Why I Wear a Tie

                                                The Irascibles

“You’re overdressed.”
“Oh, I haven’t worn a tie in years.”

I hear variations of those two statements regularly because I wear a tie.

In today’s culture of convenience and comfort, wearing a tie is strangely iconoclastic. So, why do I do it?

It’s a habit. It’s not something I debate or think about when I’m getting dressed; it’s as intuitive as combing my hair. If I’m leaving the house on business, I’m leaving in a tie. In fact, it’s so ingrained that, on the rare occasion I’m not wearing a tie, I feel off—like I’m only wearing one sock. Which leads me to my next point.

I’m vain. There is no denying that a man looks better in a tie than without one. If you need proof, take a stroll down Fifth Avenue in a tie and count how many women (of all ages) check you out—cue Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.” Then do it sans tie. It’s almost as though you’re invisible—unless you’re the handsomest sumbitch in New York, which I am not. So, I require a tie to compensate for not looking like a leading man, but even Cary Grant was rarely seen without one.

Another reason I wear a tie is that it’s a sign I respect you. When I arrive at a meeting in a tie, it means you’re important to me and I’m taking our time together seriously. I find that a tie sets the right tone, like a perfectly arranged dinner table.

This next reason might anger some of y’all, but it’s simple: I am an adult. When I hear a man complain about wearing a tie, it sounds like my kids complaining about any number of childish things. Having an emotional reaction to dressing like an adult is not something I can empathize with. I believe our country would be better off if men had a change in perspective when it comes to dressing up.

Lastly, the men I respect and aspire to be like have always worn ties. These range from writers like Gay Talese, Robert Caro, and Tom Wolfe, to college football coaches like Vince Dooley, Bear Bryant, and General Neyland, to titans of business such as Andrew Carnegie, J.P. Morgan, and John D. Rockefeller, to statesmen like Eisenhower, Kennedy, and both Roosevelts, and even to musicians like Charlie Watts, Roy Hargrove, and Sinatra.

It doesn’t take a historian to point out the obvious—of the sixteen men I mentioned, only two are alive, and one is 92 (Talese) and the other is 88 (Caro). I guess I’m old-fashioned. And I guess wearing a tie is a bit old-fashioned, but I don’t believe for a second that anyone would argue that our fathers and grandfathers didn’t look like real men.