I worked 683 days in the last three years. I know this because starting September 24, 2012, I have worn a different tie to work every day, and I keep track. As an American living in the Internet age I must take a picture with my iPhone each day and blog about My Daily Tie along the way.
On the wall of my windowless government office hang the silk fruits of my labor (you must tell nobody that a handful are polyester). The question of why this is my practice seems to be asked every time a hallway passerby spots my wall and stops in to investigate (this happens at least twice a week).
I never have a good answer or reason why I do this. My favorite explanation was that, "I guess you could call them 'trophies.' See, I take more pride than perhaps I should in working for the
federal government, and every time I kill a state or local worker, I claim their tie."
But that answer got stale and, full disclosure, I've murdered nobody. In fact, there have been zero injuries in the more-than-1,000-day construction of my office fire hazard.
So why, then? Am I seeking some way, any way, to stand out? Or mourning an unrealized dream to be a men's fashion icon? Maybe I am stranded at the intersection of obsessive-compulsive disorder and boredom? Whatever the source, I dispassionately admit to being a mediocre guy trapped in an uneventful, if benign, existence. Who one day about three years ago visited a thrift store. And the rest, as they say, is history. Surprisingly inexpensive history.
The Washington, DC, Salvation Army on H St. NE, with an ever-changing bounty of hundreds of neckties, was my most reliable tie source until it closed more than a year ago. I'd only go on half-priced Wednesdays when the cost of a tie was halved to $1.50 per. In time I learned no matter how many I bought, the clerk would not let me pay more than $20. So every couple months I'd dump 40 or 50 chosen ties on the counter (just good ones; I inspected carefully and bought only high-quality merchandise). "Twenty bucks," he'd say as he folded them up in a plastic grocery bag or two. Even after that store closed I had no trouble locating a number of thrift stores around DC that adhered to my rule and refusal to pay more than one dollar for a tie. Not to mention the generous friend/supporter/enabler/farmer in Tennessee who has shipped hundreds of selections from her local thrift store ensuring this habit will continue for some time.
I am often asked: "But what if you really like a tie, then can you wear it again?" I only buy ties I like, and given nearly 700 daily ties there are many that I "really" like. But my hands are tied. So to speak. "Of course not," I explain, "that is strictly against the rules brought down from on high. Besides, would you ever chew a piece of gum, again, weeks later?" (depending on my audience, maybe I use "condoms" in this analogy)
I think many viewers suffer the illusion this endeavor requires a lot of effort. That assumption always amuses me because wearing a tie is not a challenge. I had already been doing it daily for a long time before I embarked on this frivolity of variety (I'll digress to point out I evolved from the basic Four-In-Hand knot to the Half-Windsor; thanks, Peter).
I remind those impressed by the wall that it took years. And the only non-negotiable tenet of my "hobby" is that it be very easy. I don't mean to shatter a fun fiction about an inefficient federal workforce, but if this childish pastime actually took up any amount of time, at work, I would have stopped before it started.
But there is no getting around the objective fact that, even as I tell myself this is creative, amusing, and harmless, it is also very dumb. And there will always be haters. It has been said that "haters don't really hate you, they hate themselves and you are a reflection of what they wish to be." I enjoy the false pride that axiom inspires as I do my best to ignore some co-working haters. Fortunately, my boss tolerates my habit/tapestry, and in fact uses neckties as motivation. Half a dozen on my wall are rewards he gave me, that I soon wore, for projects well done.
Plus it is making me famous! I even get recognized on the street. Sort of. Once. Out of the Metro station one Friday summer morning, I approached my building carrying five hangers with next week's shirts and ties. A woman walking in my direction sure seemed to be staring at me. Huh? Maybe she is looking at somebody right behind me?
"I see you've got your ties there," she grinned as we passed.
One day not long ago I removed my tie and headed home. I boarded the elevator with a naked neck and a stranger quickly asked if I had left my tie on my office wall.
And a co-worker once told me she had to go down to an administrative office where she received a smile and a knowing response after telling the clerk which sixth-floor office she worked in.
"Oh, you're up there with the Tie Guy."