The Skinny On Ties

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We have commented here before that the necktie is the surviving element of the male wardrobe that is purely decorative. If it is true that form follows function, there is no prescribed form for an accessory that, by definition, is completely without function. For that reason, you can make it a classic neck to waist cravat, go for a Pharrell bowtie, or go for a turquoise-clasped bolo — at least if you are from the West.

Cloth ties can come in any width, as long as you can close them and they do not rub into your face or flap into your arms. When I was young, my father was friends with George Goldman, a legendary New York necktie manufacturing impressario, back when most ties sold in the USA were made there. I remember when my father came home from a meeting with George, bearing a fistful of thin neckties –only to note, not long after, that they had slipped out of fashion. The Mad Men age was over, taking with it the thin tie and long-accepted business terms such as “career girl” and “make it a double.”

Ties next grew wide, to the point of obesity, during the following decade. And then, thanks to the temperate good taste of designers such as Giorgio Armani and Ralph Lauren, ties went to the gym and trimmed down. And then, wouldn’t you know it: the thin tie, now known by its workout-sanctioned name of the skinny tie, returned, along with thin lapels.

Because it has become tough to say what is “correct” in business wear of late, those of us who pay Man Skinny Tie - Face Hidden - BWattention to these things keep two tie collections, one in the moderate ninety-centimeter width of the classic Kiton seven-fold and the other in the anorexic sixty centimeter width of the just-discontinued Brooks Brothers Black Fleece line designed by Thom Browne. And to think: all that fuss over something that most men working in offices and classrooms do not even make part of their daily wardrobes anymore.

This rolling in and out of necktie widths throughout the decades illustrates another key element of fashion law: it is of no matter if you were the first to bring back the skinny tie or even if you found a way to make them from thermal-insulated cloth for inclement winter days. You will not get intellectual property protection for the shape and other physical characteristics of any tie in any form that we know at this time that the market will accept. However, it is still possible to obtain protection on the pattern of the tie fabric, if it is truly unique. Considering the way that trends go and come and that, in the 1970s, chunky ties appeared with elaborate printed scenes to fill out their broad canvases, if your vision is of a complete Tahitian village or perhaps of a new interpretation of the Judgment of Paris, your day may soon be here. And if your designs are truly unique, you can register your copyrights. Those neckties will not have any more use than the ones you see today, but their designs will be exclusively yours.

Credit: Alan Behr


Matryoshka Marketing

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We have all seen Russian matryoshka (nesting) dolls: open one and out comes another, and open that and you get another, and so on. When a fashion brand incorporates components from another brand into its finished product, it is rather the same thing, with a difference: although the brand covering the finished product is the brand that in all likelihood is the primary branding driver of consumer demand and the primary branding influence for consumer purchasing, that brand will not exist in isolation. It will be helped or hurt by the quality, function and aesthetic appeal of the brands of the constituent parts.

Perhaps the easiest place to see that at work is watchmaking. There are many more well-known watch brands than there are watch movement makers. Although most watch brands design and make their own cases, they often rely on others to make the most important thing in the package: the actual movement. If the movement is not working properly—if the watch is not keeping time—good luck trying to convince the consumer that all he or she really wanted was a well-designed bracelet with a watch-face for decoration. Typically, the maker of the movement is not even mentioned in advertising, on the product or in the accompanying instructions. Clothing, however, is a bit different since there are some key fabric vendors whose brands are considered important enough to drive sales, which is why garment makers are willing, if not eager, to place the Gor-Tex and Loro Piana trademarks on clothes made with fabrics bearing those brands.

All well and good, but a couple of key points should be considered:

First, no matter how you, the manufacturer, market the finished piece, you are helping build good will (and therefore value) in the brand of your supplier. Your vendor is the legal owner of that goodwill, not you. Your advertising will promote and otherwise benefit the vendor, which at times might also participate directly by adding its trademarks to the ads. All of that should be considered when entering into the agreement by which the vendor’s trademarks will appear on your fashion products. In addition, your vendor will likely require an agreement permitting it to exercise quality control over the use of its marks—which is again what the law expects—so be prepared to have the vendor involved in production in a way you might not typically expect from a supplier of components not displaying B2C branding.

The other key point to consider is that, even if the consumer is aware of the vendor’s brand and the vendor’s contribution to your finished product, the consumer will most likely hold your brand accountable for the performance of your product. Going back to the watchmaking example: ETA SA Manufacture Horlogère Suisse (a subsidiary of Swatch Group Ltd.) makes movements that go into a number of watch models made by Breitling SA, which is an unrelated, privately held Swiss company. Even a consumer who is fully aware of that fact is not going to say, “Hey, my Swatch stopped working!” in the (highly unlikely) event that his Breitling should cease to function—even though, in a purely mechanical sense, that is exactly what happened.

Just a few things to keep in mind when entering into supply contracts with important vendors.

Credit: Alan Behr


Welcome to Designer Hell, No Name

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The applied arts, including fashion, stand in service of utility. There is no l’art pour l’art (art for art’s sake) even if you are talented and even if you are French. A useful object made beautiful, fun or even compelling is still something you can use, and things that can be used are objets de commerce, first and foremost. That is one of the reasons, as we have discussed in these postings (and surely will again) that the law treats fashion, jewelry and accessory designs—and related objects such as perfume bottles and lipstick cases—differently from how it treats paintings, sculptures and photographs. All art follows commerce, and artists do not quit their day jobs if they are not commercially successful, but when it comes to fashion, commercial success remains rather the point. If you are a designer and do not believe that, ask your retailers and financial backers if they disagree.

The first and perhaps most personally compelling fact of that distinction between what the law considers design to be versus how it treats fine art is that, although the artist can never lose his name—there was only one artist who could paint a Pablo Picasso and only one artist who could chisel out a Michelangelo—it is possible for a designer to wake up one morning and find that, professionally, his name is no longer his. To his mother, he may always be, “My son, Martin, the designer,” but the clothes bearing his name might be designed by someone else—perhaps someone he does not know, or perhaps even someone whose work he finds indifferent or just plain terrible. Even worse, should he wish to continue designing clothes, he may have to do it under a different name.

The reason for that is because the name is not merely a name; it has become a brand. And brands can be sold, along with the trademarks that represent them, and the goodwill that those trademarks generate and perpetuate. (An artist’s name can also be his brand—but the art market has not yet accepted the idea that, say, Lucian Freud could have sold his name on retirement, for use in connection with fine art by Damien Hirst.) When designers sell their trademarks, therefore, they are, to the fashion world, effectively selling their names.

If the price is right, that may be a great idea. Sometimes, however, regrets follow. In posts to come, we will show what has happened and can yet happen when designers lose control of their own names.

Credit:  Alan Behr


The Blogger Blogged

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As everyone knows, lawyers have far too many stellar qualities to enumerate here. We have a sense of humor. (Who can forget, after all, the priceless nugget of wit that goes: “What do you call one hundred lawyers on the bottom of the ocean?” Answer: “A good start.”) We are sure there must be just as many good ones about chiropractors, occupational therapists and entomologists.

And lawyers are media stars. Whenever an attorney is convicted of a felony in the line of duty, doesn’t it always make headlines? Lawyers are also highly respected for their assertiveness, as knows any lawyer whose application to rent an apartment was mysteriously and inexplicably denied.

But who knew that lawyers could also be fashion trend-setters? So it appeared from a blog several months ago, in which the author of this blog was blogged. The post was in the form of a column about accessories worn by attendees at the charity benefit held on the opening night of an antiques fair.

The site is New York Social Diary, in which David Patrick Columbia, combining the roles of Edith Wharton and Henry James for an earlier generation, chronicles the real life moments that those earlier writers drew upon for much of their fiction. The blogger in the guest column was Alison Minton, a friend and queen of New York style, who reports for the site on accessories. In my debut as a fashion icon, you can clearly see the Ralph Lauren necktie and pocket square that were the objects of the author’s attention, along with a fair bit of the Henry Poole bespoke suit that they accented and almost none of my face. As my earlier appearances in New York Social Diary and elsewhere have shown, that omission was no loss at all to the reader. It did, in this instance, force all attention on not who I am but on what I had chosen to wear in the expression of who I am. It demonstrates in pictorial form that what each of us holds as our personal style is both a part of us and an abstraction of us. We are what we wear, but what we wear is also a part of us and a metaphor for how we wish to be perceived.

It also reminds me that, as someone who will on occasion take this forum as a soapbox on which to stand and proclaim what is and is not good style, acting as a fashion authority is uniquely hard work. A theater critic need not act or direct; an art critic is not expected to paint or sculpt; but we all wear clothes. A style critic, therefore, is always in danger of being held accountable for his or her own style success and failures. (And we all have both, to be sure.) This line of work is not for the faint-hearted—but neither is any job in fashion and accessories. Would any of us have it any other way?

Credit: Alan Behr


The World’s Worst Accessory

I used to think that accessories add style in greater proportion to their expense and relative size. Then came three bouts of sciatica (due in part to too much sitting in one place on intercontinental flights in the service of fashion), meniscus surgery on the right knee and the doctor’s assurance that the left knee will soon need it as well. In all cases, I was on a cane until things sorted themselves out; as temporary as those experiences were, they have convinced me that a cane is absolutely the world’s worst accessory. Guys—if you must have a cane, wear a jacket and tie as often as possible and try to keep an erect posture. Doing that at least got me the occasional compliment of looking “distinguished,” which I learned is actually a euphemism for “a man past his prime who manages to keep up appearances.” And don’t ever accept the standard-issue hospital cane. Formerly, a cane was indeed a fashion accessory. When I was young, my parents, who could walk just fine, had an antique cane collection—as a décor item, I suppose. I bought my cane at a midtown Manhattan tobacco shop. The handle is shaped like a mallard’s head. It became known to my small boy as “Daddy Ducky,” and he would take to stomping it around the foyer, saying, “Quack, quack, quack,” until Daddy could gently get Daddy Ducky out of his hands.

Why is a cane so bad? Consider this incident, which is not atypical: I was standing in the Lexington Avenue bus, on my way to work. (When cane-less, I prefer to walk, and quite briskly at that.) An attractive, stylishly dressed woman seated nearby saw me and smiled. The bus came to its next stop. Her accessories defined her style: Her Hermès scarf seemed to carry her up like angels’ wings. As she rose onto her blue Ferragamo pumps, the MK medallion on her handbag swayed, and the air was spiced with her perfume. She smiled at me again with what I could see now were blue, alluring eyes—and politely offered to give up her seat to me and stand until she reached her stop.

Distinguished my ***. If there is indeed a next time for the services of Daddy Ducky, I’ll take cabs.

Credit: Alan Behr


A Meditation on the Necktie II

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I have mentioned here before that the necktie is the only discretionary piece of a typical man’s daily outfit. Women may have a multitude of choices, but dressing a man is really quite simple: whatever the day and whatever the occasion, it is pants, shirt, shoes, and if it is cool outside, a sweater or jacket. Add a belt or suspenders, the almost obligatory underwear and some nearly as almost obligatory socks—and there you are. If you consider that style is what starts to happen the moment that taste transcends practicality, the necktie is the one item in the daily male outfit most amenable to becoming a statement of personal style. With the advent of business casual—that international license to look innocuous in the very environment in which you should most stand out—neckties of course have become optional for business and therefore have been routinely discarded by many men. With the long-hoped-for rise in male awareness about fashion, however, perhaps that will soon reverse. Think of the possibilities: you may once again walk into a business meeting or sit down with friends at a restaurant without staring at a rainforest of wiry hairs protruding through the V of an open-collared shirt and may actually, dare we hope, find yourself staring at something worth seeing. Remember, I said before that neckties have no protective function, not that they are functionless.

Credit: Alan Behr

Related Post:  A Meditation On The Necktie I