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"  That ol&amp;#039; dandy Oscar Wilde once noted that &amp;quot;fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.&amp;quot; He was well aware that the idea of fashion isn&amp;#039;t exactly a glorious topic, especially for a fiction writer who would like to believe (ridiculously, of course) in his own timelessness. But what to do if, like me, you look like a beer salesman? Or a backroom banker? Or a street-corner barker? Truth is, I&amp;#039;m snapping on the heels of 50. I&amp;#039;ve a scalp that has seen some serious emigration in recent years. My wardrobe is drab. I could spend six weeks in the same jeans. Most everything I have is blue or black, but certainly not cool. And I couldn&amp;#039;t give a rat&amp;#039;s arse for shopping. It should well be that the luxury of age is the giving up of pretension. But the fact of the matter is that I&amp;#039;m just as vain a bastard as anyone else and want to at least look vaguely artistic. And so I&amp;#039;ve turned to the noose. The noose, indeed. About 25 years ago, I took a bicycle across the United States. I soon found out that the greatest item of clothing was the trusty bandanna. There were dozens of uses for a bandanna \u2014 as a pot holder, a chain cleaner, a sun shield, a headband, a snot rag, a declaration of Kerouacian intent. In later years, when I worked as a wilderness guide with juvenile delinquents in Texas, I graduated them through with different-colored scarves. Good God, the poor kids were even subjected to yellow bandannas when they finished frapping their pine-pole shelters. I kid you not. Yellow, for God&amp;#039;s sake. Yellow. When I moved to New York, I was still wearing a bandanna around my neck. When I got married, I even carried one in my pocket. But it soon began to seem just a little off. Once, I was stupid enough to wear a bandanna to the Algonquin Hotel. People began to ask me if I had left my horse tied up outside. And there were certainly, shall we say, glances as I walked through the West Village. Nor was it very wise when I found myself wearing a red bandanna when I was researching a novel in the south Bronx. I didn&amp;#039;t exactly look like your run-of-the-mill Blood. So a few years ago, I began to wear a long looped scarf. If I have any sort of signature, I suppose it is that. Morning, noon, night. I have been known to wear one in summertime. I have a lucky scarf I wore to finish my most recent novel. I even wear scarves on formal occasions instead of an actual tie. It&amp;#039;s goofy and self-conscious, but not much worse than wearing a white suit, or glasses that can get whipped off at literary readings. I have a wardrobe full of scarves now, just about every color under the sun. My trick is that I always cut them in two, down the middle. They&amp;#039;re lighter, thinner, skinnier that way. And because I&amp;#039;m cheap, I get two scarves for the price of one. Sometimes I even subject my friends to the second half of a favorite scarf. What greater love has a man than ... okay, enough, enough already. It&amp;#039;s vanity, of course. Pure and simple. An affectation. It&amp;#039;s not like I will use it as a tourniquet. I hardly want to loop it around the steam pipes in the ceiling and dangle a foot from the floor. It could, of course, be used for some alternative bedroom hijinks, but the truth of the matter is that I&amp;#039;ve never really learned those knots. So, I confess, I simply wear my scarf and hope that it doesn&amp;#039;t look too thought-out. And now that I&amp;#039;ve admitted to it, I might have to find an alternative, perhaps a waistcoat or a hat, or delve back through the years into Oscar Wilde&amp;#039;s wardrobe, maybe digging so deep as to find one of his silken cravats ... then again, surely not? Colum McCann is the author of Let the Great World Spin and the forthcoming novel Transatlantic. He is currently wearing a scarf.  Four ways to wear &amp;#039;em (from left to right):   The Loose Knot: Tied loose and low. Silk-and-cashmere scarf ($287) by Paul Stuart; cotton sweater ($70) by Banana Republic.   The Drape: One end over the shoulder. Wool-and-cashmere scarf ($195) by Thomas Pink.   The Loop: Once around the neck, both ends left hanging. Cashmere scarf ($1,200) by Kiton.   The High-and-Tight Knot: Once around the neck, knotted up. Acrylic scarf ($50) by Bloomingdale&amp;#039;s; cotton sweater ($70) by Banana Republic.   Published in the February 2013 issue. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/style/mens-fashion/a18369/colum-mccann-how-i-dress-0213/>