I want to say right at the outset: my motives here are pure. This Substack is NOT just an elaborate excuse to get people to give me cool ties.
However, when someone does…
Last February, upon hearing that I was starting The Dandy’s Noose, my father and fellow tie-aficionado Gregory Gerber did the following:
1) He subscribed, and told my Uncles and brother to do the same (they have not!).
2) He asked, “Do you get actual money if people buy ties via the links?” (answer: yes!)
3) And he said, “Next time I see you, I’m going to bring you a nice tie.”
Dad hand-delivered this dark green winner during a drippy March visit to Santa Monica. “I got this one at Barney’s in New York,” he said. “Did you ever go there?”
“Yeah, but I was always too broke to do anything but window-shop.” My Nineties were lean, ladies and gents.
“Well, now you have something.”
This is an excellent tie which I will wear often. Many’s the day I feel like a bunny peering into an empty flowerpot.
Because my parents live in Chicago and I live here in front of InDesign, months and occasionally years go by without IRL contact. But we are (I am) attempting to turn over a new leaf in this regard, hiring help for Bystander and generally trying to be more available for, y’know, life. So Dad and I met again about three weeks later, when the three of us were all in New Haven for The Yale Record’s 150th Gala (my parents ponied up $250 for a pair of tickets, God and Old Owl bless ‘em).
I was at a trot for four days straight, but Dad grabbed me at the end of a presentation on the history of the magazine. “That was interesting. By the way, I brought you another tie,” he said, unveiling the snazzy number below.
As you can see, my Dad is an expert in the ancient Preppy art of the tie that seems utterly straight-laced, but reveals a sly whimsicality upon close examination. This, to the Press-and-Brooks tribe, is a bit like poetry or calligraphy is to the Taoist masters—a subtle art which belies a whole life philosophy: always appear presentable, but underneath, let your freak flag fly.
One year when I was around ten, we were visiting my grandparents in Fairfield, CT. On a Saturday afternoon, Dad and I found ourselves in a men’s furnishing store. "C’mere Mikey,” Dad said, standing next to a display of neckties. “Look at this one.”
I took the tie from his hand; on a field of dark navy, there were small letters in silver thread.
“4Q?” I said. “I don’t get it.”
“Think about it,” Dad smirked. Somewhere between the shop and Hill Farm Road, the penny dropped. “Fuck you!” I said, laughing. “You should’ve bought it!”
Dad smiled. Motorbikes and bunnies are more his style.
Thanks for the ties, Dad. I’ll wear them and think of you.
For someone so low on the prestige ladder, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time wearing neckties. You think I was running a 1960s ad agency with all the ties I’ve worn.
As soon as can a.) Get them out of storage where they're kept between special occasions, and b.) figure out how to up load a photo to this site, I'll be glad to share 'em!!!