Best 4010 quotes in «fashion quotes» category

So I made her get up. I told her to stop crying and get back to her desk.” Later I bashed those ugly shoes into her face.

Soldier's fashion accessory is his weapon just like a jewelry for women.

Some clothes provoke more feelings in me than people.

Some people’s desire to look like some people is so intense that they seldom look like themselves.

Some people want to be in vogue even at the cost of being a rogue.

Some women wear a miniskirt to reveal their thighs; some wear one to conceal their age.

So my life has come to this: all I ever make is laundry. Awake or asleep, I'm always shuffling round some shopping mall, raking through knitwear carousels that whirl into infinity, searching, with the fever or teething gums, for the ultimate cardigan. Is it any wonder the wardrobe's bursting, the linen basket overflowing like an archive of disproved hypotheses? The grey bras, the shrinking T-shirts, that embarrassed puddle of lycra, my favourite dress -- now ruined dress -- my lost remembered, perfect dress: all laundry, in the end. More laundry.

Speaking of my things, you weren't actually using that darling little study were you?" she asked sweetly. Her mate's eyes narrowed. "Why?" "Because I am commandeering it for my closet." "Closet? My study is over three hundred square feet." His shocked expression was adorable. "Good point. Do you use the library as well?" He stared unblinking. "Yes, actually I do." "Oh well. I'll need to call in a contractor to remodel the study into functional wardrobe.

Speaking of high-end shoe designers, in 2011 it was fascinating to see the design company of Christian Louboutin try to stop the company Yves Saint Laurent from producing high heels with red soles, claiming that Louboutin was the originator of the red sole. Louboutin lost, and I was glad. He was not the first person to paint a sole, and I am wary of patenting a color, like Tiffany blue. Why should we grant that entire history to Louboutin and say there are no predecessors and should be no successors?

Stanno comprando il cartellino del prezzo, non il vestito.

Style is a sacred fashion.

Style bloggers were just so impermanent these days. One day they’re on top of the world, the next, they’re toe up in the morgue.

Style isn't just about what you wear, it's about how you live.

Style is all about how you carry yourself and project yourself to the world. More than what you're wearing, it's about an overall attitude and sense of ease with yourself.

Style is what happens when you put fashion in the wrong hands. Fashion is what happens when you put style in the right hands

Style is the woman herself.

Style is the way to say who you are without speaking

Style jazzes up your canvas.

Success nullifies. You then have to do it again, preferably differently

Style never speaks, but somehow is always saying something.

Sukey's approving glance swept over Amanda's black evening dress, made of shimmering crinkled silk that had been cut very low across the bosom and fitted tightly to her voluptuous shape. Rows of glittering jet beads adorned the bodice and long sleeves, while her gloves and shoes were of soft chamois leather. It was a sophisticated ensemble, one that made the most of Amanda's looks and generously displayed her bosom.

Swankiness get noticed but style get remembered.

Sylvia’s inherent appreciation for beauty as both artist and consumer is evident in her journals and letters…….she wrote beautifully about clothes. She wrote about them with irony and wit mixed in with all the rococo prettiness.

Take all the fullness out of this skirt," they say. "Ok," we say, "but you'll feel awfully silly in it next year." "What do I care about next year?" they answer. "Any dress which isn't in style for at least three years isn't any good to begin with," we say.

That’s the business, Iris. It’s a ruthless industry. People’s love lasts but one season.

Terms such as "man bun," "man purse," "guyliner," "meggings," and the new "romp-him" (romper) have entered the American lexicon. These terms refer to new fashion trends involving men wearing garments or using grooming regiments once thought of as exclusive to women. The term metrosexual comes to mind. While they may be amusing to read, and certainly to say out loud, they are dangerous roadblocks preventing the collapse of the binary. That notion might also make you laugh. Think about it. What purpose do these unnecessary labels serve, other than to single out that these stylistic choices go against the grain? Eyeliner is applied to people's eyelids. Leggings are worn by people who have legs. The gendered associations exist solely as social constructs. Men used to wear leggings all the time in the middle ages. Probably would have shopped at Sephora too, if there had been one at the faire.

That civet-jasmine blend you're wearing tonight absolutely clashes with the third-level formal style of your dress, you know.

That night I set the building on fire and killed everyone inside. Just kidding. I watched three back-to-back episodes of Law & Order. A girl needed a release. It was all work and no play lately.

That night Serena dressed to meet Zahi. She used a metallic green eye shadow on the top lids and the outer half of the bottom lids so that her eyes looked like a jungle cat's. Two coats of black mascara completed them, and then she smudged a light gold gloss on her lips. She took a red skirt from the closet. The material was snakelike, shimmering black, then red. She slipped it on and tied the black strings of a matching bib halter around her neck and waist. She painted red-and-black glittering flames on her legs and rubbed glossy shine on her arms and chest. Finally, she took the necklace she had bought at the garage sale and fixed it in her hairline like the headache bands worn by flappers back in the 1920's. The jewels hung on her forehead, making her look like an exotic maharani. She sat at her dressing table and painted her toenails and fingernails gold, then looked in the mirror. A thrill jolted through her as it always did. No matter how many times she saw her reflection after the transformation, her image always astonished her. She looked supernatural, a spectral creature, green eyes large, skin glowing, eyelashes longer, thicker. Everything about her was more forceful and elegant- an enchantress goddess. She couldn't pull away from her reflection. It was as if the warrior in her had claimed the night.

The beauty of the soul enfold in spiritual-life.

The believer is not a slave to fashion.

The articles were extremely eye-opening. Not just in Teen Vogue but in Seventeen and CosmoGirl as well. They were all about being yourself, staying natural, loving your body as is, and going green! The messages were the exact opposite of Vik and Viv's. Hmmmmm. Frankie turned to face the full-length mirror that was up against the yellow wardrobe. She opened her robe and examined her body. Fit, muscular, and exquisitely proportioned, she agreed with the magazines. So what if her skin was mint? Or her limbs were attached with seams? According to the magazines, which were - no offense! - way more in touch with the times than her parents were, she was suppose to love her body just the way it was. And she did! Therefor if the normies read magazines (which obviously they did, because they were in them), then they would love her, too. Natural was in. Besides she was Daddy's perfect little girl. And who didn't love perfect?

The beauty of the soul is wrapped in modest fashion.

The best creates, the rest follows

The bedlamite little hats in which American women have tried to out-lunatic each other for the past four years prove conclusively we don't dress to please anyone. We're just docile sheep who accept what's given us.

The body is given meaning and wholly constituted by discourse. The body vanishes as a biological entity and becomes instead a socially constituted product which is infinitely malleable and highly unstable.

The "fashion-beauty complex'," representing the corporate interests involved in the fashion and beauty industries, has, Bartky argues, taken over from the family and church as "central producers and regulators of 'femininity'" (1990, p. 39). The fashion-beauty complex promotes itself to women as seeking to, "glorify the female body and to provide opportunities for narcissistic indulgence'' but in fact its aim is to "depreciate woman's body and deal a blow to her narcissism'' so that she will buy more products. The result is that a woman feels constantly deficient and that her body requires "either alteration or else heroic measures merely to conserve it'' (p. 39).

The classic must-haves: Claasic high-heeled pump Ballet Flats Trench coat Classic white shirt The little black dress Cashmere Cardigan/turtleneck A great bag Denim

The Devil's out of fashion.

The fashion look of teens and twentysomethings -once so cutting edge- is now, like most of the music played on the radio, a matter of routine. Safe, tired, everywhere.

The childish and savage taste of men and women for new patterns keeps how many shaking and squinting through kaleidoscopes that they may discover the particular figure which this generation requires to-day. The manufacturers have learned that this taste is merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a few threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable. Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which it is called. It is not barbarous merely because the printing is skin-deep and unalterable.

The clothes or accessories you do or don't wear are a statement, a reflection of yourself; that is why you should always try to wear 'who you are' not anyone else.

The dressmakers have just arrived from Shylon; they are coming here to display their goods.’ ‘Really, that’s lovely.’ ‘I was wondering if I could have some money, please.’ ‘What’s the point in having your own money if you’re just going to spend mine?’ ‘Yeah, but the amount of dresses I’m planning to buy, I might not have enough.’ ‘Then buy an amount you can afford.’ Ratilla responded bearing an expression of incredulity. ‘Oh Rat.’ Tizi said as she pouted, conjuring a mournful expression. ‘I just want to look pretty, what will they say if the wife of the Imperial Chancellor is clothed in rags? I’m only trying to play my part as the wife of the great Ratilla.’ Tizi said, her eyes full of misery, as Ratilla shook his head and chuckled.

The finest scarf or collar made To keep a woman warm By night or day or sea or land Is still a lover's arm.

The first casualty of war is casual wear.

The kitchen is your natural setting as a woman and you should look beautiful, not bedraggled, in it. Whether you go to work or work at home- or both- take advantage of the opportunity the kitchen offers for expressing your wifely qualities in what you wear. Pinafores, organdies, and aprons look wonderful, as do gay cotton wrap-arounds that slip on over your dress while you make breakfast. Too much attention is paid to kitchen equipment and decor; too little to what is worn in this setting. Why look like Cinderella's crotchety stepmother when you can be a lyrical embodiment of all that a home and hearth means!

The happiness of being envied is glamour.

The late eighties was a good vintage. ID was not yet fashionable so a lot of people were doing it for the right reasons - to make good design, not become stars.

The most pleasant and alluring curve on a woman is the smile

The lovely young lady in the mirror was not a stranger, nor was she Lady Overlooked. Once again, Brierly had found some essential core of her model and designed the whole dress around it. Brierly had gathered Nissa’s brown hair in a loose pile on top of her head, with a curl spilling over here and there. The comb secured a single rose just verging on full bloom. Nissa still looked short and sturdy but—endearingly so. A friendly elf. Youthful, but not childish. The dress flattered and concealed the correct curves. Not even Aunt Perturbance would mistake her for fifteen tonight. Nissa blushed–ith pleasure at her appearance, yes–but mainly that her childhood heroine would think so highly of her as to craft such a masterpiece. That she would know her so well as to reflect the true Nissa, but love her so well as to reflect the best possible Nissa.