Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Better In This Iteration

This tie, suitcoat navy and pumpkin stripes, is the darker, more sedate version of last night's screamer.  It is the sight of the first few grey hairs in the mirror, the sigh past the junior department in Macy's, the wince at bubblegum ice cream and neon peeptoe pumps.  It is the modulated tone with the saleswoman, the patient smile with the young waiter, but the flirtatious wink at dinner.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Brian! Williams! dons! his! arresting! striper! of! tangerine! and! cerulean! tonight! This tie clamors and blabs like an attention-starved toddler while Mom is on the phone with her boss.  It's Rainbow Afro Man holding up his John 3:16 sign in the crowd.  It's the Poindexter in the droning list of Jasons, Jennifers, Ambers, and Aarons.

Monday, March 26, 2012

The Children's Hour

It is the striped jet navy and orchid cravat this evening.  Caleb dumped off his backpack in the foyer and wrenched off his school tie.  The thump of his bookbag echoed in the cavernous house.  Sighing deeply, he wandered into the kitchen.  Where was Cook? he wondered.  Shrugging, he made his own jelly sandwich, leaving the purple smears for her to clean away later.  It was almost always quiet when he came home.  Quiet and dark.  Not so much dark like no lights on inside, but dark like no happy on inside.  Caleb opened his sandwich, flattened one side against the wall, and drew it along with him as he walked.  Caleb and His Purple Jam.  He smiled, happy inside.

Friday, March 23, 2012

In Which BriWi Is Upstaged By A Sudden Appearance Of LSD

Okay, so, who even noticed BriWi's pedestrian tie of blah blue with twin racing stripes of lipstick red snugged up together once military man Jack Jacobs appeared at The Nightly desk in that...that...Peter Max Pipedream of a cravat!?  Holy Pop Art! Those swirling clouds of saffron made me picture myself on a train in a station with plasticine porters with looking glass ties!

Thursday, March 22, 2012

So Evil

SPT. The dimple, however, was ducky.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

We Beg Your Indulgence

Things have been hectic here at The Report.  Allow me to offer this Classic Cravat Critique for this evening's tie, which was also worn on 11 May 2011:

This evening Brian Williams dons a cravat of slim black stripes alternating with burnished gold, the latter bisected by a thread of the contrasting onyx. Quietly, solicitously, the jeweller proffers another velvet case. He carefully slides open the sable top and reveals row upon row of gold herringbone necklaces. It is as if the pharoahs and queens of Egypt, one by one, had unburdened their necks before stepping into their sarcophagi for the ages.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Someone In The Nightly Wardrobe Department Needs To Raise The Baton

Tonight, Brian has presented us with a tie of riotous stripes.  Muted, almost sueded violet, then suddenly textured metallic gold, like a basketweave blinging chain--but wait!--is that...yes! Yes, it is! A teensy little vein of sanguinary red runs alongside the gold!  Good heavens, this cravat is a sensory overload.  It's like walking into a middle school band room before the director raises his baton.  All the kids are blowing into or banging onto their instruments:  horns blat, flutes whistle, clarinets screech, drums ratatat and boom, and tubas honk all in a cacophanous melee of battling sound so much that you just shut down and wait for rescue.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

After realizing we cannot hide evermore from the display of alternately lackluster and shocking parade of Brian Williams' neckties of late, we have girded our Fashion Loins and tasked ourselves with the Considerable Challenge of reporting on this evening's cravat.  So, onward...

It is the striper of rich Ceylon cinnamon and burnished gold tonight.  Somewhat timidly, the beleaguered traveller approached the portals.  Their polished mahogany gleamed warmly in the late afternoon sun, and the opulent brass fittings glinted and caused his eyes to water.  He lifted the massive metal ring, almost afraid to let it fall; he knew its echo would announce his arrival, yes, but not just that.  It would carry with it the news of his failure, not just to his patron, but to her, and he could not bear to see the sympathy in her kind eyes yet again.

Friday, March 9, 2012

In Which I Posit The One Scenario Making This Cravat An Acceptable Purchase

Oh, my, viewers.  Looks like we're getting a visit from those Fashion Don'ts, Gaudy & Garish.  It's difficult to know what is more jarring, that ultramarine blue throbbing in the background, or the flaming fuchsia stripes pulsating upon it.  Sigh.  Certainly this tie is something a three-year-old girl might grab from her shopping cart seat, drawn to its Dora the Explorer-esque colour scheme and vivid saturation of hues.  "Pretty, Mommy, pretty!" we can hear her exclaim in her as-yet-unsophisticated fashion excitement.  She, at least, has an excuse.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Weather Report

Brian knots up a striper with narrow bands of the blues, one a moody azure, the other an icy glacier.  It is a metaphor for the weather of March, whose skies can be brilliant and summery, winking of June's flowery promise and July's warm embrace.  But when the wind gusts, January echoes, and December's frosty grasp reaches out to hold us just a while longer.

Monday, March 5, 2012

In Which We Provide A Lovely Surprise Or Two For Our Readers

This fashionable cravat is complex and detailed.  Tiny black squares containing petite blue and white bullseyes stare out from behind a white grid.  All of this is laid upon a pale periwinkle field. In a bit of a Departure from les affaires comme d'habitude here at The Report, rather than wax descriptive, here is a photo of Himself and his Better Half, out with The Quality, and wearing tonight's neckwear.  While you cannot see the lovely detail, you can see a Surprise Guest.

Updated:  Link to photo fixed! So sorry about that.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

March Comes In Like A Lion--Uncivilized And Roaring With No Sense Of Fashion

SPT. Plummy, not brassy, but we don't discriminate, as you know.