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.