Best 286 quotes in «jeans quotes» category

Topshop makes the best skinny jeans for my shape. I order online or stock up when I'm back in London.

T-shirt and jeans style now is where I'm at. Maybe a little rock 'n' roll T-shirt and jeans.

Usually I trundle about in trainers and baggy jeans, looking about as attractive as a potato.

We have been lead as the hip hop generation. We have been once again lead by people who are under qualified. It's like they just got a pair of new jeans..They just started wearing them below their belt 2 months ago.

When I got a record deal I said, 'I'm only wearing jeans. I'm not wearing frilly dresses.' Dancing around in sequins is just not who I am. I wanted to be heard, not seen.

Well that's what Andy wore to bed. You know, the oxford button-down Brooks Brothers shirt that he's been wearing all day and his big long socks. He'd just take off his jeans and his boots and go to bed. Then he'd change into a fresh ensemble after he had breakfast the next morning.

What I wear is a reflection of where I am going and how I am feeling. If Im in a good mood, its got to be cashmere and jeans - just something comfy, soft and warm. When Im down, I might find something that I havent worn for a while that was bought for me - or wear a brooch or a pair of shoes that are like old friends.

When you're wearing jeans there's a shift in your center of gravity. A costume like this and a character like this, there's no way to hide. If you try and play him any way sort of modern or normal, you diminish. He's larger than life. He's 150 percent. You've got to go for it all the time. It was just impossible.

When I was 13, I kind of got into the punk scene. I realized it was easier to wear a pair of combat boots and jeans and a beat-up T-shirt. I think of it as a uniform: Ya know, if you're a Maytag man, you put on your bow tie. I still have T-shirts from when I was that age.

When I was 15, I worked at a dry cleaner because I wanted Abercrombie Fitch jeans. My mom told me I could have $20 jeans, not $70 jeans, unless I was willing to work for them. So I did!

When one is undone—sprawled across the cold tile of a public bathroom in a pool of one’s own vomit, or shivering in the back of a taxi in a pair of urine-soaked skinny jeans with no money for cab fare and a dead cell phone battery—much like a wobbly toddler or an unhinged politician, one immediately looks for someone else to blame. God. Your parents. Ex-girlfriends. Undocumented immigrants. Marvin in Human Resources. China.

When it comes to white jeans, fabric is key.

When you're single and in your 20s, you throw on a pair of jeans and look fabulous.

You can make jeans and a t-shirt super stylish. It's what you make of it, you know?

With unisex fashion, you know, females were doing it first. You're the reason we have unisex clothing. It's because girls said, "Wait, I can wear jeans, too! I can wear a suit, too.

You can be the chicest thing in the world in a T-shirt and jeans - it's up to you.

You just don't expect posh girls to grab your tits, call your trousers "too clitty" and use words like "pussy pelmet" but they do. You are so shocked by what they are saying that by the time you have recovered and thought of something to say they have whipped you out of your jeans and eased you into a Lycra cat suit.

You expect a basketball player to come with a white button-down, Balmain jeans, and Balenciagas. You expect that. But when I come with an extended button-down, camos, no socks, Louboutins that have spikes on them, and a bow tie with diamonds, you'll be like, "What? Who dressed him?

You can try to trick the people and come out wearing a fedora and a tuxedo but that's not me. I was born in the late '70s, I wear jeans. I don't hang out in casinos. The lifestyle isn't my thing. I don't drink martinis and I don't smoke cigars.

Can we just stop pretending that skinny jeans are a good look on anyone? Can we just band together and go for a boot cut, please? Ladies?

You're never going to see the fat Elvis in me. People I admired like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and John Belushi all died at 27. I've got jeans older than that.

You're never too old to play. You're only too old for low-rise jeans.

An old fashioned outfit is not a costume, it's a comedy.

You managed to get him a duster, but you couldn't find me a pair of jeans?

You might be a redneck if you see a sign that says Say No To Crack and it reminds you to pull your jeans up.

You're jeans are full of crap. You're full of beans, you're in you teens. You've lost your mama's road map.

Any girl with a grin never looks grim.

Bagi Roy, jeans ibarat hidup. Semakin dia lusuh, semakin dia enak dinikmati.

He wears jeans, untucked shirts, and a Glock 19, and he has a big shaggy dog named Bob.

Fashion doesn't make you perfect, but it makes you pretty.

The holes in my boots and the holes in my jeans make me whole!

Carajo!" Paco says, throwing down his lunch. "They think they can buy a U-shaped shell, stuff it, and call it a taco, but those cafeteria workers wouldn't know taco meat from a piece of shit. That's what this tastes like, Alex." "You're makin' me sick, man," I tell him. I stare uncomfortably at the food I brought from home. Thanks to Paco everything looks like mierda now. Disgusted, I shove what's left of my lunch into my brown paper bag. "Want some of it?" Paco says with a grin as he holds out the shitty taco to me. "Bring that one inch closer to me and you'll be sorry," I threaten. "I'm shakin' in my pants." Paco wiggles the offending taco, goading me. He should seriously know better. "If any of that gets on me--" "What'cha gonna do, kick my ass?" Paco sings sarcastically, still shaking the taco. Maybe I should punch him in the face, knocking him out so I won't have to deal with him right now. As I have that thought, I feel something drop on my pants. I look down even though I know what I'll see. Yes, a big blob of wet, gloppy stuff passing as taco meat lands right on the crotch of my faded jeans. "Fuck," Paco says, his face quickly turning from amusement to shock. "Want me to clean it off for you?" "If your fingers get anywhere close to my dick, I'm gonna personally shoot you in the huevos," I growl through clenched teeth. I flick the mystery meat off my crotch. A big, greasy stain lingers. I turn back to Paco. "You got ten minutes to get me a new pair of pants." "How the hell am I s'posed to do that?" "Be creative." "Take mine." Paco stands and brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning right in the middle of the courtyard. "Maybe I wasn't specific enough," I tell him, wondering how I'm going to act like the cool guy in chem class when it looks like I've peed in my pants. "I meant, get me a new pair of pants that will fit me, pendejo. You're so short you could audition to be one of Santa Claus's elves." "I'm toleratin' your insults because we're like brothers." "Nine minutes and thirty seconds." It doesn't take Paco more than that to start running toward the school parking lot.

I could live with one butt cheek — just sit at a slant for the rest of my life, not worry about how baggy the seat of my blue jeans looked, get used to the nickname Halfass — but I couldn't live with my brains blown out.

I have often said that I wish I had invented blue jeans: the most spectacular, the most practical, the most relaxed and nonchalant. They have expression, modesty, sex appeal, simplicity - all I hope for in my clothes.

Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

The holes in my shoes and the holes in my jeans make me whole!

His tightly fitting jeans were unmistakably French.

It was the stretch and give of the lycra. And the deep blue, invitingly deep, the deep blue of sleep she longed for, blank and intense, and dissolving everything that would make her toss and turn endlessly through the night.

The holes in my jeans ans the holes in my boots make me whole!

There’s a pulse in my body, vibrating every pressure point. “I like kissing you.” His hand lowers to my waist. “I could kiss you forever.” I lazily glance at him from under my eyelashes. “Just kissing.” Because I think I’ll combust if we do more. The right side of his mouth quirks. “Just kissing. And some touching.” To prove his point Isaiah’s hands caress my back, weave into my hair and slide against the dip of my waist. Yes, definitely some touching. I inhale deeply, reminding myself that breathing is still a requirement. “I agree. Some touching. No new clothes off.” Because I’d probably pass out at the thought of his jeans off. They already hang low on his hips. Too low. Very low. Low enough that I start to imagine what more there is to him. Isaiah wraps his hand around the back of my neck and performs this deep massage that makes my eyes roll into my head in ecstasy. “I’ll put my shirt back on if you want.” “No,” I breathe out. “I’m fine with it off.” More than fine.

Very well, I promise. So, what did you get for me?" Angeline paused for a beat. "Jeans." "What?" croaked Artemis. "And a T-shirt" ...Artemis took several breaths. "Does the T-shirt have any writing on it?" A rustling of paper crackled through the phone's speakers. "Yes, it's so cool. There's a picture of a boy who for some reason has no neck and only three fingers on each hand, and behind him in this sort of graffiti style is the words RANDOMOSIY. I don't know what that means but it sounds really current." Randomosity though Artemis, and he felt like weeping.

With right fashion, every female would be a flame.

You cannot choose your face but you can choose your dress.

A new artist today has to get their teeth fixed, has to tighten their jeans up, and they have to get 'em the right kind of hat, and if anything's wrong with their nose, if it's a little crooked, it's got to be straightened up.

A $50 haircut, cool glasses, skinny jeans and a tattoo does not a prophet make.

A guy's biggest style mistake is definitely trying to look too cool. As long as you've got a good pair of jeans, a good pair of boots and a few good shirts, you're fine.

All fashion brands are about looking good. Being Human is also about doing good. And you can do good by the simple act of slipping into a t-shirt or a pair of jeans.

A magazine to have style, must need and understand and invest in what jingles - not jiggles - in designer jeans.

A mechanic is just an engineer in blue jeans.

And weren't, when you got right down to it, particularly evil. Human beings mostly aren't. They just get carried away by new ideas, like dressing up in jackboots and shooting people, or dressing up in white sheets and lynching people, or dressing up in tie-dye jeans and and playing guitar at people. Offer people a new creed with a costume and their hearts and minds will follow.