LAST YEAR, WHEN I TOOK MY BROTHER OUT shopping for my wedding, I suggested that he go for a Western look: crisp suits in soft fabrics. Not that the look didn’t work for him—but I had a little bit of an… angle.
I wanted, you see, to nick the neckties after the wedding was done. Wink, wink. So I bought him a jacquard one in dusty rose, a colour I adore, and a paisley-print number in jade. Late last year, I got gifted an embellished piece with all sorts of elaborate sequin-work after I sported a Satya Paul in turquoise at an event.
Recently, I have taken to wearing ties in a big way. They might be on runways in a thousand different shows but I realised they’re a garment that needn’t be brought back or revolutionised, as is being discussed everywhere today. This is a garment that’s inherently cool and extremely versatile. They’ve always been here; you just got too afraid.
Of course, there are the hand-painted silk affairs, novelty ties with a tuft of synthetic hair on the behind and patterned cravats, but I find it to be a crutch. Perhaps a way to paint the entire act of donning one as a performance, a self-aware admittance of ceremony. Now that’s balking.
The tie doesn’t want any part of you if you don’t want every part of it.
The truth is, it is not a trend or an aesthetic or an accessory—it’s when you have a personality and are willing to make an effort. Neckties ruled my fascination for a good decade after I saw Tyler Durden completely annihilate office dressing decorum in that scene from Fight Club (1999).
But then I realised that a necktie deserves to be worn on its own, on the sole merit of the blade being crossed one over the tail, wound around, inserted into the loop carefully and slipped out like a flat snake from its tip.
My favourite necktie look is this: wear a short-sleeve shirt, tucked in, with a wide one, or tie one over a messy tucked-out situation that needs hastily folded sleeves. The idea is to rid the necktie of the formality and preppiness it is usually associated with. Not that those are bad things, but for many men, the garment can come with the burden of occasion. That’s the thing that’s seen to deter guys most.
Often, I will wear a tie with a full-sleeve winter polo contrasted, in solid, patternless colours (no, not like Rob McElhenney in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia); with a linen shirt; under a sweater; over a corduroy shirt or a half-sleeve denim. I just take care not to have too much happening in terms of texture over texture or print over print (that’s the only no-no I have for you). Tone-on-tone is a cool way to add dimension to a regular shirt—something that I have tried doing with a velvet shirt and a Naga-print tie.
I’m on the shorter side height-wise, so a crisp tie lets me add verticality and aerodynamism to my torso. While I prefer to go tie-less with a suit, I cannot wait to wear one with a denim jacket (yes, you read that one right) or a bomber, à la mode, in this age of virality.
None of this is a desperate effort to do fashion, but to add visual interest to the canvas of the rest of my look. I did this when one of my friends was introducing me to her newly minted fiancé. No one can be Christopher Nolan but anyone can look as cool as him wearing that ajrakh tie with a basic grey wool suit.
Fashion feels boring when it has rules. Do what you want and what lets you feel like a cool guy who makes an effort. But remember to slip on a necktie—it can do a thousand different things for you.
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