Quotes About Fashion

Cravats grow higher, as if they mean to protect the throat. The highest cravats in public life will be worn by Citizen Antoine Saint-Just, of the National Convention and the Committee of Public Safety. In the dark and harrowing days of '94, an obscene feminine inversion will appear: a thin crimson ribbon, worn round a bare white neck.

he leaves the church, Henry puts on his hat. It is a big hat, a new hat. And in that hat there is a feather.

Gems and jewels and sparkly things. Perfumes and powders and rouges and ribbons. Waltzes, polkas and polonaises. And princes for partners, And most of all, they liked satin dancing shoes.

Off with our nightgowns, and on with the silks and taffetas! Velvet and damask and lace like foam! Buttoned gloves, coral beads, pearl rings, diamond bracelets! Perfumes, powders, gilt tiaras and satin dancing shoes!

Maxi dresses are also my best friend. They take me from my morning coffee, to the beach, to nighttime.

In New York City, you can walk down the street and see a girl in a trench who looks equally as cool as a girl wearing Lululemon. It's like you're watching models. You see a little of everything right by you.

What is more useless than the popular novel that has passed its boom!

His cuffs are jewelled, and the moth pin that holds his cloak in place has wings that move on their own.

You know, until this trip, I thought I liked the cold. One can dress extravagantly when there's no risk of sweating- brocades, gold trims, hats. But I am reevaluating.' ... I roll my eyes. 'You have an understated elegance, so no need to worry about weather.

She had arrived in a gown of black silk beneath a cage of fish bones and shells, her deep aquamarine hair caught up in a crown of coral.

At least the hem of the skirt doesn't drag impractically on the floor. I can still run in it as I howl at the moon.

Nicasia, meanwhile, wears the colours of the sea. Her gown is the green of kelp, deep and rich. Her aqua hair is braided up and adorned with a cunning crown made of fish bones and jaws.

Brambleweft starts to sketch- billowing skirts and cunning little capes, corsets stitched with fanciful creatures. Butterflies alighting along arms and in elaborate headpieces. I am charmed at the alien vision of myself- my corset will have two golden beetles stitched in what looks like a breastplate, with Madoc's moon crest and elaborate swirls of shining thread continuing down my front, and tiny sheer drop sleeves of more gold.

She's good at picking out clothes to send a certain message- even if the message of her drawings appears to be "stay away from me or I will chop off your head"...

Cardan is wearing a high jewelled collar of jet on a stiff black doublet. Over the top of his pointed ears are knifelike caps of gold, matching the gold along his cheekbones. His expression is remote.

opulent patterns intricately stitched on skirts of gold and silver, each as beautiful as the dawn.

I am in a gown of deep forest green with crow feathers covering the shoulders and sleeves, while Cardan wears a doublet ornamented with bright beetle wings.

Nicasia saunters over to where the smith is sitting. She wears a dress of purple that is peacock blue when it catches the light. Her hair is woven in to a braid that circles her head, and at her brow is a chain from which dangle dozens upon dozens of beads in sparkling purples and blues and amber.

Taryn is beautiful in her heavily embroidered dress, and Vivi radiant in soft violet grey with artfully sewn moths seeming to fly from her shoulder across her chest to gather in another group on one side of her waist. I realise how rarely I've seen her in truly splendid clothes. Her hair is up, and my earrings glitter in her lightly furred ears. Her cat eyes gleam in the half light, twin to Madoc's. For once, that makes me smile.

Carelessness in dressing is moral suicide.

Madame de Nucingen was already there, dressed with the deliberate aim of appealing to all eyes, knowing that thereby she would seem even more attractive to Eugène.

Le grand monde a son argot. Mais cet argot s'appelle le style.

This costume, utterly uncouth, seemed to have been invented as a final test of grace, and to show that there was nothing too ridiculous for fashion to consecrate.

The rout, that dreary review of fashionable fineries, that parade of well-dressed self-infatuations, is one of those English inventions currently mechanifying the other nations. England seems determined to see the entire world bored just as she is, and just as bored as she.