In Which We Lament And Summarise And Query On Behalf Of You, Dear Readers

*The Report--in a departure from Normal Business--takes un moment to discuss several of this week's cravats en masse.

Brian Williams took a week off, and it was the Fervent Hope of The Report that, perhaps, it would renew his commitment to Fashion In General, and to Cravats In Particular.  Alas, this would prove not to be the case.  In rapid succession, BriWi mired us in the Slough Of Sartorial Despair with a quick return to: on Tuesday 5 June, the oft-worn (and most recently seen 24 April) navy and white striped tie; on Wednesday 6 June the blaring blue and screaming yellow wide striper seen on 25 May; finally, tonight, yet another airing of the purple tie with teensy white dots, seen...oh, pretty much all Spring (5/22, 5/7...) sigh.  All of which leads me to one question, and I must ask it:  Where is that glorious pink tie?

Coolly Charming

Mr. Williams charms us this evening with a cravat of whispersoft lilac upon which trios of pencil-tracing stripes subtly wind.  He walked into her gelateria-pasticceria looking for respite.  It was cool there, and the frosty air had an immediate tonic effect.  Slouching off his suitcoat, he stood in front of the glass case, his mouth a little agape at the array before him:  peach, pink, lavender, tangerine, and minty green--the colours alone were enough to make him forget a long day of numbers and bar graphs and SBE's. And when Giacinta appeared to wait on him, her smile commanding yet comforting, his workday disappeared.

Summer Harbinger

Brian dazzles all viewers of The Nightly with this cravat.  Its wide stripes of bright cornflower blue and yellow-gold make a Fashion Statement.  But...what exactly is that statement?  Is it "Summer is here, and this tie heralds its arrival with boldness reminiscent of the sun's brilliant rays as it warms our nation's many lakes, rivers, and magnificent oceans"?  Or is it "Summer is here, and this tie makes me look like a member of a Barbershop Quartet at one of our nation's many amusement parks and smalltown carnivals or musical productions put on by summer theatre programs"?  It's a judgment call made by the Fashionistas amongst us.

And As May Limps Along To Its Inevitable Fashion Finale...

SPT. Richly plummy and superbly dimpled, but we simply cannot make an exception.

The Balance

Brian continues his dotty theme tonight with the textured silk of rich mahogany besprinkled by minute peachblossom polkadots. She was impossibly flighty, this new assistant.  She cluttered her desk with silliness like a pink Magic 8 Ball, a small garden gnome, and an Etch-A-Sketch on a stand.  She hollered in to his office instead of using the intercom button, and she insisted on drinking obnoxiously scented herbal teas with names like Peach Passion and Raspberry Zinger.  But the clients loved her, and somehow, she kept him happy and balanced.  And he knew that, should he let her go, he would miss her shining auburn hair and the way she always brought a chocolate iced cupcake to work for her lunch, placing it carefully in the center of her happily floral napkin smoothed ceremoniously upon her desk.

Monday Night

Wow. Brian is certainly getting his money's worth from this tie. He has knotted up this purple tie with its array of small white polka dots about, oh, eleventy thousand times in the past month and a half. It reminds me of Monday Dinners at my house growing up. All during the school year, my mom made liver and onions, mashed potatoes and pan gravy, and big Fordhook lima beans every single Monday night.  We three kids would troop home from Catechism class, plunk down our books, grab two aspirin (the nuns were brutal), and wash our hands to set the table, all the while smelling liver and onions. There's something to be said for consistency, unless you just don't care for liver and onions.

Thank Heavens The Interwebs Were Still Here Waiting For Me!

No doubt while we at The Report were out...rusticating and off the grid, BriWi wore devastatingly stylish and modern ties of any number of patterns and colours that would have made us proud and laudatory.  Now that we are back to Civilisation, he has knotted up his--yawn!--navy blue necktie with narrow gold stripesZZZZzzzzzzzzz er, sorry.  But, honestly, you and I both know that this tie is the Snoozer Of Sartorial Staples.  It's a Neckwear Nap.  It's a Tryptophan Tie.  Ah, well. It's good to be back.

It's Not Getting Better

SPT. And double-dimpled. And not in a good way.  If only this Dimple Defect were an aberration.

In Which All The Inside Jokes Are Clicky--Yikes, And Two Puns (One Spelling-Dependent) In The Title Alone!

Brian is loving this tie--the striper of suitcoat navy and tangerine--as of late.  Well, you know what the Fashion Mavens are saying about orange. No, not that. Well, they might be saying that, but not meaning that.  You know?  Oh, hell.  Click the links or none of this makes any sense at all.

Faded Prestige

This evening it is the broadly striped cravat of pale lemon and ink blue.  This tie has an aged, frail look to its colours, as if it were owned long ago and laid away.  Perhaps the yellow was once bold, a dandelion erupting in the centre of a wide estate's lawn.  Perhaps the blue, now almost violet-tinged, was dark and sharp like the firm handwriting of a stern patriarch whose orders given even by letter were cause for consternation and immediate response.  No matter now.  The father is dead, and the once-grand estate is empty and ruinous.

It Is Well That Purple Is So Terrible; Otherwise, We Should Grow Too Fond Of It

BriWi sneaks in a purple tie tonight that is a clone to Friday 4 May's, except for the regiment of little white polka dots, precisely arranged like white lights on a Broadway sign. This cravat is stylishly peppy, elegantly sprightly, and gravely jaunty, like Shelby Foote talking about Ulysses S. Grant.

In Which We Remain Relentless

SPT.  Nicely textured, but, as we all know, The Report simply cannot relent.

Sumatriptan Tie

Wow.  This tie.  Brian starts off the month of May sporting an electric blue cravat sprinkled with hot pink polka dots.  Were there actual stories on the Nightly this evening?  Who remembers? I was transfixed and mesmerized by this tie.  It reminded me of the first time I took my migraine medication.  Colors brightened and objects, newly intensified by the drug, seemed to slightly pulsate, expanding and contracting as they fell under my gaze. It wasn't entirely unpleasant--certainly better than the migraine--but definitely not great.

Under The Table At Corporate

Brian Williams knots up the oft-seen cravat of deep navy with narrow blush pink stripes.  It had been an interminably long meeting this time, and she couldn't stand these people to begin with.  Look at all of them, like sad, dark Puritans in their somber suits.  She wasn't much better, she knew, in her own jacket and skirt.  Sighing, she eased out of her pumps under the conference table, flexing her toes.  Her feet hurt, and she knew taking her shoes off was a mistake. Just then, she heard it--the clatter of his reading glasses next to her.  As he bent low to retrieve them, she froze.  Was that a...touch?

Honeymoon

Rich mahogany and woven gold stripes harmonize in this evening's cravat. Lingering over brunch today, their last day at the hotel, they savoured the thick Egyptian coffee and devoured the syrupy cakes, redolent with cinnamon.  Holding hands across the table, they watched the sunlight reflect off their wedding bands and throw glimmers of light onto the wall beside them. 

Elegant Precision

Brian is the picture of elegant precision in tonight's cravat of generous stripes alternating suitcoat navy and creamy white.  This tie is the table at the manor house, laid for dinner with the family silver by white-gloved hands.  It is the snapped salute performed in perfect unison by the regiment, and the impeccable lines of an architect's blueprint.

Heartbreak

Tonight's offering is one of deep azure tiled with soft raspberry squares.  He walked on through the galleries blindly, Cezannes blending into Degas into Picassos until everything was a muted palette wavering before him.  She had told him goodbye so clearly, so dispassionately, so cleanly.  Unable to think, to understand, he struggled to even find the exit.  In the silence of the museum, his heart seemed very loud.

Let's Not Get Carried Away

SPT. I was originally going to write a fanciful vignette about a little backwoods gal helping Pappy Sam strain his elderberry wine through some burlap, but in the final analysis, this is, despite its textured fabric, a Solid Purple Tie. Certainly it's a cut above some of BW's other horrors in that category, but let's not encourage him, shall we?

Gravitas

This evening's cravat is a somber striper of lush aubergine and ebony.  It is the mournful, low note of the oboe, the ponderous slide of the stone into place on a new grave, and the chill of Dusk as she settles her purple cloak upon the horizon left abandoned by Day.

I Mean, It's Been More Than Five Years Now

Oh, Brian.  This jet navy and tangerine striped tie.  I am so conflicted about it.  I laud it, then I loathe it, then it barely blips my radar.  Brian, this tie is the socks on the floor of our marriage.  Early on, when the blush of Marriage is new, the wife smiles and shakes her head, picks up the husband's socks, and thinks, "Oh! Here I am, doing A Wife Thing already! Picking up after my Husband!" She's a little excited, maybe even calls a married friend or her mom to commiserate.  But after a few years of marriage and picking up smelly sweatsocks, it's not so novel, not so cute.  She thinks, "I'm not his mother or his maid!  How many times is he going to leave these damned socks on the floor?  I've had it!"  Finally, when she sees he isn't going to change, that he's going to leave his socks on the floor no matter what, that picking them up has become part of her normal routine anymore and simply not worth it, she barely notices them in the docket of Things She Does Every Day.  Which reminds me, Brian.  You missed Our Anniversary.  Again.

I Have The Blues, Too

We are under the weather at present, so The Report begs your indulgence as we burrow into our Archives and present this slightly edited Classic Cravat Critique from 1 December 2009, when he also wore this lovely tie:


Brian [continues] the month with the blues--stripes, that is--of creamy sky and deep turquoise. This tie is decidedly pretty. Its fabric should be the awning of a tony Manhattan baby store called Baby Boy-tique which caters exclusively to the mumsies and popsies (or nannies, as the case may be) of male infants.

What Does It Make You Think Of?

"And, for our final tribute tonight, me and Pack 1031 would like to call up Julius Hensmacker.  Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Hensmacker, at the age of 97, is Pepperidge Corners' oldest Cubmaster.  Tonight marks his retirement, we are sad to say.  I know I learned a lot from Mr. Hensmacker when I was a Webelo, and before his four surgeries and winters in Florida with his daughter, I know the boys here did, too.  So, me and the Scouts here, we built him this custom-made cart for his oxygen tanks, and also got him this tie which, as you all can see, is regulation Cubscouts colors--navy blue with the stripes in yellow.  That way, whether he's in church, at a funer--um, or, um, out to dinner at a fancy place like Olive Garden, he can always be in uniform!"

And Here I Was Hoping Bri's Hiatus Was All About Purging L'Armoire De Cravates

SPT. And, is it just me, or is That Thing below the knot getting bigger?

Pretty In Pink

Tonight's lovely striper is of cranberry and creamy rose, and the narrow diagonals are tactile and textured in this sweetly springlike tie.  It is strawberry pie and pink lemonade.  It is Grandmother holding the hand of her little granddaughter on their way out of church.  Both in their Easter finery, the little one skips along, her frilly dress frothing about like bubbles on a drugstore soda while the elder, sedate but smiling, bends like a peony in the breeze.

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

So Evil

SPT. The dimple, however, was ducky.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cleveland At Night

Another stripe, this one of nightsky with heavy diagonals of ultramarine blue, widely-spaced. The background colour is so dark and matte, and the stripes are so vivid and brilliant, that I think of riding home from Cleveland at night after the Cavs games or the BB King concert or duck breast at Lola Bistro.  I always look out the window to see the Veterans Memorial Bridge illuminated against the darkness.

A Kingly Cravat

I thought this tie--one from the storied Vintage Series--was gone forever.  Thank heavens it's not, for these lovely stripes of royal purple and burnished gold are a favourite of The Report.  What regal accoutrement doesn't come to mind when viewing this gorgeous cravat?  Think noble coats-of-arms; imagine luxurious hanging tapestries adorning the walls of the great halls in English castles; picture the billowing flags of knights and their armies as they thunder over contested ground, urging fleet-footed steeds ever onward.  And look deep into the golden goblets of wine held by the jewelled hands of royalty.

To A Nice Guy I Went To High School With--Stay As You Are And You Will Go Far

Brian's cravat this evening is suitcoat navy with slim stripes of Carolina blue.  It is a pleasant, inoffensive tie without statement or style.  This tie is the boy that your mother wanted you to date when you were in high school:  nice, good-looking, not one of those flashy types, and one who fit in everywhere so you didn't have to worry about him getting along with who else was showing up.

Here's Your Baloney On White With Mayo And American Cheese. Oh, And An Apple.

This evening's tie is, in a word, boring.  Simple purple striped with pairs of narrow white diagonals at widely spaced intervals.  It's...uninspired and generic-looking.  This is the school lunch of ties.  It is the fruit cocktail for dessert of neckwear.  Yes, it's something, but it's not great, not what it should be, and certainly not what you want.

This Tie Is A Chicken Hand

Oh, this tie. What to say? It's so heavily textured, so...ponderous looking, with its dark blue field and flamingo-coloured squares, each component with its own intarsia/jacquard/interwoven pattern so busy and thick that it appears more like upholstery textile than fabric for fashion.  I could see it made into a tote bag for some bottle redheaded mah jongg lady named Stell--the "a" is elided--who carries in it her set of tiles, a packet of travel Kleenex, an acrylic nail file, some Splenda, and a box of Special K Vanilla Crisp Cereal Bars.

Isn't It Lovely?

This is a welcome sight, the Simply Pretty narrowly striped cravat of creamy sky and deep turquoise blues.  It's gently springlike, and looking at it makes one think of billowy bridesmaids' dresses, soft baby blankets smelling like powder and snuggly warmth, and carefully arranged nooks of cushions and pillows inviting the indulgent reader to nestle in with a Good Book while a careless breeze wafts in, bringing the promise of blossoms.

Toon Town Tie FX

Tonight's tie just looked...wrong, somehow.  By itself, its background of violet crossed with jet navy stripes banded by white has never seemed particularly off-putting.  But tonight, it was jarring against BriWi's favourite Oxford blue shirt.  It looked almost cartoonish, like a faux-3D, Roger Rabbity effect, and I waited for it to sprout little cravatsy arms and legs and scamper up to me, waving and taunting, "Hey, Nance! Howya like me now?"

It's Anticlimactic, Really

SPT.  After an uninspiring week, this is a disappointing--albeit fitting--end.

Clouds In Her Coffee

Tonight Brian treats us to the rich cocoa cravat overlaid with rosy mini-dots in a grid pattern.  She had begun frequenting the coffee shops on those sleepless dawns when the hopelessness kept her awake all night and her bed felt like a punishment.  She would sit small in a corner booth, busily writing in her journal, sampling whatever rich, fragrant brew the barista recommended that day.  Between the bitter sips and biting sentences, she watched the sky turn pink as another day mocked her anew.

Basic Blue

I see Brian Williams.
Look, look. Look at Brian Williams.
Brian Williams is wearing a tie.
It is blue.  It is very, very blue.
Look, look at the blue, blue tie.
That is a very blue tie, Brian Williams!

What Was The Wattage On That Tie, D'Ya Think?

SPT. Holy crap.  Was that thing...illuminated? 

Dark Nobility

This evening's tie is a dusky plum with nightsky stripes.  She approached his battlefield tent with trepidation, but dutifully, bearing a late-supper tray.  His valet nodded and waved her in to its smoky den.  "My lord," she began, but he was nowhere to be seen.  She faltered, confused.  "Here!" he commanded, his voice tired and petulant like a sulking child.  She stepped timidly to the absurdly curtained bedchamber, so opulent for wartime accommodation, even for a noble.  His pale hand drew aside the fabric and took the wine.  In a moment, the goblet reappeared.  "Your father dares to send me such swill?  Even in war, I won't drink vinegar."  The goblet is tipped and the purpled stream is wasted on the ground, drunk by the contested soil beneath.  "At least he has sent it in a lovely vessel.  Come here, closer to me.  Draw open the bedcurtains and let me look more closely at her." 

The Spell

Another old favourite for Brian Williams this evening, the violet cravat with midnight stripes bordered by shimmering pearl.  From behind the folds of his cloak, the spellcaster drew a small ebony casket.  His pale fingers lifted the lid, slowly, allowing a soft glow to emit from its depths.  As she beheld the contents, her eyes widened.  There, nestled amid the velvet was the amulet.  Its mysterious amethyst seemed to darken and lighten with the quickening throb of her heart.  The pearls surrounding it appeared animate, almost breathing with warmth and life. A voice not her own rose around her, whispering, then clamoring with need.

For Want Of An Iron, The Review Was Lost

It looks as if Brian has burrowed deep into his Armoire de Cravates and emerged with this long-forgotten tie of coppery orange crossed by slender true blue diagonals.  This poor, rumpled thing!  Had it been in better condition, looking crisp and snappy, I might have compared it to an autumnal harvest under an October sky, but in its present wrinkly state, it reminds me simply of a losing football team's dejected banners after The Big Game.  They hang limp and forgotten, now seen only by the janitor, who yanks them free, crumples them up, and stuffs them in the bin.

Aw, Gee, Dad

Brian closes out the month with a staid offering of bipartisan blue and red as he reports the news on Florida Primary Night.  This striped tie is from the Ward Cleaver Collection, representing the Jazzy But Calmly Authoritative line, sort of what The Beav's dad would knot up to take Wally and Theodore out for a meet-and-greet with the lead singer of a local combo.  You know, just in case the guy tries to discover Wally and lure him away from the Boy Scouts or something.

How About No, Brian, Okay?

For a moment, I thought perhaps I was watching Brian Williams in a SNL skit where he was reporting the news from Austin Powers' groovy new pad, baby, yeah.  Because this tie was some sort of Mod, Sixties Era cravat one might see in a go-go cage.  Electric raspberry circles, metallic silvery framing--all it needed was faux fur, a bar, and a little switch to make it revolve to throbby beat music. 

What Is The Statement We Are Making With This Tie? (I Have An Idea)

"...And we're back, gang!  A big Thanks to our sponsor, Sal's Vegas Village--the state's finest Pawn Emporium and American Cuisine Buffet!  Don't forget to hit up his website for that coupon! Okay!  Here's our next item up, and it's almost sold out!  A real eye-grabber of a silk tie in neon purple, looks like a sort of...lavender on P90X, guys, and it's got nice slim stripes of in-your-face bright blue!  This tie is lit up like The Strip!  And it can be yours for just a phone call--you know our number!"

Thank Goodness

Mr. Williams comes back to us this evening with a less painful offering of narrow stripes alternating sky and blueberry.  Because I fear my review might be tinged with relief and gratitude rather than objectivity--like extolling the complexity of flavours in a Hostess Twinkie after choking down Aunt Greta's "hospital meatloaf"--I will merely nod in polite approval.

In Which I Imagine Disasters Profound, Having Seen Two In A Row Now Broadcast Before Me

As if trapped in some sort of Dante-esque maelstrom of stygian style oblivion, where we all must be punished for past fashion sins, we had to watch Brian knot up a cousin of last night's cravatical catastrophe.  This evening's disaster, only marginally better than 16 January, was again a breakfasty theme of waffly little Cheeto-colored patches against a Crayola blue field.  At least they were aligned, not askew like last night, but the whole thing had a sort of intarsia, textury thing happening like bad Seventies textiles.  What is happening?  Did a JoAnn Fabric warehouse blow up somewhere and a school is making and selling ties for a fundraiser to benefit a Firefighter/Veterans Rescue Dog Shelter?  Because you and I both know BW could never resist that.

Lil' Abner Might Like It

This tie is automatically and immediately enshrined forever in the Axis Of Evil. What was he thinking?  That faux denim polyester background, those bloody Chex cereal patches going this way and that...the whole thing was like a Dogpatch Designer Challenge on Hillbilly Project Runway.  Grab me my shootin' iron, Granny Gunn.  I'm goin' huntin' fer Real Fashion.

Ugh.

SPT. So disappointing.

What Would You Do?

Another luscious-looking cravat with brown as its dominant colour tonight.  This time, it's the richly textured chocolate with a pattern of tiny peachy-pink dots, all in a neat, orderly grid.  Imagine if you were Newly Resolved, striving to Be Good, and, pushing your shopping trolley past the bakery department, caught sight of that one glistening chocolate frosted doughnut in the case, tempting you with its careless shower of pink sprinkles--so pretty! so...alluring!  And the Only One!  Why, it is practically a sign that you should have it.

Image Is Everything

This tie has been a real Go-To Tie for BriWi lately, and while I like it, I have seen so much of it, I'd like to tell it to Go To.  Anyway, it is a tasteful conservative cravat striped with very narrow bands of worsted grey and a smoky, deep turquoise. It looks capable, yet stylish, like the reason upscale Soccer Moms drive SUV's instead of minivans.

Manifest Destiny

Brian is sophisticated and rich in his cravat of mahogany and metallic gold stripes this evening, the latter diagonals resembling strands of tightly wound tinsel.  This is a tie of weskits and pocket watches, of barred teller windows and smiling bank Presidents with mutton-chop whiskers who offer railroad tycoons a fine cigar from the humidor on the desk.  Leather chairs complain loudly as these titans of new industry settle in, and the dollar signs drift and multiply above their heads.

Western Wisdom

Tonight's tie is a stripe of rich cinnamon and textured chambray blue. She peered around the corner of the stable and found him coiling rope in the corner of a stall.  The docile horse stood silent, patiently awaiting the curry. With deft movements, he brought the animal's coat to a luxuriant sheen.  Upon discovering her he grew angry, but tried not to show it.  Anger would only unbalance him, and a steady rider meant a steady ride--he learned that the day he got his first saddle.

Yeah, It Used To Be Snazzy

This evening Brian knots up another Striped Tie, this one jet navy with pumpkin diagonals banded by cream pinstripes.  Oh, it's not a Bad Tie, and it's not a Boring Tie. It's just that we've seen this tie so very often that it's lost its Power To Impress.  It's the tie that your Uncle Carl would wear to Thanksgiving dinner and, leaning over to your Goth cousin (who changed her name to Azzryeall), flips it at her and says, "Hey! Ya like this tie?  Snazzy, huh?"

2012 Looks No More Fashionable Than 2011. (Or '10, or '09, or '08, or...le sigh)

SPT. Apparently, someone failed to make the New Year's Resolution for which I had hoped.

He's Back And So Are The Stripes; My Ennui Is Imminent As A Result

Brian Williams reclaims his desk at the Nightly with a staid, stodgy cravat of navy blue striped with slim cream diagonals bordered with burgundy.  It's not an edgy tie, by any means. It's not bold, and it makes no Statement. It's like your dad at family dinners, who sits at the head of the table because he always does, but if your friend sat there cluelessly one night for your birthday, no one would make a Big Deal out of it, especially Dad. He'd just shift over one seat, grab the platter of whatever, and start passing.

Mystery

Brian knots up an eclectic striper of midnight and deep lilac this evening.  The last visitors slowly wandered away, each one more kind and sincere than the last.  She was exhausted.  As her priest approached for a final word, she saw someone else emerge from the periphery.  Young, dressed almost...cacophanously in black leather riding gear, the young woman walked to the front of the chapel, a streak of purple luminous in her hair. She laid her arms over the closed casket as if in an embrace, and dropped a small bouquet. She left as quickly as she appeared.  When the priest retrieved the nosegay, he found it was of rosemary and lavender.

...And After I'd Been So Good This Year!

SPT.  Honestly, this hideous thing...!  And after all those torpid, banal blue-and-white bores. I'm at the point where I'd celebrate an Orville Redenbacher-esque bowtie...almost.

(I know.  Be careful What We Wish For.)

Yawn

It has been a neverending Rhapsody In Blue (And White Stripes of one sort or another) for Brian Williams lately, and I am sodden with a Blue Period of my own as a result.  Tonight is yet another in this seemingly Perpetual Parade Of Blueness And Stripeness, this one an offering of narrow stripes alternating a smoky blue and white.  Oh, good! Is this review done now? Yes. ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ugh.

SPT.  I swear, I am going to click over to that petition drive site on the Interwebs and start one for Getting Rid Of This Tie. Who's with me?

Summertime Sweet

Brian, ever embracing his Purpleness, knots up a tribute to it with tonight's cravat selection of slender stripes in lilac and deep plum. It reminds me of summer nights as a child when my mother would get out the vanilla ice cream and allow us to choose a flavour of soda for our dessert float. I would often choose by colour, hoping to have the prettiest-looking treat.  On nights that I chose grape, I would have a lovely, swirly concoction of purple and lavender, white and bubbly crystal-clear as Mom expertly poured Grape Crush over two small scoops of vanilla in my glass and stirred until the foam rose just above the rim.

Pop Art

This bold, copperwine cravat is very artsy and graphically-inspired, with its Lichtenstein-esque lines and small grey circlets outlined in black. I would buy it for an Andy Warhol fan, along with a nice fruit basket, but only if it were one of Roy's fruit baskets.

Oh, I Do Hope Those Of You In The 1% Who Read The Report Will Consider Sending BriWi Some New NON-Purple Neckwear For Christmas or Hanukkah or "The Holiday"

SPT. Quelle horreurs. Did you see that knot? Urk.

It's All In Black And White

Brian's narrow stripes of jet and pearl are cool and elegant this evening.  Looking down from his office windows, he sees black branches against the wintry sky.  From here, it's impossible to see the street, let alone the crowds of people as they move along with the business of their lives. Here, he can only see black and white, like the numbers he manipulates on the screen and pages in front of him; like the equations of his relationships, and he doesn't really see those, either.

An Afternoon Visit

This evening's cravat is a textural treat of muted navy stripes alternating with faux ropes of creamy gold.  He detested these sorts of Command Performances, and at his age.  What was the point, besides placating the Old Treasure Chest as he now called her.  He got all dressed up on a Sunday when he'd rather be home in his sweats, and was ushered in to a room that looked like a museum:  huge draperies dripping in bullion fringe, and enough scrollwork to make any housemaid weep.  And the oils!  Who were these staring, hollow-cheeked people anyway? And why was one so distinctly behind the hulking mahogany secretary?

Sir Brian

Brian reaches far back into his Collection to retrieve a stripe of silver and cardinal red this evening.  Bold and cavalier, it also manages to convey some traditionalism. It is a knightly tie, evocative of polished breastplates and brilliant flags streaming behind gallant steeds. A lance is raised, a visor lowered, and blood will stain the field.

Our Star Works A Surprise Day-After-A-Holiday Shift, Yet Fails Us In His Cravat Selection By Wearing A Fashion Turkey, As It Were

SPT. Thankfully, not the egregious one; this one was a deep, rich plumwine. As you all know, however, we here at The Report don't discriminate and cannot relent. Any SPT falls under the Axis Of Evil.

That's just How It Is.

To Sleep--Perchance To Dream...

A somber and elegant cravat of charcoal with widely spaced stripes of smoky plum is worn by Brian Williams tonight.  It is a turbulent Sleep which visits her that night, discomfiting and troubled.  As he draws her into the purple curtains of a deep and darkened dream, she hears again the horses' hooves striking the asphalt and the rolling wheels of the caisson in a neverending dirge.

Dark Secret

It's the serious stripes for Brian Williams this evening, a cravat of deep periwinkle and ebony diagonals.  It is rather moody, like deepening twilight in a heavy paneled study.  As the melancholy tones of a bell announce an evening visitor, he sighs and places his reading glasses atop the small darkwood table.  Her sorrow will not improve the chill of the room, he muses.  Still, she has every right to be here and every reason to ask her questions. But he knows the answers will only serve to ruin them both.

Brian Has Really Pushed My Buttons This Week Already

So, it's going to be one of those weeks, cravatically speaking, is it? A week like when you take the time to pack a nice lunch in your bento-boxy thing, then leave it on the hood of your car because your cell phone starts to slip out of your pocket, and then you accidentally push the button on your key fob with your elbow and set off the car alarm, so you have to take care of that, which is why you had to buy lunch today along with a new bento-boxy thing.  It's only Tuesday, but that awful leering thistle and blaring blue striped silk hot on the heels of an SPT is...ominous.  And exasperating, really. And sad. Just...sad.

Ugh.

SPT. Perhaps to punish me for my week away. Such a snit is unbecoming avec n'importe quelle cravate, mon cherie.

Power Struggle

Brian has been shopping, and tonight he wears a tie of lampblack with widely staggered brilliant blue stripes.  The pilot announces their imminent landing at Dulles, and she tiredly slips her feet into her high heels.  It won't be a pleasant meeting with the Senator, and she tries to remember the last time it was.  At least Alphonse, the driver, will have her coffee waiting, as he always does, and a reassuring smile.  She glances out at the lights on the runway, so colorful against the darkness of the early morning and the asphalt, and thinks momentarily of fireworks.

Making A Difference: Brian Williams Keeps His Ties This Time (Too Bad There Wasn't A Purple Theme)

Before I return to regularly scheduled programming here at The Report, allow me to once again turn to matters of more substance.  As you may recall, last year I was pleased to bring you news of Joan's Legacy: Uniting Against Lung Cancer and its annual benefit.  This worthy cause was founded to honor the life of Joan Scarangello, a writer at NBC News, who fell victim to lung cancer in 2001 despite never having smoked in her 47 years.  In 2010 Brian Williams donated an auction lot of six autographed ties which ended up selling for about $5000.

(That's a lot of money for ties, especially for the Hermes with the penguins on it. And to think I described it as a faux paisley print--11 February 2010...sigh. Pre-HD, though.)

But it's nowhere near what is needed to combat the Number 1 Cancer Killer in the United States.  This scourge is the world's deadliest cancer; an estimated 157,000 Americans are estimated to die from lung cancer this year - more than colon, breast, and pancreatic cancers combined.

More than 220,000 Americans will be diagnosed with lung cancer this year, but only 16% of lung cancer is being diagnosed at its earliest and most curable stage.  Like Joan, sadly, many of its victims are misdiagnosed and the cancer is too far advanced to effect a cure. 

That's why aggressive research and awareness are so desperately necessary. 

To that end, Joan's Legacy: Uniting Against Lung Cancer announces its Strolling Supper with Blues and News, hosted by Brian Williams and Tom Brokaw.  Another silent auction will be held and, while there will be no ties, the slate of offerings is impressive.  It includes:

*Hanging out on-set at The Big Bang Theory, The Daily Show, and The Colbert Report
*Autographed memorabilia from Lady Gaga and Santonio Holmes
*Vacations at Costa Rica, Cancun, and Cape Cod
*Designer wares by Coach, Kate Spade, Michael Kors, and Betsey Johnson
*A Longer Shelf Life:  Your name as a character in a future Sue Grafton novel
               AND MUCH, MUCH MORE!

This year, there is also online bidding--it begins November 9th.  Click here to go and see all the items and reserve prices.  That way, you don't have to go to New York; you can just sit at home in your tasteful jammies, pour a glass of Chardonnay, and click till you score your objet de désir. 

The Report is honored and proud to use its powers for the Greater Good, even in this small, small way.  For even more information, and a chance for a little bit more of BriWi--you'll recognize the tie, an old favourite of his--you can watch this short viddy:


Thank you.

Was It Bring Your Little Daughter To Work Night At The Nightly For The Wardrobe Dept?

SPT. And, The Report must take a moment to comment on the cravat of reporter Mike Taibbi, which was startlingly garish in all its Barbie pinkness.  When the two ties were across from each other, it was like a glimpse down the Dora the Explorer aisle at Toys-BackwardsR-Us. 

For Whom The Tie Polls

Tonight's cravat is a very textured striper of true blue and stormcloud.  It looks tweedy and almost sweaterish.  This tie is the herringbone jacket with elbow patches, worn by Hemingway-esque professors who, in deference to the No Smoking regulations, cradle the bowls of their cold pipes in one hand as they gesture with the stem to illustrate their point. 

Is It A Tie Or A Craft Project/Halloween Costume/Project Runway Challenge?

Tonight, Brian's tie is so complex and intricate that I almost had to make a small diagram in order to explicate it.  (Thanks a lot, HDTV.) Brilliant summersky blue is overlaid by broad bands of black meshwork, then further interrupted by platinum stripes shot through with narrow ribbons of lavender.  This cravat was, in a word, worky. And all over the place. It had too much going on. It reminds me of those Saloon Girl Outfits, you know? Those things have satin and lace and ruffles and lacings and corseting and decolletage and a peplum and a bustle and fishnet stockings and short boots and holy crap, it's like the dressmaker discovered margaritas and velcro in the same night, you know?

In Which I Postulate A Possible Origin For Brian's Repeat Cycles (But Never Excuse Them)

This evening's cravat is a violet blue field crossed by mulberry stripes which bear an intarsia rope pattern.  I am reminded of a peculiar run of Christmases wherein my mother, for some unknown reason, was on a Repeat Cycle of her own.  For about five years in a row, I received a purple cableknit sweater.  Not the same one, but a Variation On The Theme.  If my mother is locked in some sort of Vulcan Mind Meld with Brian Williams, we are all in serious trouble.

Where Has This Tie Been? BriWi Finds A Hidden Style Stash

Brian Williams finds a secret door in his Armoire de Cravates and from it draws tonight's stylish striped offering.  Rich plumwine alternates with creamy ivory, the latter pinstriped by carnation pink.  The whole effect is part confectionery, part la mode de Louis XV, part "Let's sneak out of the reception early and go to the wine bar for the new Beaujolais tasting."   

And It Looked Even Tackier And Shinier Tonight, If That Is Possible

SPT. And just like that, our hopes are completely and devastatingly dashed. 

The Report Breathes A Sigh Of Relief

Mr. Williams steps up his fashion game profoundly from last night with this cravat of a smokey, pale indigo upon which are scattered tiny ebony windowframes with white centres. Quietly confident; it speaks in modulated tones, but is always heard and respected.  It is the perfect combination of brains and beauty.

Brian Williams Has A Shopping Fantasy

"Yes, good afternoon, Miss. I'm looking for a tie that...well, just a tie. I don't want it to be too noticeable, too...fashionable.  I'm a Serious Newsman, and what I'm wearing isn't the point.  It just isn't what's important. With so much going on in the world, people need to--yes, like that one.  Just dark blue with...what are those stripes, red?  Kind of...pink?  Orangey, sort of?  Whatever.  On camera, those double pinstripes will read red anyway.  A nice blue tie with red stripes.  That's what I'm talkin' about. A tie that no one can care about."

Two Parts Vodka, One Part Dry Vermouth, A Splash Of Olive Brine, And A Bleu Cheese Stuffed Olive In A Chilled Glass, S'Il Vous Plait

SPT.  I suppose we should have known, since its Harbinger, the Jet and Gold Bling Stripe, appeared yesterday.  It appears that October's Cycle Répété has begun. (And so has the Report's cycle de thérapie d'alcool.)

It's Like What Would Happen If She-Ra Got Trapped In The Tents At Fashion Week

Brian Williams continues to punish Nightly viewers by raiding his armoire d'atrocités and knotting up the raw silk cravat of orchid with pulsating ultramarine blue stripes.  It's what Jeremy Scott would send down the runway, and his models, sent to the makeup artists for a "blurred frosty-neon sort of Futuristic She-goddess Superhero Eye" would definitely slink the catwalk sporting these.

Brian Finally Mixes It Up

Brian Williams breaks The Cycle Of Despair for us viewers of The Nightly after Savannah helps him reset by sitting in on Friday.  Tonight, he dons a cravat from his Old Faithful collection, a striper of deep suitcoat navy crossed with blush pink diagonals.  This tie is an old-timey scene at a grade-school mixer.  All the boys wear their Sunday suits, their hair is parted razor sharp and the comb marks show in their dampened hair.  They line the gym along one side of the basketball court, staring at the little ringleted girls who look like puff pastries, cupcakes, and cotton candy in pastel clusters on the other side.

Yes! Yes! Yes We Do! We've Got An Audaciously Fulgent Tie; How About You?

Oh, my. Certainly, we all are properly chastened ("Be careful what you wish for"; "Better the devil you know" yadda yadda yadda) for our carping about Le Cycle Répété in the previous Special Report.   (Which some of you charmingly rated, by the way.)  For tonight, Brian Williams shut our collective traps by daring to knot up a striped tie of screaming tangerine and blaring blue.  Wasn't it...peppy?  Indeed, it looked like something male cheerleaders from the fifties might wear on the sidelines at a college football game along with white flannel trousers, snappily creased and cuffed above white bucks.  They would have jaunty knit vests in that brassy blue (for home games) worn over their crisp Oxford shirts; the vivid Valencia orange for away.  And, to bring it all together, That Tie, knotted precisely and proudly with The Maximum School Spirit.  Go Team!

Special Report: Whether Buffalo Springfield or Hamlet Said It Best, Either Way, Something's Up

In an Unprecedented Step aside from our usual commentary on the semi-nightly critique of Brian Williams' cravats, we here at The Report must make take sad and pointed note of the recent shocking Sartorial Trend unfolding before our eyes.  Before we comment further, a brief recap is in order:

Wednesday, 28 Sept.:  SPT.
Tuesday, 27 Sept.:  Jet and Gold Bling Stripe
Monday, 26 Sept.:  SPT.
Friday, 23 Sept.: Jet and Gold Bling Stripe
Thursday, 22 Sept: SPT.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?  Is Brian camping out at The Nightly?  Did Mrs. Williams change the locks?  Has Someone lost his subscription to Men's Vogue? 

I feel our concern is justified.  Brian Williams, contact me here at The Report.  I stand ready to assist you in any way I can.

Cringe-Worthy

SPT. How worrisome.

Il Restera Tacite

SPT. I simply will not discuss it.

So I'm Gone Two Days, And This Is What I Come Back To?

SPT.  Iced lilac, yes, but Solid Purple. It counts. (And in September, really. Why are we even talking about this?)

At The Opera

This evening's striped tie is one of blush and ebony diagonals.  As the conductor raises his baton and bows are made ready, the rustle of silk heralds her arrival in the box.  Every tuxedoed man arises slightly; every gowned woman nods.  She smiles and apologetically shrugs out of her wrap and pats her coif unconsciously with an opera-gloved hand bedecked with a ruby and gold wristlet.  One man, holding the empty chair next to him, bends low and whispers in her ear, brushes his lips against her bare neck.  Her eyelids flutter downward as her cheeks color charmingly. She takes her seat with a smile.

Dear Bobby Sherman (Or David Cassidy Or Fill In Name Of Tiger Beat Hero Here)

Navy and stripes, navy and stripes. What would dear Brian do without them? This evening they appear in an orchid and midnight iteration, like a Seventies tween's smudgy bit of fan mail written on some Spencer Gift stationery with a blotchy Flair pen.

In Which We Are Suitably Terrorized By This Tie--See What I Did There?

Tonight, BriWi slings on a dubious cravat of sedate navy assailed by blaring tangerine stripes.  It is as if a hunter or highway worker went mad one night and used their signature colour--via spray can or brush--to vandalize every available surface, painting swaths of orange to forbid, to warn, to alarm us all.