The Bow Tie: From Formal Necessity to Deliberate Eccentricity

The bow tie descends from the cravat Croatian soldiers introduced to French fashion. As cravats evolved during the nineteenth century, the bow tie split off as a shorter neckcloth tied in a symmetrical bow, practical where long ties might be cumbersome. Surgeons and men near machinery all found it safer.

For much of the twentieth century it occupied two registers. In black silk it was mandatory with a dinner jacket. In patterned silk or wool, it served academics, doctors, and eccentrics who relished its signal of bookish individuality. Churchill wore polka-dot bow ties with three-piece suits.

Tying a bow tie is a rite of passage. The result should be slightly asymmetrical: perfect symmetry looks pre-tied. Drake's of London produces some of the finest self-tie versions in silk and wool (https://www.drakes.com).

The knot itself is no mystery: it is the same bow you tie in a shoelace, executed vertically and in a mirror. Learning it flat on your thigh, slowly, fixes the sequence far faster than fighting it at the bathroom mirror. The finished bow should not extend past the outer corners of your eyes, which is the only sizing rule that has ever been much use.

Shape does more work than pattern. The butterfly, or thistle, is the widest and most traditional, and suits a broad face and a spread collar. The semi-butterfly is the safe default. The batwing, cut straight and narrow, sits small and modern and can look mean under a large head. Fixed-size bow ties, cut to your exact collar measurement, hang better than adjustable ones because no metal slider sits at the back of your neck.

The pre-tied bow tie, attached by hook or clip, is best avoided by adults. Its rigid symmetry betrays its nature immediately. The entire appeal rests on visible evidence of human effort; remove that and you have a clip-on accessory.

The 2010s revival, driven by television characters and heritage interest, also produced backlash. A bow tie works when part of a considered outfit, not when it is the entire outfit. Context is everything, as with the fedora.

For evening wear, rules are unambiguous. Black silk accompanies a dinner jacket; white cotton pique accompanies a tailcoat. Both should be self-tie and match the lapel facing. For daytime, printed silks, woven wools, and linen all have their place.

Prices are modest by menswear standards, which makes cheapness pointless. A good self-tie in English or Italian silk runs £60 to £120 at Drake's, Budd of the Piccadilly Arcade or Turnbull & Asser, and the difference from a £15 version shows in how the bow holds its shape through an evening rather than wilting by the speeches. Store them untied and flat: left knotted overnight, the band takes a permanent crease exactly where it shows.

The bow tie remains viable for the man who understands its implications. Own at least one black self-tie for evening occasions, and consider a second in quiet pattern for expressive days. Tie it yourself, accept imperfections, and wear it as if you always have.