Until a few years ago, there was in the Royal Opera Arcade one of the retail gems of London menswear - Debonair, maker of some of the finest ties in town. I’m sorry to say I have forgotten the owner’s name, but he was one of a rare breed: a gentleman craftsman. It was clear that he made ties because he loved them and the fabrics they were cut from; and he charged ludicrously low prices for them.
From the first time I met the owner, he always remembered my name (making it all the more shameful that I can no longer remember his) even if it was years between visits. A trip to the shop was never a short one: his love for his creations was too great for that.
His enthusiasm was uncontainable, and yet he spoke so softly and sparely: “This tie... such a tie...”, his fingers at his mouth as if trying to draw the right words from his lips, as he slipped the tie from its sleeve, box after box pulled from the shelves to find what I thought I was looking for.
I visited him one lunchtime, having brought my dinner jacket to work but forgotten the tie for a celebration that evening; but he had no black ties in stock. So he made me one that afternoon, from a heavy slipper satin bought from the only factory in France still making it. When I picked up the tie that afternoon, he charged me £16. This would have been around 1998, when the only other place you could get a decent silk tie for £16 was probably Marks and Spencer. I ended up buying two other ties in the same material, in black and dark navy. I knew I would hardly ever wear either, but oh, that silk.... Just extraordinary.
Sadly, the pink and red tonic tie that was among the first I bought is now long gone, having soaked up too many stains to be salvageable (what can I say? I liked a drink in my 20s, and I always went drinking in a well-cut suit and tie...). Under the spotlights of a basement bar in Soho, that length of pink silk lit up the room; or at least it seemed too after half a dozen Old-Fashioneds.
What saddens me is that when I’m gone and my son inherits these, they will just be ties, and rather staid and dated ones at that; at best ‘classic’, whatever that is. In that sense, they are emblematic of so many of the things here. Without their stories, they are faded, frayed objects that may be close to, or have gone beyond, the end of their useful life.
From the first time I met the owner, he always remembered my name (making it all the more shameful that I can no longer remember his) even if it was years between visits. A trip to the shop was never a short one: his love for his creations was too great for that.
His enthusiasm was uncontainable, and yet he spoke so softly and sparely: “This tie... such a tie...”, his fingers at his mouth as if trying to draw the right words from his lips, as he slipped the tie from its sleeve, box after box pulled from the shelves to find what I thought I was looking for.
I visited him one lunchtime, having brought my dinner jacket to work but forgotten the tie for a celebration that evening; but he had no black ties in stock. So he made me one that afternoon, from a heavy slipper satin bought from the only factory in France still making it. When I picked up the tie that afternoon, he charged me £16. This would have been around 1998, when the only other place you could get a decent silk tie for £16 was probably Marks and Spencer. I ended up buying two other ties in the same material, in black and dark navy. I knew I would hardly ever wear either, but oh, that silk.... Just extraordinary.
Sadly, the pink and red tonic tie that was among the first I bought is now long gone, having soaked up too many stains to be salvageable (what can I say? I liked a drink in my 20s, and I always went drinking in a well-cut suit and tie...). Under the spotlights of a basement bar in Soho, that length of pink silk lit up the room; or at least it seemed too after half a dozen Old-Fashioneds.
What saddens me is that when I’m gone and my son inherits these, they will just be ties, and rather staid and dated ones at that; at best ‘classic’, whatever that is. In that sense, they are emblematic of so many of the things here. Without their stories, they are faded, frayed objects that may be close to, or have gone beyond, the end of their useful life.
A really reflective and insightful blog. I've been quoted as saying that a wardrobe is one of 10 things as good as poetry. You illustrate why nicely. A fascinating autobiography. I like.
ReplyDeleteKeep up the good work!
-Unseen Flirtations
Yes the gentlemans name was Mr Paul saade from the Lebanon. I am trying to contact him. Thank you for your delightful tribute to him.
ReplyDeleteAnonymous, thank you. If you manage to track Mr Saade down, and he still makes his glorious ties, feel free to share his whereabouts (should he wish it...).
ReplyDeleteI seem to recall his firstname was Boulos not Paul (similar sounding I suppose). He made the most wonderful ties and his prices were stuck sometime in the 1970s.
ReplyDeleteI share the author's happy memories. I think Paul Saade is the correct name my memory, and he was a total gent. I think he worked with his father, both refugees from the Lebanon, and that they had a tie factory somewhere in north London.
ReplyDeleteHi. Have just found this story. It brings back memories of dear Mr Saad, who is exactly as everyone has said. I still have a lot of his long ties, and many bow ties. I once mentioned to him that I found them a little bit large, so he went and made me a smaller one, which I much prefer. However it was rather misshapen. I think he preferred making his large ones. I remember him saying that he lived in Brighton, and in his gentle way said “I drive a little Mini”. I wonder what happened to him ?
ReplyDeleteWhat a fine man, he made my wedding suit and I have many memories of long conversations in the park eating lunch with him. His voice and demeanor were hypnotic. When he closed shop he said he was returning to the Lebanon to some family property growing olives.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fine man, he made my wedding suit and I have many memories of long conversations in the park eating lunch with him. His voice and demeanor were hypnotic. When he closed shop he said he was returning to the Lebanon to some family property growing olives.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fine man, he made my wedding suit and I have many memories of long conversations in the park eating lunch with him. His voice and demeanor were hypnotic. When he closed shop he said he was returning to the Lebanon to some family property growing olives.
ReplyDeleteI remember visiting this store and getting an education in ties from this gentleman.
ReplyDeleteI still have many of Mr Saad's ties (and hankies) and visiting his shop was always the highlight of my visit to Town . I lost all desire to visit London after the shop ceased to be.
ReplyDeleteMr Saad had so many great lines. "Truly, together we achieve!" "This tie is light: for spring, summer." "This tie is for opera; ladies." "When I wear this tie, I soar like an eagle." "Sir, with this tie, all doors in London are open to you." "Truly, the weight..." I still have many of his ties. Thank goodness he stopped trading before the world of dress-down took hold.
ReplyDelete