Best 4010 quotes in «fashion quotes» category

People invariably ask Carefree Scamps, “Where did you get that jumper?” or, “Where did you get that dress?” The answer is quite possibly Camden Market, but they won’t be able to remember. They’ll simply answer something like, “I dunno, I’ve had it for ages.

People who copy you will always be one step behind.

Perfection isn't necessarily found only in publicly accepted trends. Perfection is found in self.

Perhaps the most irrational fashion act of all was the male habit for 150 years of wearing wigs. Samuel Pepys, as with so many things, was in the vanguard, noting with some apprehension the purchase of a wig in 1663 when wigs were not yet common. It was such a novelty that he feared people would laugh at him in church; he was greatly relieved, and a little proud, to find that they did not. He also worried, not unreasonably, that the hair of wigs might come from plague victims. Perhaps nothing says more about the power of fashion than that Pepys continued wearing wigs even while wondering if they might kill him.

Peter eyes his swanky and incredibly dated jacket and fluffs the frills on his sleeves. Outside the window stands a guy in a tattered grey hoodie and cut-offs that slide down to his hips, thus exposing the plaid glory of his boxers. “Damn pity. If I'd known what crimes I'd be exposed to under the guise of fashion, I may have very well stayed dead.

Popularity is no boast. From politics to fashion, history has shown popularity is, too often, just a loud celebration of a common ignorance.

[…] printed fashion functions, semiologically speaking, like a true mythology of clothing: it is even because the vestimentary signified is here objectified, thickened, that fashion is mythic. So it is this mythology of clothing (one could also say its utopia) that needs to be the first stage of a vestimentary linguistics.

Product Warning If this book were a medication with a label, it would read something like this: Side Effects Include but Are Not Limited to renewed sense of self-esteem increased motivation in all areas of life You may also lose weight, fall in love, leave a bad marriage, create a better one, have closer relationships with your family, or find the job of your dreams. Some Users Have experienced a kick in their step a swing in their hips a twinkle in their eye Hair-tossing (commercial-style) is common, but seek medical attention if you pinch a nerve or can’t stop doing it.

Real models don't go with the trend, they set the trend.

Rationality and common sense never goes out of fashion.

Quizá mi vida no es más que una serie de momentos de vestirse y desvestirse de nuevo para la tarea en cuestión.

Respect is not creative ... Chanel is an institution, and you have to treat an institution like a whore — and then you get something out of her.

right now, sustainable fashion is a subculture, an alternative market. but i don’t think sustainability should be an alternative market. it should be the new normal. but in an industry that has thrived off the normalization of exploitation, it’s kind of like, what’s next?

Saadanne haarde Vilkaar underkaste de fleeste sig selv, for at følge Strømmen, og for at i Agt tage det som gemeenligen kaldes en Anstændighed, da dog intet er mindre anstændigt og meere daarligt, end at anvende Penge ikke alleene paa unyttige Ting, men endogsaa paa saadanne, som ere Legemet skadelige, og skille en ved mange uskyldige Fornøjelser. Jeg meener, at dens Opførsel er anstændig, der fører et Levnet lige tvert her imod; der sparer unyttige Udgifter, for at være i Stand til at anvende Penge til sin egen og Landets Ære; der gaaer til Fods, og bevæger sig, for at have et sundt Legeme; der æder og drikker saaledes til Middag, at han ikke spilder sit Aftens-Maaltiid. Saaledes er og stedse haver været mit Levnet; og veed jeg ikke at have giort Exces af noget, uden af Snus-Tabac, hvilket, saasom jeg omsider haver mærket, at det var mig ikke tienligt, jeg udi nogle Aar haver modereret.

Sewn together patterns, like many clashing moods, She wears what No others dare

Saint Laurent has excellent taste. The more he copies me, the better taste he displays. - Coco Chanel

She'd been taught that pants were inappropriate for girls because they were immodest [...] If women's pants were suggestive, men's were equally so, and they revealed a great deal more of what was underneath them. There was almost always a bulge--you couldn't help but notice it--and if the pants were tight, you could see practically everything. And the way men were always drawing attention to it! Touching and scratching themselves with total unselfconsciousness, as if they were alone and not in public. She'd even seen Aidan do it a few times, absent-mindedly. And yet no one accused men of being improper or of encouraging sin by reminding women of what hung between their legs. She looked at herself in the mirror, irritated suddenly by the double standard. This was how her body was made. The fact that it was well made and encased in a pair of blue jeans didn't mean she was inviting anything.

She did what girls generally do when they don't feel the part: she dressed it instead.

She dug through the clothes packed in the trunk until she found the blue halter top and black jeans she had been wearing the night Veto died. She wasn't sure why she had saved them, but she was glad she had, now. She was going to wear them tonight in honor of Veto. She carried them back to her room, stood in front of the mirror over her dresser, and slipped on the gold earrings that had been a gift from Veto. Then she started to dress. She rubbed glitter lotion over her arms and painted black lines on her eyelids. She rolled on her mascara, then stood back.

She felt uncomfortably warm in her pink snakeskin jacket. The wooden platforms with the neon-green straps and rhinestones were already starting to cramp her toes.

She first peered into its fascinating cases of beetles and butterflies at the age of six, in the company of her father. She recalls her pity at each occupant pinned for display. It was no great leap to draw the same conclusion of ladies: similarly bound and trussed, pinned and contained, with the objective of being admired, in all their gaudy beauty.

She sent Amelie to inform Maydrop that she donned an evening dress made of a heavy, supple olive green silk that gleamed under candlelight. It fell from the bodice, but rather than belling out, the silk was cut on the bias and hugged every curve of her body. The bodice was gathered under her breasts and trimmed with dark copper lace that glimmered with shiny black beads. and widened into short sleeves. Her hair was pulled straight back from her forehead without even a wisp floating at her ears, and she waved away the ruby necklace Amelie offered. She wanted no distraction from her face. She did, however, slide a sparkling ruby onto her right hand, a present she had given to herself when Ryburn Weavers made its first thousand guineas in profit. How better to remember that milestone than to wear a sizable percentage it on one's finger? Finally, Amelie drew out a small brush and skillfully applied a few strategic dabs of face paint. The last thing Theo wanted was to try to look conventionally feminine, but she'd discovered that a thin line of kohl made her eyes look deep and mysterious.

She held a scarlet sequin dress to her chest and posed in front of a mirror. Too hot. She put it back and took a black mini. Too dreary. Then a blue as pale as a whisper caught her eye. She took the dress. The material was silky and clinging. Perfect for a goddess. On the floor below the dress sat scrappy wraparound high-heeled sandals that matched the blue. She didn't understand why she needed to dress up to meet Stanton but the impulse to steal into the storage room had been rising in her since the sun set. She took the dress and sandals back to her room, then sat on the floor and painted her toenails and fingernails pale blue. She drew waves of eternal flames and spiral hearts in silver and blue around her ankles and up her legs with body paints. When she was done, she pressed a Q-tip into glitter eye shadow and spread sparkles on her lid and below her eye. With a sudden impulse she swirled the lines over her temple and into her hairline. She liked the look. She rolled blue mascara on her lashes, then brushed her hair and snapped crystals in the long blond strands. She squeezed glitter lotion into her palms and rubbed it on her shoulders and arms. Last she took the dress and stepped into it. She turned to the mirror on the closet door. A thrill ran through her. Her reflection astonished her. She looked otherworldly, a mystical creature... eyes large, skin glowing, eyelashes longer, thicker. Everything about her was more powerful and sleek and fairy tale. Surely this wasn't really happening. Maybe she would wake up and run to school and tell Catty about her crazy dreams. But another part of her knew this was real. She leaned to one side. The dress exposed too much thigh. "Good." Her audacity surprised her. Another time she would have changed her dress. But why should she?

She loathed her profile almost as much as she loathed the dress. If she didn't have to worry about people mistaking her for a boy--- not that they really did, but they couldn't stop remarking on the resemblance; at any rate, if she didn't have to worry about that--- she would never again wear pink. Or pearls. There was something dreadfully banal about the way the pearls shimmered. For a moment she distracted herself by mentally ripping her dress apart, stripping it of its ruffles and pearls and tiny sleeves. Given a choice, she would dress in plum-colored silk and sleek her hair away from her face without a single flyaway curl. Her only hair adornment would be an enormous feather--- a black one--- arching backward so it brushed her shoulder. If her sleeves were elbow-length, she could trim them with a narrow edging of black fur. Or perhaps swansdown, with the same at the neck. Or she could put a feather trim at the neck; the white would look shocking against the plum velvet. That led to the idea that she could put a ruff at the neck and trim that with a narrow strip of swansdown,. It would be even better if the sleeves weren't opaque fabric but nearly transparent, like that new Indian silk her friend Lucinda had been wearing the previous night, and she would have them quite wide, so they billowed and gathered tight at the elbow. Or perhaps the wrist would be more dramatic....

She was crying over shoes. I wanted to slap her. I wanted to take those shoes and smash her head in.

She was found in her apartment yesterday. Dead.” About time.

She was never without dark glasses, she was always well groomed, there was a consequential good taste in the plainness of her clothes, the blues and grays and lack of luster that made her, herself, shine so.

She was wearing a sleeveless top that held her breasts in the most marvelous way, the balance between what it revealed and what it left to the imagination as poetic as a Shakespearean sonnet.

Sit there and look pretty.

Skulls" said Lady Lamorna. "Definitely skulls. Rows and rows of dear little skulls, sewn all along the hem.

Some clothes provoke more feelings in me than people.

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.

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.

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

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

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 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 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 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.

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

Style is the way to say who you are without speaking

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.

Style jazzes up your canvas.