The bow tie and the modern dandy

The bow tie. A difficult area. For evening wear, of course, the rules are straightforward: black tie means a black bow tie (or coloured, but, please, some restraint) and white tie means a white bow tie (never anything else). Here is not the place to expound on the current celebrity trend for wearing a black neck tie with a dinner jacket. But for daywear, the bow tie is a minefield. Should it be worn at all? What would it best we worn with? What colour? What pattern? What shape?

Arguments against it abound. It is too American, some would say. Others would argue that it is the preserve of the eccentric public school master, or, still others, the slightly creepy old man. There is also an argument – powerful,  but one which any dandy must at least ignore, or, better, subvert – that it smacks of trying too hard, and that is an accusation which will cut any well-dressed British man to the quick.

There are good bow tie role models and bad ones. The good ones include Winston Churchill, Robin Day and Keith Floyd, or, for the younger generation, Andre 3000. The bad ones include (we were all thinking it) Pee-Wee Herman. The common factor in all of these cases, however, is that the bow tie is a deliberate statement. No-one can don one and be surprised that it elicits a reaction, favourable or unfavourable. Therein lies its attraction to the dandy, but it also illuminates a fundamental paradox at the heart of dandyism (of which more later).

So, to guidance, then. There are some obvious rules. A bow tie should always be self-tie. Ready-made examples (automatic bow ties, as they were called when I was at university) are an abomination. If you don’t know how to tie one, learn. It isn’t that difficult. And if you can’t be bothered, don’t wear one at all. (Sidebar: for evening wear, that doesn’t mean wear a straight black tie; if you can’t be bothered to tie your own bow tie, give your apologies and don’t go. You don’t deserve it.) But that is very obvious. Another clear piece of guidance should surely be to avoid the excesses of the 1970s-style, ‘bat-wing’ shape, unless (good God) you are doing it on purpose. It suits very few, and no-one wants his clothing to be described as ‘comedy’.

Pattern, pattern. The spotted bow tie is of course classic. In darker colours, it evokes an earlier age, the tipping point between frock-coated Edwardian gentlemen and the modern suit. Make it brighter and it is more of a statement still, skating the border between amusing frivolity and I’m-a-wag. Patterns can work; a muted paisley with a plain suit can be very pleasing to the eye, and even restrained stripes could be acceptable. (Loud or strident stripes are best left, I think, to evening wear, and to the realm of the club tie.)

As a side issue, there is the rest of the outfit. I may be a dyed-in-the-wool conservative, perhaps, but it seems to me that the bow tie will work with either a suit or professorial tweeds. In the latter case, the wearer has made his decision and will have a narrow band of choices; checked shirt, I suspect, tweed or corduroy jacket (very possibly with elbow patches), twills or flannels. In the former case, however, there is a little more freedom. I would advocate a three-piece or double-breasted suit, as one of the pitfalls of the bow tie is an unsightly expanse of shirt-front. And a plain, or plain-ish, shirt is probably advisable – one should only make so many statements at one time. A pocket square is a very apt accompaniment, and perhaps, in skittish mood, a boutonnière. But one ought not to heap Pelion upon Ossa; never forget that the bow tie is in itself very powerful.

It also seems clear that the bow tie wearer must know his audience. Given that it is a clear statement (of whatever sort), bold indeed would be the soul who wore one for a job interview, for a funeral, or to meet his potential in-laws. But to enliven the daily grind in the office, or for a light-hearted but formal social event, the modern dandy must surely acknowledge that the bow tie can be a valuable weapon in his armoury, albeit one which should perhaps be deployed sparingly.

Herein we delve deep into the very essence of dandyism. And we find a striking contradiction, of which, your humble correspondent would suggest, the bow tie is emblematic. What is it that the dandy wants? Superficially, to be noticed, of course, and, as a corollary of that, to have the approval of the rest of humanity. Nevertheless, there is a contrary desire, surely, to do what one will, and to damn the eyes of the rest of the world. Conformity is the very antithesis of dandyism, for if everyone was a dandy, then no-one would be. To be a dandy is to stand out. But how, the impatient reader, cash-rich and time-poor, will ask, does this relate to the bow tie?

Well, I will tell you. To wear a bow tie is to stand out from the crowd. It is to court attention, to invite comment, and to risk mockery. But it is also a form of elegance – that is not too strong a word; a well-sported bow tie is a thing of beauty – which sneers at conventional opinion and establishes the wearer as a free-thinker who cares about what he wears and has put thought into his ensemble, but disregards the herd mentality and the cop-out of “dark suit, white shirt, plain tie”. Either you like clothes or you find them a tiresome necessity. If you fall into the first group, then take heart, and start to think about a bit of experimentation. It won’t kill you.

And, yes, I sometimes wear bow ties. My top tip? Don’t listen to what people say: except me.

New cocktail idea

Dear readers,

I am not, as a rule, much of an innovator when it comes to cocktails. I tend to respect the Herculean efforts of those who have gone before, and generally stick to tried-and-tested ideas like martinis and gimlets. I actively disapprove of a lot of the trendy and "wacky" rot that some bars serve, and I have a particular bugbear when it comes to describing anything that is quaffed from a cocktail glass as a "martini". I am willing to make exceptions - never let it be said that The Sybarite is inflexible! - and an honourable mention must, for example, go to Ian Fleming for his creation, in 1953's Casino Royale, of the Vesper: three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka and half a measure of Kina Lillet. (Alas, Kina has not been in production for twenty-five years, so recreation of this is a tricky business these days; I am told that Cocchi Americano is a reasonable facsimile.) On a side note, it is interesting, and perhaps an illustration of changing times, that Bond orders his cocktail in a "deep champagne goblet".

Where was I? Oh yes, innovation in cocktails. Not generally my bag, but the other week, I was making a martini and my mind idly turned over the sort of variations one could make to the recipe. For some reason, carrot and ginger popped into my head, and I started to wonder... So I bought a bottle of (reasonably cheap) vodka, downed a shot, and put in a chopped-up lump of ginger. The bottle was then resealed and put away for a few weeks. (I found a quick tasting every week was a pleasant way to monitor its progress.) The ginger infused rather nicely; it gave the vodka a distinct and distinctive but not overpowering undercurrent of ginger, while retaining the spiritous kick which gives vodka its reason to be.

I daresay that this ginger vodka could be put to a good many purposes. In this case, however, I added to probably three measures of it one of Lillet Blanc, a dash of orange bitters, and, rather than a twist, a generous curl of fresh carrot. The effect was deeply pleasing. Ginger and orange go well, and the sweetness of the carrot was a pleasant and quirky whisper in the background. I advise trying it. The only problem now is that I can't think of a name for my new creation...

Review: Carte Blanche, by Jeffrey Deaver

Well, dear readers, no self-respecting sybarite could ignore the publishing of a new James Bond novel, Jeffrey Deaver's Carte Blanche, published here in the UK on 25 May but as yet, I believe, awaiting release in the US. I confess - no, that has a hint of apology - I aver that I am a great Bond fan, and the Fleming books are among my favourite novels. I also enjoyed the John Gardner continuation books, though I haven't read the later Raymond Benson stories. So, what of the new addition to the canon?

First, the Fleming estate deserves credit for its courage. A much more comprehensive 'reboot' than the recent films has taken place with Bond explicitly now of the current times, a veteran of RNR service in Iraq and Afghanistan (his service there is not detailed, but one suspects it was more high-octane than mentoring and training, or logistics). The original Bond, though his age was something of a moveable feast, was of an explicit generation, having served in the Second World War, and the new Bond is no exception. The other brave move was to bring in American crime novelist Jeffrey Deaver, a man with an already-established authorial voice. Both decisions were firm departures from the very fine Sebastian Faulks-penned novel Devil May Care. Faulks's book was set in the 1960s, and was written "as" Ian Fleming, Faulks being an accomplished literary pastiche writer. He was brilliantly successful; the book really could have been written by Fleming, and there were some lovely touches to it. Deaver's book is a different proposition.

The plot, while a little convoluted, is gripping, and sufficiently unpredictable to keep even the casual reader interested. Deaver presents a credible Bond, successful and effective but with an undertone of sourness, and his depiction of the world of espionage is convincing, though the inter-service rivalries are sometimes overdone. Our hero has been shifted from the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS, or, colloquially but incorrectly, MI6) to a shady organisation known as the Overseas Development Group or ODG, a latter-day SOE designed, as M tells Bond, to "protect the Realm... by any means necessary". It is heartening to see reinvented old friends like M, Bill Tanner and Mary Goodnight, and Deaver portrays Bond's organisation without too many knowing winks at his reinvention.

This being a Bond novel, of course, we have exotic locations: the Balkans, South Africa and, er, a disused military hospital in Cambridgeshire. Two outta three ain't bad. Deaver is very good on South Africa in particular, with some fascinating descriptions of the Rainbow Nation, in its glory and its squalor. We also have a host of beautiful and glamorous women, from Ophelia Maidenstone, ODG's SIS liaison officer, through the South African police captain Bheka Jordaan to Bon's only conquest of the novel, a dynamic anti-hunger campaigner Felicity Willing (the only rather awkward nudge-nudge, wink-wink name in the book). We also have a marvellous Bond villain, the sinister Severan Hydt, who is fascinated by death and decay. Hydt is a slightly outlandish character, but we expect that of a Bond villain, and if he is a man who probably doesn't exist, he is not a man who couldn't.

And, of course, we have brand names. Fleming was a great exponent of product placement before the term was invented, but for him it had a purpose. He was writing in the 1950s, when austerity was still the order of the day, at least in the UK, and the high-quality products James Bond used were a window into a life of unattainable but attractive glamour for his readers. Deaver picks up the baton; Bond drives a grey Bentley Continental GT, drinks Crown Royal whisky (with which he invents a new cocktail, a nice echo of Casino Royale, where it all began) and Dom Perignon, tells the time with a Rolex Oyster Perpetual and clothes himself in Canali and Turnbull and Asser. Deaver has thought a great deal about Bond and Fleming, and acknowledges that Bond used not necessarily the flashiest or most expensive brands, but the best. It is woven through the novel without becoming intrusive.

So is it a good book? Yes. It is a well-paced and intricately-plotted thriller, as one would expect from an author of Deaver's calibre, and it updates Bond convincingly. There are one or two slips which demonstrate Deaver's unfamiliarity with writing in a British voice; no-one from Belfast could be described as having a "mid-Ulster" accent, and the idea that the Travellers' Club can always be relied on for excellent food and first-class service will be a surprise to its members. But these are tiny stumbles, and Deaver will iron out any wrinkles in time.

I was disappointed when Sebastian Faulks was not commissioned to write another Bond novel, and very sceptical at the notion of a 'reboot'. But Deaver pulls it off. Carte Blanche is a good thriller, a good Bond book and a good read. Buy it, and enjoy it.

[NB - Titus points out that I mislabelled Crown Royal as a "bourbon". Mea culpa, I was distracted for a moment. It is, of course, a blended Canadian whisky.]

Shades of opinion

Dear readers,

I promised some while ago in my musings on summer clothing and accessories a word on sunglasses. As we are now into June, perhaps it is the time for a few thoughts which might be helpful.

My principal gripe is that, while people often put a great deal of effort into choosing their sunglasses, they very rarely (seem to) pause to consider whether the shades in question match the rest of their ensemble. Now, this seems prima facie to be absurd. One wouldn't carefully select a pair of shoes, for example, then assume that they would look dandy with a suit or with a polo shirt and a pair of shorts.

There is a school of thought that sunglasses of any kind simply do not go with formal clothes. To me, this is the placing of form far too far above function. Sunglasses are useful items, and to shun them on the grounds of aesthetics seems to be cutting off one's nose to spite one's face (after which it would be very difficult to wear sunglasses anyway). Care must be taken, of course, unless one cultivates the image of a Secret Service agent, but the feat is perfectly possible.

At this point I must make a declaration. I have a great loyalty to Ray Bans, and my taste in sunglasses is somewhat traditionalist. The Sybarite does not wear Killer Loops. So, rather that overreach myself, I will put before you my tastes from which you may, if you wish, extrapolate wider lessons.

One of the most iconic types of sunglasses is, of course, the aviator. It is of long standing, too, having been pioneered by the US Army Air Force before World War 2. If you are going to choose aviators (and there is no reason why not - I have a pair), you need go no further than Ray Ban, in my opinion. They did it first and they did it best. But perhaps one or two considerations. Make sure they fit your face shape. The slender of visage might do well to avoid them, for fear of looking top-heavy and bug-eyed. I also have a vague sense that they simply do not go with a suit. (If you have Navy whites, then that is a different affair, but then, if you do, you are either in the Navy or looking at the wrong sort of website.) With a blazer and chinos, I think they can look very well, so it is not an out-and-out matter of "Not with any kind of formal clothes".

Ray Ban's Wayfarers enjoyed their first heyday in the 1950s, before falling heavily out of fashion until revived by Hollywood in the 1980s (think The Blues Brothers or Risky Business). For myself, I am very fond of Wayfarers. I have a mild preference for tortoise shell over black, but either can look very elegant. I also think they are pretty much multi-purpose, as they will not look out of place with informal clothes for a back yard barbecue, but can also be worn with a suit without being incongruous. (Here preference might be given to tortoise shell, lest onlookers think you believe you actually are Jake or Elwood. Much will depend on the suit.)

A more obviously retro style, though one which my youth advisers tell me is enjoying a renaissance, is the Clubmaster. The frames (though without tinted lenses) were sported by Kevin Costner when he played Jim Garrison in Oliver Stone's (actually rather tedious and self-important) JFK. Here I must confess that I own two pairs, one in black and one in tortoise shell, and they are perhaps my favourite sunglasses. I think they are positively ideal for more formal wear, and set off a suit beautifully. I have even worn them with morning dress, and I think I got away with it.

Dear readers will already by aware, I think, that I favour "classic" designs over the modern. A final mention in this category must be the folding Persol sunglasses worn by Steve McQueen in the original version of The Thomas Crown Affair. Now, these are indeed iconic, but two words of caution. Firstly, while they are very convenient the hinge between the lenses can look a little odd at first when they are worn. More importantly, though, if you are going to 'reference' Steve McQueen in a sartorial way, you need either the looks or the balls to pull it off. This is not to say that anyone who wears Persols must be an action man, but do not cower, or apologise. Hold your head up high, and perhaps even swagger a little. The message must be, "Yes, Steve McQueen wore these. And what of it?"

Doubtless you will not all be devotees of Ray Bans. But think about the shapes and styles of the sunglasses I have mentioned. Doubtless other manufacturers produce similar products. Most importantly, just think about sunglasses as part of your outfit. You will have deduced from what is above that I have several pairs of sunglasses. You may think this is extravagant. But, really, is it? Good sunglasses can be had for less than a good pair of shoes. And three or four pairs will broaden your horizons so much. A bit of care and thought will have you looking the compleat gentleman.

(A final word to reader who wear spectacles. Prescription sunglasses will restrict you considerably. For this I am sorry, but I think you only really have two options. Sit this dance out, or, as I did, switch to contact lenses.)