Reader Gifts #1

Dad comes across with a couple of real beauts

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.”

Yes, those are bunnies investigating flowerpots (and carrots).

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.

I may never be able to ride a motorcycle, but now I can wear one.

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.