There are quests, and then there are Quests. I've worn fewer bow ties lately, their place taken by an array of striped silk square bottomed knit ties. What used to be called Rooster ties.
The ties above are place holders for what I've set as my ultimate goal, a navy and white or black and white stripe number as worn by the always elegant Mr. Barbera in the first photo (taken by the Sartorialist)
In my mind's eye the navy (or black) stripe would be the perfect accompaniment to most of my summer suits. Admittedly, I haven't broken into a sweat searching, but I've yet to find it among the low hanging fruit. What I did find is the photo below taken at the Henley Regatta last weekend. The photo shows members of a rowing club in matching club ties and blazers. The b**t**ds are wearing my tie.
There is just enough Hail Britannia in me to give me pause before wearing the club colours of an active club to which I do not belong. Hemingway wrote about F. Scott Fitzgerald with such a dilemma in "A Moveable Feast".
"I kept on observing Scott. He was lightly built and did not look in awfully good shape, his face being faintly puffy. His Brooks Brothers clothes fitted him well and he wore a white shirt with a button-down collar and a Guard’s tie. I thought I ought to tell him about the tie, maybe, because they did have British in Paris and one might come into the Dingo [bar] – there were two there at the time – but then I thought the hell with it and looked at him some more. It turned out later he had bought the tie in Rome." via Clothes in Books
Even though the club members will never know, and no one I'm ever in contact with will ever
know the tie's origins, I'll know. Probably won't stop me from buying it though.