Quotes About Appearance

Driving from town to town, living in hotels, sometimes not going home during the week because you have an appearance - you really have to be dedicated to do this job.

I tell people all the time, men don't talk to me. Even before I was a household name or whatever, when I went to clubs, people were scared to come to me because of the way I looked.

On the Housewives I was real chunky. In person I don't look that fat.

My philosophy was always try to look like Whitney Houston at all times. That did not work out so well.

It isn't what I do, but how I do it. It isn't what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do it and say it.

It's such a competitive industry. Your film and work make a huge difference, but the secondary thing... your appearance... what you wear and how you are looking are also important.

If you don't look like Rupert Graves or Hugh Grant, they'll have you playing the gardener.

Clothes are such a strong part of who a human being is.

We are all overdressed in our little flashy frocks, our slasher heels, and we all eat small plates of food bites that are as decorative and unsubstantial as we are.

an old guy with a Hemingway beard and the build of a girl.

She had perfect skin, so free of blotches or wrinkles, her face so perfect and character-free she could have just popped out of the womb. They all seemed unfinished. I wanted them to go away.

I had my share of fun,' I said. 'Looks and money get you a long way in Wind Gap.' 'And brains?' 'Brains you hide.

She began walking away from me, down the hallway—luminous white living rooms and sitting rooms and reading rooms blooming out on all sides—and I studied her. It was the first time we'd seen each other in almost a year. My hair was a different color—brown from red—but she didn't seem to notice. She looked exactly the same, though, not much older than I am now, although she's in her late forties. Glowing pale skin

What are you doing here?" asked the prettiest. Her flushed face had the roundness of a girl barely in her teens and her hair was parted in ribbons, but her breasts, which she aimed proudly outward, were those of a grown woman. A lucky grown woman.

The waitress, a plain brunette disguised as a pretty brunette...

She was] sitting across from us, her legs pressed together to one side, like a slash mark. Pretty/professional.

The house was like something from a catalog, and there were two BMWs in the driveway and these were not people who

It seemed like a joke, how much all these dudes looked alike, like living was so hard it just erased your features, rubbed out anything distinctive.

All this could have been avoided if I were less pretty.

I'm not just pretty anymore, I am pretty for my age. It is the truth: My value has decreased.

Amy was absolutely beautiful. I hated her. I was afraid of her.

She had what the Victorians would call a finely shaped head.

At forty, a man wears the face he's earned.

After she found out Aurelie was a Negro, Mama became obsessed with the color of my skin, as if Aurelie's hidden blackness had been contagious and I might have caught a touch of it. Whenever she saw me, she stared at me with furrowed brow and complained that I was losing my bloom. To protect me from the sun, she gave me a parasol to carry when I went out with her, and a straw hat to wear in the convent garden. Still, she worried.