OPINION

Mum always liked a man dressed in a suit.

This, of course, meant collar and tie, shiny shoes and a trilby or fedora perched at an angle on the head. Perhaps all topped off
with a hanky in the top pocket of the suit jacket. Nice.

I was raised with the expectation that I would present well-dressed as required – a suit and a tie, or at least smartly dressed.

It didn’t really matter at the time, the 1960s. Most men still dressed “well” for most work and social occasions. Tradition was slowly bent with the introduction of the walk shorts and those long socks that were handy for slipping your biro into the top of. But ties were still required.

I was 17 when I got my first real suit. Up until then, I had my formal school uniform, blue blazer, grey bags, white shirt and school tie, or a reefer jacket and strides. I was leaving home to begin my cadetship at nearby Trentham Army Camp and all cadets were required to have a two-piece suit, nice shirt and tie. I insisted on Wearing Beatle Boots though. None of those ugly school shoes for me.

Off to Sinnetts Menswear at our local shopping centre. Nice dark suit for $40 with a belt and tie thrown in. Mr Sinnett had been outfitting the Rattenbury men for some years so was kindly inclined to us. Menswear shops used to do that then, throw in a couple of freebies if you had purchased a biggish order.

I fronted up to my new job. I also received a uniform with a tie, of course, and a beret. The day came when we all had to wear our suits somewhere – 80 of us. You should have seen the suits, all colours of the rainbow – remember psychedelia was rampant in the late 1960s and early 70s, flowery wide ties, harshly-checked suits more at home on a bookie or a door-to-door salesman. Half of us were wearing Beatle boots.

The instructor took one look and ordered us to get rid of the boots. Regulation footwear to be worn. That looked even funnier with the paisley shirt and bell-bottoms brigade. What a shemozzle.

Gentle hints were made to several of us to tone down our sartorial tastes when working on CIB duties. We could harm the sensitivities of the very conservatively-dressed detectives. So some of us ended up buying normal business suits, shirts and ties, keeping our more modern apparel for Saturday nights.

So began a working life of ties, uniforms and suits. The uniform got ditched a few years later when I joined the CIB and, by then, owned several suits. Most were very sensible numbers but a couple were “modern”. I had also got into the walk shorts and socks thing but still with that collar and tie.

The hair was a different story. Sideburns for Africa, a wee mullet going at the back. A slowly thickening porn star moustache, red. Gorgeous us boys were.

Mum was always pleased when I popped in to see her, all dressed up.

I finally got uniforms out of my life about 30 years ago but was still stuck with the suit and tie custom. It was uncomfortable in summer and, well, boring.

I ended up working for an organisation in Whanganui that had a “corporate wardrobe”. Ties, shirts, blazers, pants, jerseys, suits. All the stuff a man needs in the corporate world. My female colleagues also had a nice wardrobe to choose from; actually, a lot more choices were available than us blokes had. The clothes were all high quality and I pretty much wore them all the time.

Times were changing in the fashion world though. Walking up Victoria Ave at lunchtimes over the years, I saw fewer and fewer men wearing suits and ties. In the end, we were as scarce as hen’s teeth. It was noticeable. People looked. People were still mostly nicely dressed but formality was disappearing from life. People dressed for comfort rather than appearance.

In about the late 90s, I really got sick of wearing ties. Thirty years of working life in ties. A few years before that at school too. One day I emailed our CEO, an approachable chap and very forward-thinking. I asked if I could stop wearing my tie every day.

Cheeky, you may say, but he agreed. In my request I bluntly said the tie was useful for one thing only, keeping the contents of hot pies off my shirt while I am still at my desk at lunchtime trying to catch up. Some guys had already ditched the tie but I asked.

No more ties ever again.