Formality and Form

No one ever really taught me how to tie a necktie. I think it is one of those rites that a father or brother teaches a young man. By the time I had to wear my first tie, for a play no less, my father was presumed missing and my brother would have rather been forgotten. Moreover, there were never many occasions that warranted me wearing a tie.

I remember the first job interview I had that ever required one and I remember the tie that I ended up wearing. It is the only tie I owned at the time and the only one I still have now. An ex-boyfriend gave it to me, after I wore it to a party one night in order to make my shoddy clothes semi-formal. And I remember that he had to tie it for me. Anytime, formal wear was required I constantly depended on someone to tie them for me.

Eventually, through years of acting in period pieces and playing business men, I learned for myself how to tie one. I couldn’t tell you a Windsor knot from anything else, but in a pinch I can make it work. I always have to look in a mirror as I wrap it around twice, pull it up through the loop . When I am finished, reflected back at me, is an alternate Ben. A man-child from another universe who eats ivy and rows boats. For me, ties were something that I had always associated with money and affluence. Things constantly missing in my life.

Sometimes I feel we as people charge the inanimate with too much. We imbue power into things that shouldn’t have control over us. Last night, as I was dressing for my latest play, I glanced at myself in the mirror as I was cinching my navy blue tie. For a slight second, a fraction, I couldn’t breathe. I looked to my left and saw two other men, cast mates, fixing their ties; looked right and saw another cinching his in, surrounded by affluence. I choked.

How long? How long until they notice? I am an imposter.

And in an instant it was gone. I put on my suit jacket. Flattened my hair and turned to my cast. Ready, for the evening, to pretend to be someone else. Someone in a tie.