House of Lords ditches tie requirement, sparking debate on fashion's future

The House of Lords, an institution long mocked for its stuffiness, has made a quiet but consequential decision: men no longer have to wear ties. The rule change, which shifts the dress code to simply "business attire," marks a small but telling moment in how Britain's most formal spaces are reckoning with the way the world actually dresses now.

For some, this is a relief. Ties have always been an awkward proposition—too tight and they choke, too loose and they look neglected. But for others, particularly those who have spent decades thinking about how clothes signal authority and care, the change feels like a capitulation. Peter York, a style writer who owns hundreds of ties, sees it as a disaster waiting to happen. Without the tie requirement, he argues, there is nothing to stop Lords from showing up in plimsolls and looking, frankly, silly. He calls ties "little works of art," and to abandon them while still dressing formally is to appear incomplete, as though you've forgotten something essential.

On Savile Row, where London's most serious tailors have their shops, the mood is more complicated. Guy Hills, a 58-year-old fashion photographer who runs Dashing Tweed and happened to be sporting a dyed green moustache when asked about the change, thinks the Lords have a responsibility to stay current with fashion. He sees the relaxed code as overdue. For years, he says, the Lords were the driving force of menswear fashion—peers would visit their tailors and try to outdo each other in elegance. When that competitive energy dies, when the institution becomes "like a living museum," the entire menswear world suffers. Hills himself rarely leaves home without a scarf or cravat, finding bare necklines too slovenly. But he believes ties could make a comeback, especially among younger people who are becoming more interested in sustainability and quality clothing. "A tie really finishes a whole outfit off," he said.

On the street, the picture is mixed. Chaand Singh, a 25-year-old working in marketing, wore a navy tie from Next to an important meeting and noticed people complimenting his appearance—someone told him he looked sharper. He owns ties from the 1980s with bold patterns, relics from when fashion was more experimental. He wears them selectively now, sometimes even as belts. For Singh, ties still have a place, but they are no longer mandatory.

James Sleater, who owns Norton & Sons, one of Savile Row's most established tailoring houses, sees the Lords' decision as sensible. The institution should reflect society, he argues, and current trends are what matter. Since the pandemic, he has watched neckwear sales plummet as people worked from home and offices relaxed their dress codes. But something unexpected has happened: this year, Norton & Sons is selling more neckwear than in previous years. Sleater has a theory about why. "If you're no longer forced to do something, it almost becomes a pleasure to do it," he said. When wearing a suit to work becomes optional rather than mandatory, it transforms from obligation into choice—and choice, it turns out, can be joyful. The neckwear his customers are buying tends toward character and texture rather than plain silks or bright colors. He does not expect cravats or bow ties to return, but ties themselves may find new life as something chosen rather than imposed.

Lord Davies of Brixton, a Labour peer, has already declared the tie essentially finished. "The only people now wearing ties for business purposes are estate agents and funeral directors," he told the Telegraph. "The tie is disappearing." Whether his fellow Lords will prove him right remains to be seen. The change is small—a shift in what is required rather than what is possible. But it opens a question that extends far beyond Westminster: when formality becomes optional, does it disappear, or does it simply transform into something more honest?