Ties that bindIn a man’s wardrobe, it’s the tie that brings it all togetherThe necktie is such a curious thing. No item of men’s apparel draws more attention or causes more consternation than this whimsical strip of colored fabric that fills the space between the lapels of your suit jacket. Some consider it a choking symbol of subjugation, a noose to be yanked off at the earliest moment in a gesture of freedom. For others, it is a sign of superiority and power that underlines the importance of a businessman’s work. A bowtie, on the other hand, instantly identifies its bearer as an intellectual with a playful wit—and arrogant enough to consider himself as such. Unless you have a nose ring, there’s no more visible statement about what kinda guy you are — bold or bashful, adventurous or conservative, confident or, umm, overcompensating.
That’s a lot for a piece of clothing 57 inches long to convey. No wonder there are moments in every man’s life when he finds himself standing in front of a mirror dwelling on a tie: How to knot it? How to match it with a shirt and suit? Will it make the right impression? Inevitably, he will pose that loaded, age-old question, “How’s my tie?”
Well, if it’s a Robert Talbott Seven Fold, then it’s a luxurious, silken treasure. Hand-crafted in a tailoring studio nestled among pine trees and rolling hills on the edge of California’s Monterey Peninsula, the Seven Fold is a throwback to an era when tie makers didn’t replace silk with linings of wool, canvas or polyester to cut costs. Billed as “the finest tie human hands can produce,” it’s named for the way the single piece of fabric is exactingly folded in on itself seven times, creating a 100% silk garment that drapes fluidly, hangs straight and is both malleable and durable. Only 40 ties of any single pattern are ever produced, and on the underside of every Seven Fold’s tail is a small, cream-colored box with a handwritten edition number. “In a world where everyone is wearing ties,” says David Doherty, the Toronto-area sales rep for Robert Talbott, “it has a distinct number to it.”
And a distinct price: $300. But if it’s worth wearing, it’s worth wearing well. The tie offers a unique opportunity for a man to make a defining statement. While every wardrobe item—suit, shirt, socks, shoes, accessories—should complement the others in overall look and style, the tie is where all his noblest intentions should coalesce. “It’s not the tie itself, but the overall image of what the tie can do,” says Carl Carter, a sales associate at Vassi, a tony Bay Street boutique. It’s the linchpin of an outfit. The right tie makes it all work, concurs Bob Dunham, merchandise manager at Harry Rosen’s flagship store in Toronto. “The wrong tie can kill it,” he adds. “It can be a great, great tie—it’s just in the wrong place.” If clothes make the man, the tie makes the clothes.
What makes a great tie? Certainly color, pattern and texture all play important roles. Regardless of whether you’re eyeing a woven tie (in which colored silk threads are interlaced in a patterned fabric) or printed tie (in which the raw silk undergoes a series of ink screens), the resulting color should be intense and rich. “You can just see the difference,” says Carter. “With less expensive ties, you’re going to get a matte finish, and the colored dye lot isn’t going to have the same texture.”
The fabric that goes into Seven Folds (which are almost exclusively printed because woven fabric uses too much silk to be neatly folded) go through up to 25 different silk screens at Italian mills—as much as an Hermès scarf. Some raw silk fabrics are woven with a jacquard pattern for an additional underlying texture, and then overprinted. Each screen applies a separate color gradation—the more, the better.
The Seven Fold was really the genius of Lydia Grayson, who became an employee of Robert and Audrey Talbott soon after the company’s inception in 1950. An expert tailor, Grayson later came out of a seven-year retirement in 1986 to revive the seven-fold method of neckwear tailoring, which she last used in the 1930s. Today, her apprentices make ties exactly the same way.
They begin with more than a yard and a half of silk for each tie—more than three times what is used in their regular lines. The tie begins life as two pieces cut from a bolt of printed silk, all at a 45-degree bias. (This innovation, introduced in 1924 by New York tailor Jesse Langsdorf, allows the fabric to stretch naturally and hang without twisting.) The two pieces are stitched together—the only step in the process that relies on a machine—and the fabric is lightly pressed, then folded into the shape of a tie. The tipping (the underside at each end) does not feature the common silk or satin lining, but its hems are finished by hand, as is the back seam, which is sewn with a single silk thread known as the lifeline. This slip-stitch is given six inches of slack to prevent it from snapping under the strain of daily wear—without it, the tie would not hold its shape.
It’s not as flawless as a machine-made, designer tie, but those small imperfections—in the stitching, for instance—are indicative of the care and craftsmanship that has gone into its creation. “When you can see it’s crafted, as opposed to coming off a cookie-cutter assembly line,” says Doherty, “there’s a romance in that.” And exclusivity. Once you select fabric from a thick swatch book, you can custom order your tie to your specifications: a little bit longer, or maybe wider at the neck for larger knot. The result is a tie that’s just as you want it—the most distinct expression of yourself.
Of course, it’s a three- or four-week wait before you receive it. If your sartorial needs are urgent, there are many finely crafted ties that can also make a sharp impression. David Vosko, merchandise manager for Harry Rosen stores, recommends designer ties by Zegna (about $155) and Luciano Barbera ($175). Vassi features hand-cut ties by Borrelli (also a famous Italian shirt maker) for $185, as well as Swiss-made, hand-stitched van Laacks, for $225. This fall, Vassi will also carry a $295 Tino Cosma tie that has threads of 24-karat gold woven into it.
A fine tie should strike the delicate balance of being distinctive yet versatile, appropriate for different situations and many shirt-and-suit combinations. These items must all work together, in balance and contrast, to make a bold statement about the man. This fall, the trend is toward boldly patterned ties with strong, wide stripes, or even paisleys, matched with robust checked and striped shirts. It’s a long way from the tone-on-tone look popularized by Regis Philbin two years ago, much to Dunham’s pleasure. “With the monochromatic stuff, there really was no focus,” he disdains. “But here, your eye moves from the tie to the shirt—there’s movement when you look at it.”
It comes down to one thing: sex appeal. “At the end of the day, the test of a tie is a woman coming up to you and saying, ‘Nice tie,’” says Vosko. “Men dress to look good and feel good about themselves—it’s an ego thing.” Doherty agrees. “I want to make my statement, and my statement is here,” he declares, pointing to his own, orange-and-white striped Seven Fold, No. 2 of 42. “This is my shield.”
