Ranfurly refers to the manner of tying a necktie such that the front blade (the wider portion) is shorter than the narrower back blade. The result is that the normally-hidden narrow part of the tie is visible below the front. This is a crime against good fashion.
Seriously, what is wrong with you people? As if it isn't bad enough that someone is making you wear a tie (please tell me it's not voluntarily!), you elect to tie it badly. If The Man is making you do it, I understand your wanting to protest, but for the sake of all that is holy and decent do not do this. If you really want to demonstrate your indignation and reluctance, at least do it by employing an off-kilter knot such as the Merovingian or Kelvin knot. At the very worst, that schoolboy knot you may have been forced to use at school. You did go to a school that required a uniform, didn't you? No? Lucky bugger.
Anyway, back to the topic in hand. However you choose to wear your tie, the general rule is that the blade (the wide bit) covers the narrow bit. There are those fashionistas who seem to believe in total cravatte anarchy, or who are so wrapped up in malicious compliance that they will wear a tie, but wear it so badly that the whole effect is damaged. This is obviously just my personal opinion, but there are so many more ways to outrage the slave-driver who forced you into this situation.
I have been that man, forced to wear one for school (in an English school, uniform was compulsory), for work or for church. In each case I had my own strategy for dealing with it. For school I learned several knots that were clearly unsuitable for the cheap and nasty polyester ties that were part of the outfit; wide knots that dominated my shirtfront, or those that were so asymmetrical as to be eccentric. One was a really narrow knot of my own devising.
When forced by my parents to go to church, my reaction was the same, forcing my father on more than one occasion to re-tie it for me. Once I grew up and was able to pick my own tie, things changed. When I was a Jehovah's Witness, I would find ties that bordered on poor taste (in their eyes); one was a red so vibrant that it glowed, one was a hand-painted surrealist, another an abstract mess. I followed the same tactic at my last proper job, and I could see my boss developing a throbbing forehead vein. Finally (and the last time I wore a tie), Christine asked me to wear a tie for a friend's wedding. I went to the thrift shop and picked out the most bizarre one I could find, a wide, wide kipper of a tie with a brown-and-white cow pattern. She never asked me to wear one again.
This is all the fault of John Lloyd and Douglas Adams, and is based on their wonderful book The Meaning of Liff.