Val’s habit developed by chance. The first time he took out his finery, he insisted it was because he was on the cusp of a wash cycle and had no other clean clothes. But soon enough, he’d come to appreciate dressing that way.

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Sure, Val was a peculiar guy; he also enjoyed eating mayonnaise by itself. But he was onto something with the tux. Specifically, how different it felt to his loose fitting, raggedy high-vis clobber.

The contrast was so noticeable that instead of his post-work wind-down blending into the night, he opened a distinct second chapter of the day. And this made him appreciate his downtime even more.

Now, while a journalist wearing a tie around the newsroom sounds like the inverse of a bricklayer changing into a tux after leaving a worksite, the concept is the same.

As someone who struggles with both knuckling down at work and switching off when I clock off, the feeling of a tie’s tautness around my neck offers a valuable sensorial distinction – and a physical break between the two.

In this vague post-working from home, normalised world, where dress codes are increasingly casual and workers check their emails well before arriving at the office and long after leaving, it’s easy for the start and end of a workday to blur into one.

Which is where the tie’s potential shines.

I began wearing my only tie, an Ansett-branded one (which I was sent, non-consensually, by a tragic enthusiast of the defunct airline after writing a story about him), before building my collection at Vinnies.

Soon, wearing one became habitual.

Most days, I race out of my share house in a loosely buttoned-up, untucked shirt and blend in with the casually dressed passers-by around me.

Then, in the minutes before getting off the metro beneath my office, I take out a tie from my bag and, using the windows as a mirror, thread a swift half windsor and tuck in my shirt.

Granted, I don’t do it every day. I start the week with gusto, donning a tie and feeling like I embody the work ethic of a Tokyo salaryman. I’ve also tried (with scant success) to make “tie Tuesday” a thing around our office, but by Friday, I’ve often ditched it too.

But adding a tie to your repertoire can transform you, as it has me.

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Those who rely on zany socks to express their individuality at work should also take note: there’s a colourful world of ties out there. They’re also genderless, and increasingly, a common accessory for women in the fashion world.

So you too can share in the feeling I get at the end of a long day when, as I walk to the lifts, I loosen my tie and, with neck free, feel a good chunk of the stress from dealing with nameless, faceless spokespeople and bureaucrats (or whoever caused grief that workday) melt away.

Ultimately, it’s not about dressing up all the time – I’ll never wear a tie on a day off. It’s about shifting between the two that happens to make each more special. In the hard-fought battle between looking like a Soviet plumber and a Tokyo salaryman, there’s no winner – I’m calling it a tie.