“A bow tie announces to the world that you can no longer get an erection.”
Poncey fashion pointers from everyone’s favourite Tory appointee, accused fraudster and fixer-in-exile’s new memoir, The Man Behind the Bow Tie: Arthur Porter on Business, Politics and Intrigue:
Attending the luncheon, at which [Mark] Carney was delivering a speech to the British financial authorities, was the last thing I felt like doing. All I could think about was getting to a place where I could make phones calls and handle the scandal. My mind was calculating, measuring and planning. But my body was on autopilot. I straightened my blue bow tie, put on a smile and passed beneath the bank’s imposing archway.
– p. 8
The cab raced me back to the Marylebone Hotel. When I got to the room, I poured myself a drink, then undid my tie and let it hang there around my neck.
But even if I got to stay, my reputation would be tarnished. The slightest hint of impropriety can be difficult to get rid of. It’s like a splatter of ink on a white shirt lapel. No matter how much you scrub, people will still see a mark.
– p. 9
Like many students, I did not have a great deal of money, but I found a second-hand store near campus where I bought a box of fifty ties for £1. I figured that would set me up for years. It was not until I got back to my room that I discovered that they were all tie-your-own bow ties.
It took me a while to fashion a reasonably symmetrical bow tie, so I was late to dinner that night. I certainly made an impression, though. I was the only boy wearing a bow tie, and I have worn one ever since. Not only did the look work for me, it seemed to please others. What did I get after that for every birthday and Christmas? A little box with a bow on top. And what was inside? A brand new bow tie. I never bought myself a bow tie again after Cambridge, but I must have accumulated about a thousand of them. The bow tie became my trademark, so much so that if I wore a regular tie, people looked at me funny. The look became synonymous with Arthur Porter.
– p. 31
So there was Susan in her business suit and me in my bow tie as I told [Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick] we would be closing two innercity hospitals within ninety days.
Kilpatrick sprang across the table, knocking over a sweaty pitcher, and grabbed me by the collar. In the heat of the moment, I actually thought he was going to hit me. His bodyguards must have thought so too, because they quickly pulled him off me. He collapsed back into his chair with wild eyes, uttering every insult under the sun.
“I’m gonna get you, Porter!” he screamed.
– p. 61
After the inauguration, my daughter and I were invited to a reception along Constitution Avenue. We watched George Bush and his wife, Laura-now President and First Lady-drive past during the victory parade. Later that night, when we returned to our hotel, I changed into my tuxedo and black bow tie.
– p. 74
I had a few wardrobe malfunctions at first. In the U.S., I always wore a red bow tie to signify my Republican allegiance. Of course, in Canada, red is the colour of the Liberals, bitter rivals to the Conservatives, and that would not do at all. Getting dressed each morning, I caught myself more than once in the mirror before walking out the door, prompting me to run upstairs and swap my red bow tie for the Tory blue.
– p. 92
There I sat, smiling in my bow tie, fingers linked on the table in front of me, as the board filed in.
– p. 106.
On December 25, I got dressed up in a grey suit and chequered rainbow bow tie. I strolled around the prison, taking photos.
– p. 222
I had been told my survival would be measured in months, that if I made it to the wedding I would need oxygen and a wheelchair. Instead, all I needed was a white hat with a grey brim to cover my chemo haircut. There I was, standing tall in a dark suit and purple bow tie, and never a prouder father than on that day.
– p. 227
corruption, perception of 60
corruption charges 2
bow tie, 31, 61, 74, 92, 106-107, 222