Quotes About Fashion

She should have been in her seventies, but she looked trim in a violet suit, discreet diamonds glittering in her ears. Her shoes were sensible for walking.

went up to the dressing room and got kitted, all crinolines and kilted skirts and my tits about falling out the top of my daffodil taffeta dress whenever I grabbed a breath.

Jane pivoted in her desinger shoes and pressed one side of the double doors open with her fingertips; solid oak swung away from her touch, hung so perfectly it moved like rice paper.

Even Matthew, whose taste did not run that way at all, could see that he was beautiful, his black hair slicked back, his suit impeccably tailored and his claret tie fastened with a silver stickpin, a fleur-de-lis that matched the discreet medallions on his cordovon loafers.

Loose crimson trousers wrapped her lower body, her bracelets and necklaces tinkling like glass bells as she breathed.

Her lips were lacquered red as the rubies waved through her hair like frozen blood, and diamonds set in platinum glittered in her ears and on her wrists and at her throat, cold as a frost-hardened dew.

Pearl earrings stood in stark contrast to the twisted iron torc that rode her throat, matte black roundelles flanking the notch of her collar bone.

She was fashionably thin, the line of her jaw sharp as the detail on a porcelain horse, the tendons in her throat vanishing under the ivory silk collar of her suit.

You don't have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump. Lace knickers won't hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in a feather boa just as well as without, and a mild interest in the length of hemlines doesn't necessarily disqualify you from reading Das Kapital and agreeing with every word.

On the subject of dress almost no one, for one or another reason, feels truly indifferent: if their own clothes do not concern them, somebody else's do.

This gathering of one's back hair inside a large net, the new style of hairdressing that William and Tai Haruru had failed to notice on the last peaceful evening at the settlement, was excellently adapted for civil war in the primeval forest, she thought, though possibly the Parisian hairdresser who had devised the fashion had been unaware of the fact.

Women want to wear what they do because of what goes on in their heads. Their size and shape have practically nothing to do with it.

It is impossible to be completely abstract about clothes because they have no life unless they are worn. They must fit onto a body or they do not exist.

paraphrashed :People wear what they wear because of what goes on in their heads...it has nothing to do with their size or shape.

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.

You see the same plain landscape day after day, and then one day, perhaps it's the play of light or the time of year, you find it beautiful and other landscapes at fault. So it must be with fashion. Ordinary judgement falls into abeyance and something else, some bewitchment, takes over. How else to explain the appeal of garments that in a few years look so ridiculous?

Isn't that odd?' she continued as they wandered back from the front towards the shops again, 'When you see people in the shops choosing their clothes and shoes and stuff, they take ages - as though each thing they choose will be amazing and perfect. And then, look at them. They mostly look simply terrible - or just ordinary They might just as well have chosen their clothes out of a bran tub.

What is dollar value but something to amuse people who have no imagination? People who have money and no imagination follow fashion. People who have imagination and no money fashion styles.

mum's dress. mum loved big parties. she loved dressing up and champagne bubbles tickling her nose, and dancing with her arms above her head, shoes thrown to the edges of the dance floor, and shouting inane happy things at people.

It was Julie Burchill who decreed that, beyond a certain age, a man should not be seen in a leather jacket.

Paco Montegrifo was the sort of man who decides, as soon as he's old enough to make such decisions, that black socks are strictly for chauffeurs and waiters and opts instead for socks of only the darkest navy blue.

I'm getting my respect as a video director. The fashion industry respects me and knows who I am.

Design my own line? No, I just like the culture.

My beauty icon is Angelina Jolie.