Fashion Ramp Walk Quotes

A young man and woman walked past - a handsome young man and pretty young woman, the man in a seersucker suit and the woman in an old-fashioned summer dress - and they were walking a bit apart from one another with a space between them, and the man was looking straight ahead and the woman had her arms crossed against her chest, hugging herself, looking down at her feet, at her toes that peeked out the open fronts of her shoes, and they both had the same gleefully suppressed smile on their faces, and I knew that they were freshly in love, perhaps they had fallen in love having dinner in some restaurant with a garden or tables on the sidewalk, perhaps they had not even kissed yet, and they walked apart because they thought they had their whole lives to walk close together, touching, and wanted to anticipate the moment they touched for as long as possible, and they passed my without noticing me and Miro. Something about watching them made me sad. I think it was too lovely: the summer night, the open-toed shoes, their faces rapt with momentarily ramped-down joy. I felt I had witnessed their happiest moment, the pinnacle, and they were already walking away from it, but they did not know it.

Let’s see St. Louis.” “One of the most colorful sections of town is right here at the waterfront,” Julie Anne said. “We can ride a little old-fashioned trolley car. It will take us to a number of interesting places including the arch and the old-time paddle wheel steamers at the foot of the levee.” “That sounds like fun,” Nancy said eagerly. “Let’s try the arch first.” At the next corner the girls boarded a yellow streetcar which clanged its bell and rode off slowly and smoothly toward the huge arch in the waterfront park. They got out with several other tourists and followed them across a concrete walk. Then they went down a ramp toward the entrance into one leg of the huge span.

I wondered if it was right to instruct the fashion models to walk with poker faces, dead eyes and devoid of emotions when all we really want is to be truly seen, understood and have our feelings comprehended. The shells that the models created around them while walking gave out a message that we are wanted only when we are surrounded by these shells, hiding our innermost feelings behind poker faces. The catwalk seemed more like a soulless promotion of impossible body image standards to an audience who reflected on their 'imperfect' body types throughout the fashion show. The models appeared as though they could neither give nor accept empathy, a trait that makes us human. I wondered what kind of society was being portrayed to the audience as the fashion models appeared emotionally distant and somber. People should be reminded to foster loving connections, embrace their true selves, prioritize fitness, joy, and health; unlike the fashion models.

Images of white, semi clad women in colour would be very conspicuous in an otherwise unintelligible newspaper to Nanaki. It was somewhat incongruous to see little pictures, sourced from foreign news agencies, of white women in bikinis, sun tanning on a beach in Zakynthos or a procession of revellers in Sao Paulo complete with exotic costume regalia: trailing pheasant feathers for tails, operatic masks tantalisingly revealing pouty red lips, breasts protruding out of sequinned two pieces, women’s toned derrieres jutting out of glitzy g-strings vibrating animalistically to the samba, shapely legs fitting snugly into gold stilettos. Others showed women walking down the ramp in skimpy lingerie at a Missoni fashion show in Milan. At times these sights would intrigue Nanaki. For her, Urdu was unintelligible, just black marks on paper. Who reads this newspaper? And who are these pictures for? Whose reality is this?