Fitted Wardrobe Quotes

My box bedroom can only fit a bed and a wardrobe but it was my whole world. My only personal space to think and dream, to cry and laugh and wait until I became old enough to do all the things I wasn't allowed to do.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other. I could have had different ancestors, after all. I could have fluttered from another nest or crawled bescaled from under another tree. Nature's wardrobe holds a fair supply of costumes: spider, seagull, field mouse. Each fits perfectly right off and is dutifully worn into shreds.

The articles were extremely eye-opening. Not just in Teen Vogue but in Seventeen and CosmoGirl as well. They were all about being yourself, staying natural, loving your body as is, and going green! The messages were the exact opposite of Vik and Viv's. Hmmmmm. Frankie turned to face the full-length mirror that was up against the yellow wardrobe. She opened her robe and examined her body. Fit, muscular, and exquisitely proportioned, she agreed with the magazines. So what if her skin was mint? Or her limbs were attached with seams? According to the magazines, which were - no offense! - way more in touch with the times than her parents were, she was suppose to love her body just the way it was. And she did! Therefor if the normies read magazines (which obviously they did, because they were in them), then they would love her, too. Natural was in. Besides she was Daddy's perfect little girl. And who didn't love perfect?

That was the one thing June had been terrified of having - a standard life, an ordinary life, a life like her parents’ - living in a pink sandstone semi-detached villa in the suburbs with a neat garden and an en-suite master bedroom with fitted wardrobes

Happiness is a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you've got, and there isn't anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud.” Grace March

They [best dressed women] don’t want to look like their daughters. They want their own individual brand of chic. […] The cut and fit must be exactly right, and they are willing to spend hours in the fitting room to make sure of it. They spend money, too. But if any one of them went broke tomorrow she’d rather choose one perfectly cut expensive dress and make it do for years than buy a dozen cheap ones.

He saw her legs first. Ankle boots met her bare calves, and the tops of her knees were hidden under a maroon, long-sleeved body-con dress. His gaze momentarily flitted to her breasts, which were pushed up and toward him. He was only human, after all, and they were really amazing breasts. He was used to seeing her in conservative wardrobe choices for the show, or the casual-date look she'd had at the pumpkin patch and ice-cream shop. In this fitted, sleek dress that showed off every one of her curves, though, she looked...

My most favorite personality wardrobe item is an authentic, everyday halo. It fits me in a supernatural and ethereal and way, to ensure I'm best-dressed for any occasion...any time of the day.

We buy items that we only half like because they are on sale or a “good deal.” •We wear clothes that are so uncomfortable we need to take them off as soon as we get home. •We keep items that stopped fitting years ago just in case they fit again someday. •We wear shoes that we can hardly walk in and that leave our feet covered in blisters. •We force ourselves to wear pieces that we feel only so-so about because they were expensive and we don’t want to let that “investment” go to waste. •We wear worn-out, scruffy pieces around the house and hope nobody is going to stop by unannounced. •We wear clothes that ride up and tug in all the wrong places. •We wear outfits that don’t make us feel confident or inspired because we simply don’t have anything better in our wardrobe.

If you think the dress is right for you, where are you going to wear it? Does it fit into the kind of life you lead? (If you live in the country, what are you doing with all those town suits and hostess pajamas?) Supposing the dress is all right. If so, what shoes do you wear with it? What hat, gloves? Handbag, jewelry? […] So many women fall in love with a dress, bring it home, and find absolutely nothing that will go with it.

I see that the wardrobe looks penetrable because it has a door. But when I open it, I see that penetration has been put off: since inside is also a wooden surface, like a closed door. Function of the wardrobe: to keep drag and disguises hidden. Nature: that of the inviolability of things. Relation to people: we look at ourselves in the mirror on the inside of the door, we always look at ourselves in an inconvenient light because the wardrobe is never in the right place: awkward, it stands wherever it fits, always huge, hunchbacked, shy and clumsy, unaware how to be more discreet, for it has too much presence. A wardrobe is enormous, intrusive, sad, kind.

It's not you, it's them. It really is. And those boxes, those binaries, those bathroom signs, those rigid roles, they hurt them too, they do, they carve away at their souls and secret desires and self-esteem and believable dreams and possible wardrobes and acceptable careers just like they do ours, just it's harder for them to tell it's happening on account of no one is hassling them in the bathrooms every other day about it. They somehow just fit better in those boxes, so they can't see what fitting has cost them, not like we can.

Cheat propped his elbows on his knees and gazed up at Kestrel. He scrutinized her: the long, loosely clasped hands, the folds of her dress. Kestrel’s clothes had mysteriously appeared in the suite’s wardrobe, probably while she had slept, and she was glad. The dueling ensemble had served well enough, but wearing a dress fit for society made Kestrel feel ready for different kinds of battle. “Where is Arin?” Cheat said. “In the mountains.” “Doing what?” “I don’t know. I imagine that, since the Valorian reinforcements will come through the mountain pass, he is analyzing its values and drawbacks as a battleground.” Cheat gave her a gleeful smirk. “Does it bother you, being a traitor?” “I don’t see how I am.” “You just confirmed that the reinforcements will come through the pass. Thank you.” “It’s hardly worth thanking me,” she said. “Almost every useful ship in the empire has been sent east, which means there is no other way into the city. Anyone with brains could figure that out, which is why Arin is in the mountains, and you are here.” A flush began to build under Cheat’s skin.

The last dress in the wardrobe was loosely wrapped in thin tissue paper that tore away at the slightest touch. Isabel was intrigued by this one, a cocktail dress in peach-colored silk, embellished with a line of crystal bugle beads around the neckline, a fitted bodice and flaring skirt. In the glow of the bedside lamp, the dress was luminous and shimmering with a life of its own.

O Lord, as one made so by thee, to think me fit for thee; and whether it be thy pleasure to dispose of this body, this garment, so as to put it to a farther wearing in this world, or to lay it up in the common wardrobe, the grave, for the next, glorify thyself in thy choice now, and glorify it then, with that glory, which thy Son, our Saviour Christ Jesus, hath purchased for them whom thou makest partakers of his resurrection. Amen.

The wardrobe threw open her doors. Inside were a few interesting things- one of the largest, clearest mirrors Belle had ever seen, some moths, and an extremely pretty collection of gowns that would have made the blond triplets, Paulette, Claudette, and Laurette, swoon. Belle examined the dresses skeptically. Of course, if things went the way they did in fairy tales, they would all fit her perfectly. The question was, was this a "Bluebeard's Wives" situation? Or something else?

Seamstresses had been working all night making uniforms for me. As I waited to be fitted, I looked over at a rack of uniforms tagged with the word “Custer” and the name of another actor. I watched a wardrobe man come in and gather up the uniforms, toss them like rags in a corner, and replace them on the rack with blue and gold-braided uniforms marked “Custer” with my name on them. I looked at those uniforms piled up on the floor and said to myself: “That can happen to me some day.

When I stepped into the trailer, I froze. The head of wardrobe was a guy—a very good-looking guy with ash blond hair, hazel eyes, and a body on him that would make my trainer proud. There was no way I was going to let this guy see any of my flaws. Of course, maybe I wouldn’t be dealing with him. Over the last two weeks, all of my wardrobe fittings had been with a woman. “Where’s Jackie?” I asked, hoping she was still assigned to me. “Oh, honey, that girl quit to go work on a Leonardo DiCaprio movie.” He threw his hip out as he flipped his hand in the air. “But can you blame her? Leo is way too hot to turn down. I’m Steve,” he said, putting his hand over his chest. “And I promise I’ll take much better care of you than Jackie.

Cheat propped his elbows on his knees and gazed up at Kestrel. He scrutinized her: the long, loosely clasped hands, the folds of her dress. Kestrel’s clothes had mysteriously appeared in the suite’s wardrobe, probably while she had slept, and she was glad. The dueling ensemble had served well enough, but wearing a dress fit for society made Kestrel feel ready for different kinds of battle. “Where is Arin?” Cheat said. “In the mountains.” “Doing what?” “I don’t know. I imagine that, since the Valorian reinforcements will come through the mountain pass, he is analyzing its values and drawbacks as a battleground.” Cheat gave her a gleeful smirk. “Does it bother you, being a traitor?” “I don’t see how I am.” “You just confirmed that the reinforcements will come through the pass. Thank you.” “It’s hardly worth thanking me,” she said. “Almost every useful ship in the empire has been sent east, which means there is no other way into the city. Anyone with brains could figure that out, which is why Arin is in the mountains, and you are here.” A flush began to build under Cheat’s skin. He said, “My feet are dusty.” Kestrel had no idea how to respond to that. “Wash them,” he said. “What?” He took off his boots, stretched out his legs, and leaned back against the bench. Kestrel, who had been quite still, became stone. “It’s Herrani custom for the lady of the house to wash the feet of special guests,” said Cheat. “Even if such a custom existed, it died ten years ago. And I’m not the lady of the house.” “No, you’re a slave. You’ll do as I command.

I turned and looked at her. She was a major in Costume Design and as such had all kinds of peculiar clothing in her room. “Is it yours?” I said. “I stole it from the wardrobe at the Costume shop. I was going to cut it up and make, like, a bustier out of it.” Great, I thought, but I went along with her anyway. The jacket, unexpectedly, was wonderful—old Brooks Brothers, unlined silk, ivory with stripes of peacock green—a little loose, but it fit all right. “Judy,” I said, looking at my cuffs. “This is wonderful. You sure you don’t mind?” “You can have it,” said Judy. “I don’t have time to do anything with it. I’m too busy sewing those dammed costumes for fucking As You Like It. It goes up in three weeks and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve got all these freshmen working for me this term that don’t know a sewing machine from a hole in the ground.

On the way to the cake shop I kept stopping to shake the wet leaves off the soles of my brown suede Whistles boots. I bought them at Sue Ryder, the charity shop in Camden Town. [...] I know how to find good clothes in those places. First scan the rails for an awkward colour, anything that jumps out as being a bit ugly, like dirty mustard, salmon pink or olive green with a bit too much brown in it. A print with an unusual combination of colours – dark green and pink, bright orange and ultramarine – is also worth checking out. If the quality of the fabric is good, pull the garment out and check the label. Well-cut clothes can look misshapen on a hanger because they're cut to look good on the body. I'll buy a good piece if it fits, even if it doesn't sometimes. Even if it's not my style or has short sleeves, or I don't like the shape or the buttons. I learn to love it. I never tire of clothes I've bought that I've had to adjust to. It's the compromise, the awkward gap that has to be bridged that makes something, someone, lovable.

I turned my focus to clothes, immediately endeavoring to find just the right dress for the occasion. This was huge--my debut as the girlfriend of Marlboro Man--and I shopped with that in mind. Should I go for a sleek, sexy suit? That might seem too confident and brazen. A floral silk skirt? Too obvious for a wedding. A little black dress? Too conservative and safe. The options pummeled my brain as I browsed the choices on the racks. I tried on dress after dress, suit after suit, outfit after outfit, my frustration growing more acute with each zip of the zipper. I wanted to be a man. Men don’t agonize over what to wear to a wedding. They don’t spend seven hours trying on clothes. They don’t think of wardrobe choices as life-or-death decisions. That’s when I found it: a drop-dead gorgeous fitted suit the exact color of a stick of butter. It was snug, with just a slight hint of sexy, but the lovely, pure color made up for it. The fabric was a lightweight wool, but since the wedding would be at night, I knew it would be just fine. I loved the suit--not only would I feel pretty for Marlboro Man, but I’d also appear moderately, but not overly, confident to all his cousins, and appropriate and proper to his elderly grandmothers.

Violet’s not getting out of our sight,” Arion adds. There’s a moment of just staring…like everyone is trying to silently argue. “No one naked in my car,” Mom states when I just stand in my spot, waiting on them to hurry through the push and pull. You really can tell how thick the air is when too many alphas are in the room at one time, but weirdly it never feels this way when it’s just the four of them. Unless punches are thrown. Then it gets a little heavier than normal. Arion pulls on his clothes, and threads whir in the air as I quickly fashion Emit a lopsided toga that lands on his body. Everyone’s gaze swings to him like it’s weird for him and normal for me to be in a toga. Awesome. Damien muffles a sound, Emit arches an eyebrow at me, and Arion remains rigid, staying close to me but never touching me. All of us squeezing into a car together while most of them hate each other…should be fun. The storm finally stops before we board the elevator, and it’s one of those super awkward elevator moments where no one is looking at anyone or saying anything, and everyone is trying to stay in-the-moment serious. We stop on the floor just under us, after the longest thirty-five seconds ever. The doors open, and two men glance around at Emit and I in our matching togas, even though his is the fitted sheet and riding up in some funny places. He looks like a caveman who accidentally bleached and shrank his wardrobe. I palm my face, embarrassed for him. The next couple of floors are super awkward with the addition of the two new, notably uncomfortable men. Worst seventy-nine seconds ever. Math doesn’t add up? Yeah. I’m upset about those extra nine seconds as well. Poor Emit has to duck out of the unusually small elevator, and the bottom of his ass cheek plays peek-a-boo on one side. Damien finally snorts, and even Mom struggles to keep a straight face. That really pisses her off. “You’re seeing him on an off day,” I tell the two guys, who stare at my red boots for a second. I feel the need to defend Emit a little, especially since I now know he overheard all that gibberish Tiara was saying… I can’t remember all I said, and it’s worrying me now that my mind has gone off on this stupid tangent. I trip over the hem of my toga, and Arion snags me before I hit the floor, righting me and showing his hands to my mother with a quick grin. “Can’t just let her fall,” he says unapologetically. “You’re going to have to learn to deal with that,” she bites out. She has a very good point. I don’t trip very often, but things and people usually knock me around a good bit of my life. The two guys look like they want to run, so I hurry to fix this. “Really, it’s a long story, but I swear Emit—the tallest one in the fitted-sheet-toga—generally wears pants…er…I guess you guys call them trousers over here. Anyway, we had some plane problems,” I carry on, and then realize I have to account for the fact we’re both missing clothing. “Then there was a fire that miraculously only burned our clothes, because Emit put all my flames out by smothering me with his body,” I state like that’s exactly what happened. Why do they look so scared? I’m not telling a scary lie. At this point, I’ve just made it worse, and fortunately Damien takes mercy, clamping his hand over my mouth as he starts steering me toward the door before I can make it…whatever comes after worse but before the worst. “Thank you,” sounds more like “Mmdi ooooo,” against his hand, but he gets the gist, as he grins. Mom makes a frustrated sound. “Another minute, and she’d be bragging about his penis size in quest to save his dignity. Did you really want to hear that?” Damien asks her, forcing me to groan against his hand.

Change Your Look With These Top Notch Fashion Tips In fashion, there aren't any set rules. There is no one right way to be fashionable. Read a lot of different sources and then take what you've learned, pick it apart and use the tips that are best for you. Continue reading to learn great advice that you can tailor to your own wants and needs. If you like a shirt or skirt think about getting it in more than one color. Because clothes come in so many varying cuts and styles, you're likely find it difficult to find clothes that fit well for your body type. When you do just get more than one so that you can feel great more often. If you have thick or very curly hair, using a gel product will help you to create the style you desire. Work the product into towel-dried hair and then style it as you want. You can allow it to dry naturally, or use a hair drier. This is especially helpful in humid weather. In today's business world, it is imperative that men be well dressed. Therefore, it is essential to shop for top drawer clothing when buying clothes for your next interview. To begin your search, look through today's business magazines to ensure your wardrobe matches the top executives. Look for whether men are wearing cuffed pants or hemmed pants, ties with designs or solid ties as well as what type of shoe is currently in style. Skimpy tops are comfortable to wear in hot weather, but be careful if you are a big busted gal. Your figure needs good support, and you will feel more secure if you wear a sports bra under a lightweight top that has skinny straps and no shape of its own. Don't overstock your beauty kit with makeup. Just choose a few colors that match the season. Consider your needs for day and evening applications. Makeup can go bad if it's opened, just like other products. Bacteria can build on it, too. Have yourself professionally fitted for a bra. An ill-fitting brassiere is not only unflattering, but it affects how your clothing fits. Once you know your true size, buy a few bras in different styles and cuts. A plunge or demi-cup bra, a strapless bra, and a convertible bra give you versatile options. The thing about fashion is that it's a very easy topic once you get to know a little bit about it. Use the ideas you like and ignore the rest. It's okay not to follow every trend. Breaking away from the trends is better if you desire to be unique.

that come from wearing a uniform, another downfall is the need for a highly efficient laundry system at home. There are five days of school per week. So I have five shirts, five pants and five pairs of socks that fit me. The key here is the part about them fitting me. About half of my entire wardrobe is made up of school-related stuff. I have some shirts from last year that fit, but are a little too snug. I have pants that are the same way.

The wrap dress is a very flattering style on any body type. You just need to make sure you fit the shoulders, and the rest of the dress takes care of itself. It makes women look feminine, pulled together, and at ease in the world. I encourage all women who are trying to update their work wardrobes to invest in a couple of flattering wrap dresses. It’s easy, one-step-dressing: it travels well, and it’s easy to care for. With a wrap dress and heels – a complete outfit that can fit in the average purse – you’re all set for a business meeting or dinner date.

When we were leaving London, Dad spent about an hour trying to push his wardrobe through the bedroom door. He turned it on its side. He tried it upside down. He tilted it one way and then the other but it just would not fit. Words like "Mum" and "Affair" and "Dad" and "Drinking" were just like that wardrobe--too big to get out. No matter what I did, I couldn't fit them through the space between my teeth.

(nobody actually likes vodka, soda and fresh lime, but they were necessary if she wanted to fit into this weekend’s wardrobe)

Components of Elegant Attire 4.1.1 Simple lines and tailored design Clean lines and well-tailored silhouettes define classy clothing. Perfectly fitting clothing should highlight your body's natural proportions and give off an image of effortlessness. 4.1.2 A subdued color scheme A sophisticated wardrobe is built on neutral hues like black, white, navy, beige, and gray. These hues offer a flexible foundation on which you can create your chic combinations. 4.1.3 Classic Works Invest in classic pieces that will last a lifetime. The essentials of stylish clothing are a timeless trench coat, a tailored blazer, a little black dress, and well-fitted trousers. 3.1.4 Less is more and minimalism Decide on quality above quantity to embrace simplicity. Choose carefully chosen pieces for your capsule wardrobe that you can mix and match with ease.

Try it,” she said at last. Reka blinked. “Try what?” “Happiness.” Grace rose, smoothing her skirt. “It’s a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits.

choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud

decide the middle one isn’t necessary. Tickling his tiny, sock-covered feet, I grab ahold, wiggling them back and forth with a big smile to pretend we’re playing a game. It works like a charm, and he stops flailing for half a second, just long enough for me to quickly slide on his cotton shorts. He screams then, his arms stretched out, fists opening and closing over and over, making grabby hands to let me know he wants me to pick him back up. “One second, mister.” I turn to my own mess of a wardrobe in search of another clean top, but my drawer is empty aside from the T-shirts I wear to bed, and when I look in my closet, bare hangers stare back. That is, on the side dedicated to the clothes that actually fit. My eyes

thought you had liberal views on what women should be allowed to do. It’s not as if I were suggesting joining one of your hideous hunts. I imagine that there aren’t wild animals behind every rock in Turkey waiting to charge at helpless humans.” “I wouldn’t object in principle to your going to Troy, but I will admit that I don’t view you as an adventurous type.” His eyes searched my own. “Beast! You don’t know me at all.” “Would you have the wardrobe?” He was laughing, and I realized he was teasing me. “Isn’t Ephesus in Turkey? Perhaps I could visit there on the same trip. I’ll send you a note from the Temple of Artemis, where I assure you I will not appear in evening clothes.” “I didn’t realize you had an interest in antiquity.” “Philip inspired me.” We had reached the rue de Rivoli and were nearly at the Meurice. “Let’s keep walking; I would like to see the river at night.” We turned away from the hotel and walked until we reached the Pont-Neuf. The air had grown chilly, and I had not worn even a light wrap; Colin stood near me to shield me from the wind blowing over the bridge. “Can you imagine how many people have crossed this bridge?” I asked. “It must be three hundred years old. Do you think that Marie Antoinette ever stood here and looked across the Seine at the city?” “Hardly. I think she would have had a greater appreciation for the views at Versailles.” “We consider this bridge old, but if it were in Athens, would anyone even comment on it? I shouldn’t be impressed with anything less than two thousand years old if I were in Greece.” “Then you would miss some particularly fine Roman ruins, my dear. Why don’t you plan a nice, civilized trip to Athens on your way to Santorini when you go?” “I shall have to see how it fits with my plan to visit Troy.” Colin shook his head and took my arm. I let him guide me back to the hotel, but not before contemplating at some length the pleasure I derived from his standing so close to me.   COLIN CALLED ON ME the next afternoon, and I confess I was delighted to see him. I planned to dine in my rooms that evening and invited him to join me. He readily accepted. “What time shall I return?” he asked. “I’ll only need to dress.” “Don’t be silly,” I replied. “We shan’t dress. I ordered a light supper and asked to have it early. It’s only the two of us, and

You need to let me go, Dmitri, and move on. I am not going to marry you.” “I will have you.” Such conviction, and he’d brought some muscle to try and prove his statement. A pair of brutes exited the car. Dmitri’s order of, “Don’t hurt her,” made her tsk aloud. Please. If he thought to subdue her, he should have brought more guys. As the one gorilla— and seriously, despite his obvious humanity, she had to wonder at his ancestry— grabbed for her arm, she sidestepped, causing him to snare only air. She, on the other hand, didn’t miss. Her foot swung out and cracked goon number one in the knee. He let out a yelp of pain, but before she could take him out fully, the second guy lunged for her. She ducked under his grasping hands and thrust, her fist connecting with his diaphragm. He gasped for breath. She took no mercy and kneed him in the groin, just as goon number one made his next move. With a tinkle of bells, the door to the coffee shop opened, and a very calm-sounding Leo said, “Lay a finger on her, and I will rip your arm off and beat you with it.” As threats went, it was adorable. Especially since, given his size and mien, Leo probably could. The idiot didn’t listen. The thug went to grab Meena’s arm, and curiosity made her let him instead of breaking his fingers. Why exert herself when Pookie seemed determined to come to her rescue? While outwardly he appeared cool and composed, a wild storm brewed in his eyes as Leo growled, “I said don’t touch.” Crack. Yup. There was one guy who wouldn’t be touching anything with that arm for a while, and he’d probably end up hoarse with the way he was screaming. Pussy. In the distance, sirens wailed to life, and it didn’t take Dmitri’s barked, “Get in the car, you idiots,” for the thugs to realize their attempt at a coerced kidnapping had failed. Meena didn’t bother watching the car speed off, not when she had something much more important to attend to. Like a man who thought she needed saving. How her dad would laugh when he heard about it. Her sister, Teena, would sigh about how romantic it was. Her mom, on the other hand, would chastise Meena for causing chaos once again. Turning to Leo, who wore a formidable glower, she threw herself at him. Apparently, he half expected it because his arms opened wide, and he caught her— without even a tiny stagger! She latched her legs around his waist, draped her arms around his neck, and exclaimed, “Pookie, you were awesome. You saved me from those big, bad men. You’re like a knight in Under Armour.” Not entirely true. He wore a plain black Fruit of the Loom T-shirt. But she could totally picture him in one of those form-fitting tees that Under Armour specialized in that would mold his perfect chest. On second thought, given how it would show off his impressive musculature, perhaps she should leave his wardrobe alone. No use taunting the female public with what they couldn’t have. It would also mean less blood for her to rinse if they dared to touch. “I’d hardly say I saved you. You seemed to be doing all right on your own.” She planted a big smooch on his lips and declared him, “My hero.

ONCE, IN A HOUSE ON EGYPT STREET, there lived a rabbit who was made almost entirely of china. He had china arms and china legs, china paws and a china head, a china torso and a china nose. His arms and legs were jointed and joined by wire so that his china elbows and china knees could be bent, giving him much freedom of movement. His ears were made of real rabbit fur, and beneath the fur, there were strong, bendable wires, which allowed the ears to be arranged into poses that reflected the rabbit’s mood — jaunty, tired, full of ennui. His tail, too, was made of real rabbit fur and was fluffy and soft and well shaped. The rabbit’s name was Edward Tulane, and he was tall. He measured almost three feet from the tip of his ears to the tip of his feet; his eyes were painted a penetrating and intelligent blue. In all, Edward Tulane felt himself to be an exceptional specimen. Only his whiskers gave him pause. They were long and elegant (as they should be), but they were of uncertain origin. Edward felt quite strongly that they were not the whiskers of a rabbit. Whom the whiskers had belonged to initially — what unsavory animal — was a question that Edward could not bear to consider for too long. And so he did not. He preferred, as a rule, not to think unpleasant thoughts. Edward’s mistress was a ten-year-old, dark-haired girl named Abilene Tulane, who thought almost as highly of Edward as Edward thought of himself. Each morning after she dressed herself for school, Abilene dressed Edward. The china rabbit was in possession of an extraordinary wardrobe composed of handmade silk suits, custom shoes fashioned from the finest leather and designed specifically for his rabbit feet, and a wide array of hats equipped with holes so that they could easily fit over Edward’s large and expressive ears. Each pair of well-cut pants had a small pocket for Edward’s gold pocket watch. Abilene wound this watch for him each morning.

Neither Teremun nor Hidayah had been to an English Gentleman’s store before. She hadn’t even known there was such a store in Cairo. On arriving and presenting her letter of introduction, they were treated like royalty by true English gentlemen dressed in immaculate suits with starched white collars. She thought she caught her own reflection in one man’s shining shoes before being seated at a small table and served tea while Teremun was measured for his fitting. It was a surprise to learn that his school uniforms for Dulwich College would be tailored in Cairo and his entire traveling wardrobe would be ready before his departure. As would a letter for the Dulwich College Master informing him of the name of the tailor in London who would be responsible for Charles Albert de Villiers’ habiliments while in England. After one and a half hours of measuring,

They turned their attention to the wardrobe that held several Armani suits, all of them individually tailored to fit Humpty’s unique stature and held up on hangers shaped like hula hoops.

Lawrence’s suggestion for a starter wardrobe: a black dress, a fitted black jacket, black pants, a black skirt, a camel-colored skirt, a white blouse, a trendy-looking cardigan in a color (red could be good, for instance), several cool, inexpensive blouses (from places such as H&M or Zara) that pick up or work with the color of the cardigan and will go with your pants and skirts. For shoes, go for black heels and a pair of colored ones (they will make one of your all-black outfits look totally fab). Then build from there.

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Put on Love And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. COLOSSIANS 3:14 NIV How many mornings have we stood in our closets, looking hopelessly at its overstuffed contents and thinking we have nothing to wear? What we’re really thinking is that we have nothing to wear that makes us feel cute or pretty or sporty or professional—or whatever look we’re going for that day. We want to look attractive. We want others to be drawn to us. And sometimes, no matter how many blouses we have to choose from, nothing feels right. But there is one accessory we all have available to us that always fits. It always looks right, is always appropriate, and always makes us more attractive to others. When we wear it, we are beautiful, no matter how faded or dated our wardrobes may be. When we wear it, we become more popular, more sought after, more admired. What is that accessory, you ask, and where can you buy it? It’s love, and you can’t buy it anywhere. But it’s free, and it’s always available through the Holy Spirit. When we call on Him to help us love others, He cloaks us in a beautiful covering that draws people to us and makes us perfectly lovely in every way. Dear Father, as I get dressed each day, help me to remember the most important accessory I can wear is Your love. Amen.

Happiness.” Grace rose, smoothing her skirt. “It’s a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud—or at least, that’s what I’ve always thought.

Happiness is a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you've got, and there isn't anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud.

This project may be preceeded or followed by the clothing organization steps found in the next section of this book. ORGANIZE CLOTHING examples of storage bedroom closet (walk-in or standard) dresser armoire underbed storage boxes trunk or storage ottoman nightstand supplies needed trash bags/recycling bin, donation box, relocation box, fix-it box spray cleaner and cleaning cloth broom and dust pan and/or vacuum storage containers label maker and/or tags to hang from containers/baskets time commitment 4–10 hours quick assessment questions What are the main categories of clothing? What items could be placed in off-season storage? What types of things need quick and instant access? potential goals for this space make getting ready in the morning a snap make it easier to put away clothing in the evening and on laundry day get rid of clothing that no longer fits create a new wardrobe make the closet visually appealing quick-toss list any clothing that is stained or ripped shoes that are past their prime clothing left over from the high school years (unless, of course, you’re still in high school) souvenir t-shirts broken jewelry socks without mates underwear that has lost its elasticity dry-cleaner hangers and plastic bags storage containers bins/boxes/baskets that are open-top bins/boxes/baskets with lids

potential goals for this space make getting ready in the morning a snap make it easier to put away clothing in the evening and on laundry day get rid of clothing that no longer fits create a new wardrobe make the closet visually appealing quick-toss list any clothing that is stained or ripped shoes that are past their prime clothing left over from the high school years (unless, of course, you’re still in high school) souvenir t-shirts broken jewelry socks without mates underwear that has lost its elasticity dry-cleaner hangers and plastic bags storage containers bins/boxes/baskets that are open-top bins/boxes/baskets with lids double

Shiv Roy’s wardrobe on Succession has become the prime pop-culture example of stealth wealth. Her clothes—well-tailored high-waisted trousers and fitted turtlenecks—are by high-end brands like Armani and Ralph Lauren, but not easily identifiable in terms of their labels. They don’t scream “luxury,” but they definitely whisper it.

I propose a new mandatory course for all university students. Every student in the class is squeezed into the smallest closet possible and they have to stand there for forty-five minutes without making eye contact with anyone. If you make eye contact, you fail. Then they are asked to move into an even smaller closet—in which they won’t all fit. If you don’t make it into the second wardrobe, you fail the course. I call it “Commuting 101.” I’m not sure how long Jean-Paul Sartre’s commute was, but it might have been where he first came up with the phrase “Hell is other people.

Being with Sally again was like finding a once favourited coat in the back of the wardrobe, realising it still fit and remembering why you loved it so much. I was desperate to grab her by the hand, to steal some cigarettes and sit behind the shed, leaving everyone else behind.

My hair, always pale, is now flossy white and very, very long. It is fine too, finer it seems with each passing day. It is my one vanity- Lord knows I haven't much else to be vain about. Not any more. It has been with me a long time- since 1989, this present crop. I am fortunate indeed that Sylvia is happy to brush it for me, oh so gently; to plait it, day in, day out. It is above and beyond her job description and I am very grateful. I must remember to tell her so. I missed my chance this morning, I was too excited. When Sylvia brought my juice I could barely drink it. The thread of nervous energy that had infused me all week had overnight become a knot. She helped me into a new peach dress- the one Ruth bought me for Christmas- and exchanged my slippers for the pair of outside shoes usually left to languish in my wardrobe. The leather was firm and Sylvia had to push to make them fit, but such price respectability. I am too old to learn new ways and cannot abide the tendency of the younger residents to wear their slippers out. Face paint restored some life to my cheeks, but I was careful not to let Sylvia overdo it. I am wary of looking like an undertaker's mannequin. It doesn't take much rouge to tip the balance: the rest of me is so pale, so small. With some effort I draped the gold locket around my neck, its nineteenth-century elegance incongruous against my utilitarian clothing. I straightened it, wondering at my daring, wondering what Ruth would say when she saw.

To summarize, the best way to store purses, handbags, and other bags is to make sets according to the material, size, and frequency of use and to store them one inside the other, like nested boxes. All straps and handles should be left in plain view. If the handbag used for storage came in a bag, you can store the set in that. Line up these sets in your closet or wardrobe where you can see them. I stand them on the top shelf. The process of storing bags inside another bag, of finding the right combinations, is a lot of fun, much like making a jigsaw puzzle. When you find just the right pair, where the outer and inner bags fit so well together that they support one another, it is like witnessing a meeting that was destined to be.

If a woman can earn money to buy lovely things while she’s young, she should have the privilege. I know a woman who said once, 'I’ve worked all my life. And now that I can afford to buy myself diamonds, my hands are too old.' This woman was only forty-eight or fifty but she had work hands, ugly hands, that were no fit background for the beautiful big diamond she had just bought. The same thing goes for lovely clothes. A woman should have them, if she can earn them, while she’s young, straight, graceful, slim, and can show them off like an angel.

Those who manipulate the shadows that dominate our lives are the agents, publicists, marketing departments, promoters, script writers, tel- evision and movie producers, advertisers, video technicians, photogra- phers, bodyguards, wardrobe consultants, fitness trainers, pollsters, public announcers, and television news personalities who create the vast stage for illusion. They are the puppet masters.

Belle examined the dresses skeptically. Of course, if things went the way they did in fairy tales, they would all fit her perfectly. The question was, was this a "Bluebeard's Wives" situation? Or something else?

her wrist, warm and fragile, tugging it away from the other man. Instantly she drew a sharp, hissing breath. Her head swung round, eyes widening and pupils dilating as she saw him. Those soft brown eyes had once, too long ago, looked adoringly at him. And he, like a fool, had thought they always would. Matteo had learned his lesson. He took nothing for granted anymore. ‘Hello, Angela.’ His face felt tight as he smiled. Was he smiling or grimacing? He didn’t give a damn. He turned to the lanky crew member who, up till this point, he’d been so pleased to have work on this project. Now Matteo wished him to the devil, despite his cinematic skill. All trace of a smile disintegrated as he stared at the other man. ‘I see you already know my wife.’ CHAPTER TWO His wife! Angela flung open the lid of her suitcase and grabbed a pile of neatly folded clothes. She stalked across the vast, opulent room and pulled open an antique door, looking for the wardrobe. Instead she found a palatial dressing room, with sleek modern shelves and endless hanging spaces. She shoved her clothes onto a random shelf and pivoted on her heel. Matteo had referred to her as his wife, just as if he hadn’t received her request for a divorce. The paparazzi who’d snooped around for a story behind their separation would have a field day if they heard that. But more, Matteo had her checked into this extraordinary private hotel that was more like a palace than a place for a cash-strapped screenwriter. The walls were hung in exquisite eau de nil silk. The wide tester bed was topped with a gilt crown from which hung matching silk. Antiques, elegant and perfectly positioned, turned the room into a suite fit for royalty. Even the fresh flowers in their crystal vases were so gorgeous it was a shame she’d be the only one to see them.   When she was met at the vaporetto stop on the Grand Canal, fresh off the plane, she’d been only too grateful to relinquish her luggage, not knowing it would be taken somewhere like this. Having it taken on ahead had been a luxury, for dragging a heavy case over the quaint cobbled streets wasn’t fun. Besides, despite herself, she’d been eager to detour and catch a glimpse of the filming. Angela’s step faltered in the doorway of the dressing room and she sagged against the door frame. Face the truth. You wanted to see Matteo. Even now, even after his betrayal. Even knowing the pair of you were never meant to be together. Her heart crashed against her ribs and her knees turned

These are the 57 PIECES FOR THE INITIAL BASIC WARDROBE IN TRANS-SEASONAL FABRIC (best if KNITTED with stretch) See the List below in linear order with Cycles. The 27 for Cycle 2 are starred [*] with details listed for each. Later you can add 2 more seasons to this INITIAL WARDROBE FOR YOUR WORK & FULL LIFESTYLE. 6 - (3 SETS) UNDER SHAPERS of stretch to hold the body tight. (Cycle 1) *2 - JACKET LONG AND LEAN, 2 for each season, plus Holiday and Resort. (Cycle 1 & 2) *2 - TROUSERS (easy fit) flattering on your shape either:fitted, flared or straight. 2 for each season plus Holiday and Resort (Cycles 1 & 2) *1 - PENCIL SKIRT or a fitted, flared, or stitched-down-pleats, flattering Silhouette. (Cycle 1 & 2) *1 - JEAN, dark navy denim or black knit, both with stretch. (Cycle 1 & 2) 7 - TANKS, for the bottom necessary layer (Cycle 1) *3 - TOPS/BLOUSES/SHIRTS (Cycle 1 & 2) *1 - DAY-DRESS (Cycle 1 & 2) 1 – L.B.D. (Cycle 1, then as needed) 1 - EVENING BLACK JERSEY GOWN (Cycle 1, then as needed) 2 - RAINCOAT WITH ZIP OUT LINING AND AN UMBRELLA THAT IS FOLDABLE (Cycle 1 = 2) then, a WINTER COAT (Cycle 2 = 1, other Cycles select a jacket/sweater coat/art piece coat)

Bennett was quite the stronghold. He was absolutely fit from head to toe. This was probably because every time he told jokes, he always got up and demonstrated the story by moving his body so. He ate well and his body was fasted longer than most because when in groups, he politely ate after everyone else had been served. He was handsome, not because he had any traditionally handsome features, but because he was always laughing at something, even at himself, and joy was an incredibly attractive feature for a face. He wore the most lavish hand- me-down clothing a fellow could get his hands on because he volunteered to play piano at special dinners for some of the richest folks in town and those folks were always cleaning out their wardrobes after special dinners. He drank plenty enough water in the day because his entertainment made his throat dry. It seemed that a good life would trickle down, somehow, in some natural, rewarding way. That was the case for Bennett Bumblebee.

Chris Good evening, ladies . . . He steps into it. . . . and gentlemen and welcome to the Cornley Polytechnic Society’s spring production of The Murder at Haversham Manor. I would like to personally welcome you to what will be my directorial debut, and my first production as head of the drama society. We are particularly excited to present this play because, for the first time in the society’s history, we have managed to find a play that fits the company’s numbers perfectly. If we’re honest, a lack of numbers has hampered past productions, such as last year’s Chekov play; Two Sisters. Or last Christmas’s The Lion and the Wardrobe, and of course our summer musical, Cat. This will be the first time the society has been able to stage a play of this scale and we are thrilled. It’s no secret we usually have to contend with a small budget, as we had to in last year’s presentation of Roald Dahl’s classic, James and the Peach. Of course, during the run of that particular show the peach went off, and we were forced to present a hastily devised alternative entitled James! Where’s your Peach? Finally we’ve managed to stage a play as it should be, and cast it exceptionally well. I’m sure no one will forget the problems we’ve faced with casting before, such as 2010’s Christmas presentation of Snow White and the Tall, Broad Gentlemen, or indeed our previous year’s pantomime, another Disney classic: Ugly . . . and the Beast. But now, on with the main event, which I am confident will be our best show yet! So without any further ado, please put your hands together for Susie H.K. Brideswell’s thrilling whodunit – The Murder at Haversham Manor.

I [...] think about how hard relationships can be to navigate as we get older. Not only the ones we have with our partners; but the ones we have with our friends and parents and siblings. Or is it us that makes them harder, with our layers of stuff that we accumulate? Like old clothes that we haven't worn for years and no longer have any use for, but which we drag around with us in heavy suitcases. The boyfriend who dumped you, the dad who criticised you, the kids at school who bullied you, the mum who abandoned you -- all the ghosts of our pasts. The memories. The traumas. The triggers. Those feelings weigh heavy, and we pack them away out of sight, but never truly out of mind; they're always with us, wherever we go and whomever we meet. If only we could clear out those emotional suitcases, like we clear out our wardrobes. Get rid of all that stuff that doesn't fit us anymore. Make space for the exciting new things in the future.

Reka blinked. “Try what?” “Happiness.” Grace rose, smoothing her skirt. “It’s a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud—or at least, that’s what I’ve always thought.