with a basketweave style was my choice and was delighted when it arrived.
Then came a dawning realisation. When was I actually going to wear it?
The most recent occasions when I have worn ties have been the black tie I always wear at funerals, and an understated one to match my only pocket square at a wedding.
Professionally, it is difficult to imagine any time I am likely to require one unless I am dragged before a tribunal, a judge or fanciful as it sounds, am invited to act as some type of expert witness.
Then I remembered. I have some ties. Lots of them. In fact, I have them hanging on a genuine tie rack. They are never worn – so why did I just buy one?
Going through the rack of unworn, neglected ties, it was obvious that I needed to cull the ones I had.
Obviously, I could not get rid of the ones my wife and other generous people had bought me as presents. It would be extravagant in the extreme to dump the ones with renowned Italian, French or Spanish designer labels. There is a beige houndstooth Ferre tie – that cannot go because beige may be back in fashion one day.
I looked at a tasteless 1990s tie inauthentically mixing flower power and primary colours. I will never wear that. Hang on, a similar one is going for €100 on Etsy. It is a potential heirloom, so it cannot possibly go.
A few stragglers were reluctantly disposed of, mainly because they were frayed at the edges, or had come apart. Some sensible ties went to a charity shop and hopefully on to a deserving home.
I found it impossible to get rid of the core three dozen or so that remained, although they had lain dormant for virtually the past two decades. If I wear a tie approximately once every four months then it will take me 12 years to wear each one, taking me from what is euphemistically described as ‘latter middle age’ to a very definite ‘elderly’.
I find it easy to get rid of other garments.
My jeans always wear out in the same place and are irretrievable. Away they go. Once the holes underneath the sleeve of a polo shirt develop, the polo shirt is on borrowed time.
I have no sentimentality about giving away items when they no longer fit, or when the colour is offensive to the discerning contemporary eye, but I cannot easily dump my tie collection.
I wonder whether somehow ties feel like an item for a ‘special event’, and that they have a place of honour together with elegantly boxed cufflinks in a gentleman’s wardrobe.
They exist, but are seldom used, yet for some reason they must be protected.
