Those pink shoes you wore every day for a year when you were six, that huge T-shirt your dad bought on a trip to Hawaii that you couldn't sleep without wearing, that black dress you wore to your Sweet 16 party or that blue sweater you wore on your first date. Certain articles of clothing often have some type of greater meaning to individuals. A dress, a hat or an outfit can bring back memories of a time, place or special someone. The art of wearing a certain fashion item can also bring back memories of a friend or loved one. Remember when your dad taught you how to tie a tie? Or when your mom showed you how to pin a bow in your hair? I received one such example of the link between an article of clothing and memory from a Doctoral Candidate in the University's English Department, Richard Gibson. After reading a column of mine on bowties, Richard sent me an ode to a special person in his life who taught him the art of tying bowties and so much more...
ON BOWTIES
for James E. Hughes, Sr.
(1913-2004)
Ms. Karamanos,
So men can wear bows too, you say, at least about their necks. It's controversial, though, you conclude -- a feature only fit for a certain combination of years, charms and demeanor. I do hope that I am included among those you count eligible for the distinction, for I've been tying bowties since the age of fourteen and do so now weekly as a teacher. If not, then please allow me to make my apology and perhaps not only to you but also to others who are considering warily whether a bowtie might appear from out of his (or, for the adventurous, her) collar.
One great risk that the bowtier takes is best understood by considering where most frequently we find bows in the world of fashion: on the backs and bellies of evening gowns, confirmation garments and showy Southern belle sundresses; on headbands, around hair-locks and in derby-style hats; on and as all other kinds of accessories, including shoe-tops; in short, anywhere in feminine dress from head to toe. Furthermore, the bowtier loses, as any Freudian fashion critic would assure us, the power of the phallic suggestion enjoyed by his fellows in ordinary neckties. But with this loss perhaps comes the bowtier's gain: for while he may be dainty, he is, too, darling. And, let's not forget, the bowtier does often receive a certain respect for the rare ability to tie that pesky bow.
Just as the bowtie has ties to both feminine and masculine dress, so, too, does it have ties to both Conservatives and Liberals. When you interviewed a friend for your November fourth column, you reported that he found the bowtie "too Republican and too preppy" for his person. He, like most, probably had in mind the image of Tucker Carlson, that remarkably resilient pundit, on "Crossfire." When spotted wearing a bowtie shortly after the presidential election, I was accosted with the question, "You voted Republican, didn't you?" Yet my mentor in the craft (to whom I dedicate this column) was a Roosevelt Democrat. And Roosevelt wore bowties (as did Truman), although perhaps not as well as the greatest of all bowtiers, Winston Churchill. To your friend, then, I urge him to reconsider the garment in light of its clientele in the Greatest Generation.
In truth, we end up together: I agree that the bowtie is a complicated symbol -- which seems to evoke a scowl just as easily as a smile. But I would add, in closing, this: that the bowtie has helped me to appreciate those rare and most valuable traditions that pass quietly between generations. The silk that I wear about my neck on Tuesdays is most meaningful to me now as a means of honoring and remembering my mentor. Throughout my life, I have been pulled in all sorts of directions by the tides of fashion -- always with the goal of assimilation. But now I'm willing to endure the "controversy" for the sake of a symbol that has taken on a private meaning, the appreciation of which trumps all of my other concerns. I can find no fabric that has a richer substance.
-Richard Hughes Gibson