Cravat Emptor
Last year I had two brief moments of wardrobe indecision when I was packing for a seminar gig in Houston. The first was how fancy I should get in the pants department. Get it? Fancy pants. Regardless, I couldn’t make up my mind, so I took two pairs: gray dress slacks and a pair of what are commonly called Chino pants. Who was Chino anyway?
Back to the matter at hand. I decided to take two pairs of pants despite the added weight/bulk. The other major fashion decision was whether or not to wear a tie. This knowing the five Italian winemakers I’d be sharing the stage with would probably be dressed Euro-casual.
After a few moments of vacuous indecision, I folded the tie and tucked it neatly into a compartment in the suitcase. If we’re keeping score, the tally at this point was: kick the can down the road – 2, me – 0. When in doubt, put off what can be decided today until tomorrow. Which I did twice. Which leads us to game day, as in the next day.
Pre-shower, I laid out my clothes including the two pairs of pants. After another moment of indecision, I resolved to go with Mr. Chino’s finest. The reason being it was a late morning gig, and odds are my Italian compadres wouldn’t be that dressed up. As for the tie, it was CYA. That doesn’t mean to cravat your ass, by the way, but to cover it. So I neatly folded the tie and put it in one of the inside pockets in my blazer, in case I showed up and everyone decided to go all evening at the regatta on me.
I have a mixed weltschmerz with neck ties. Like most male human mammalians, I’ve worn more than my share over the years, both long and bow. In fact, there are two boxes of ties at the top of my son Patrick’s closet. One box is marked “old,” which must mean the other box is more current. However, both boxes went into the top of the closet almost eight years ago, when we moved to New Mexico from San Francisco. Maybe I’ve opened them once or twice since. The box of “old” ties was corked beyond reason even back then. It must be full-on garden hose by now. If I ventured to wear one of the “old” ties to a social gathering, I would immediately become the least popular guy. Only outdone by not brushing and flossing for several days, or forgetting the Old Spice Fresh Breeze roll on.
My earliest memory of wearing a tie was second-through-fifth grade while a student at Our Lady of the Immaculate Contraption. In particular, part of the uniform for boys was a blue neck tie held fast by an elastic band that was tucked underneath the shirt collar. The important part of the equation was the elastic, which lent itself to major shenanigans. As in another boy grabbing your tie, pulling it back a great distance, and then letting it go resulting in a violent THWACK. Needless to say, I quickly developed cat-like reflexes and grabbed my own tie when I even suspected somebody was about to go for it.
Other memories of ties from the way back include wearing a bow tie with a tux for orchestra concerts. My favorite bow tie for a while was truly a product of its time; a large black velvet butterfly affair that only a young skinny guy in the 70s trying to be groovy at all costs could love. The original velveteen rabbit of ties. But I was not alone. In the family photos taken for my sister Tina’s wedding, all four Gaiser men are wearing bow ties that might prove to have aerodynamic properties if suddenly rotated at great speed. Not that a huge velvet bow tie was beyond the norm then. Remember that it was the 70s, a time when people dressed like every day was Halloween, and any sense of good taste and decency regarding fashion was non-existent. Men’s jackets had lapels as wide as a place mat with the ties to match (see above photo). Pastel colors were en vogue, especially for polyester double knit leisure suits, a favorite of my dad, Martin.
Thankfully, the 80s followed, with narrower and more severe lines in fashion. Ties went from landing strips to something akin to a bolo tie. The latter still popular in the cowboy and hipster crowds. However, ties eventually found their way into my routine, especially after passing the MS exam and having to teach classes as well as present for work gigs. No surprise a progression of styles followed, from pastel and “I’m really not that old” to darker colors, more conservative patterns, and “don’t call attention to yourself.”
These days I rarely put on a tie. Every time I do, I curse those responsible for the idea so long ago. They should have stuck with some version of a woman’s scarf, and for more than one reason. Most men’s ties these days are just this side of drab industrial hues or a bright authoritarian red. Either can be like adding a splash of color on to an aging canvas. By contrast, women’s scarves have seemingly unlimited color and design possibilities.
Back to the seminar gig in Houston. The five Italian winemakers ranged in age from late 20s to early 50s. All were fashionably attired in white dress shirts, skinny pants/jeans, and casual blazers. Needless to say, the tie stayed in my coat pocket. Wearing it would have only confirmed that I was like an aging wildebeest looking for the water hole. But at least I didn’t sport a velveteen rabbit.
