TAMPA -- In a book review in the September issue of
TAS, our Florence King's latest public service was to out
the inventor of one of the worst instruments of torture devised by
the black heart of man.
No, no, not the thumb-screw or the rack or reality television. I
speak rather of the vile necktie, which has been inflicting
discomfort on millions of men (and in our gender-equality besotted
society, some women now as well) at least since the butt end of the
18th century.
The inventor of this unspeakable blight on the enjoyment of the
masculine life was one Beau Brummell, an early Brit metrosexual
who, I regret to report, escaped hanging (guess what I would have
used to do the job?), but in a come-back victory for justice died
from the worst symptoms of syphilis. This blackguard better hope
that Hell is a dry heat, because I'm sure this is where his sorry
soul will be found for Eternity.
La King quotes leggy Australian feminist Germaine Greer to the
effect that it's insane to allow the world to be run by members of
a sex who start each day by tying a noose around their necks. (So,
who says we're in charge? But that's another issue for another day.
Wife of Bath, call your office.) Most of Germaine's other
pronunciamentos are pretty dotty, but it's hard to get around this
one.
The neck tie serves no discernible clothing purpose. I mean,
what's so bad about seeing a man's bare neck anyway? Clearly we
have various bits and pieces that look a lot worse (though, in
fairness, now that I think of it, we're encouraged to cover these
as well).
Aside from being of no utility, the necktie causes all manner of
discomfort (bordering on agony in hot, humid climates, this
resident of Tampa will testify to under oath) ranging from
restriction of movement to sweaty, itchy necks, with other offenses
in between. Many men have learned to tolerate neckties, but hardly
any man I know likes them. The only honest answer when your kid
asks, "Daddy, why do you wear a necktie to work?" is, "Because I
have to."
MY OWN INTRODUCTION to Brummell's abomination came on an otherwise
unsullied fall evening in 1954 on the occasion of my first formal
dance, an affaire de hop put on by my junior high school. As I
buttoned up a starched white collar and wrapped a
bought-for-the-occasion tie around my then virgin neck, I remember
saying to my mother, "I really don't like the way this feels." Her
reply, which seemed reasonable at the time, was, "You'll get used
to it."
Become resigned to it, more like. I want to make it clear that
my now widowed and sainted mother doesn't make it a habit of lying
to me. But it's been more than a half century since that melancholy
fall night in Tampa and I'm not "used to it" yet. I'll be an angel
long before that happens.
Lewis Grizzard had it about right when he said that neckties are
men's payback for the fact that we don't have to get pregnant (you
might not want to trot this comparison out when moms are around --
it may not get the best reception). So if neckties serve no purpose
save to cause agony, how did their voluntary use become so
widespread? It's one of the mysteries of the ages. Doubtless it has
some deep psychological source having to do with self-loathing.
One of the most frequent but fatuous arguments in favor of the
necktie is that it makes a man look "businesslike." Excuse me, but
a man wearing a necktie when it's 90 degrees with humidity to match
doesn't look businesslike -- he looks stupid.
As a conservative I'm totally sympathetic to the notion of
upholding dress standards. There are far too many rat-bags out
there who offend the eye (and often the nose). At my local Borders
some of the employees dress as though they're going immediately
after work to muck out a stable. And some well-intentioned
employers, in an attempt to give the help a little dress latitude,
have seen Casual Friday degenerate into Train Wreck Friday, with
some employees reporting to work in clothes that appear to have
been acquired during a smash and grab at the Hell's Angels encore
shop.
So let's get the Mickey Mouse tee-shirts, and shorts, the legs
of which appear to have been chewed off by mid-sized rodents, out
of the office. But let's not lose our heads (or at least not our
necks). Let the word go forth that men can come to work with a
crease in their trousers and a shine on their shoes without
cinching something up around their necks, there to torment them for
the rest of the day.
The Syphilitic Brummell died in an insane asylum, which is where
all of us belong if we don't cast off Brummell's plague of an
invention. Freedom to the male neck! Ignominy to the memory of Beau
Brummell! And thanks to Florence King for pinning the tail on this
odious donkey.
topics:
Television, Business
