Makeover Hair Quotes

New hair, new clothes-the classic relationship break-up makeover," Jake said. Delaney stared at him for a beat. In a way, he was right. She was breaking up with Sam. He just didn't know it.

All of them had been give a makeover. Leo was wearing pinstriped pants, black leather shoes, a white collarless shirt with suspenders, and his tool belt, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a porkpie hat. “God, Leo.” Piper tried not to laugh. “I think my dad wore that to his last premiere, minus the tool belt.” “Hey, shut up!” “I think he looks good,” said Coach Hedge. “’Course, I look better.” The satyr was a pastel nightmare. Aphrodite had given him a baggy canary yellow zoot suit with two-tone shoes that fit over his hooves. He had a matching yellow broad-brimmed hat, a rose-colored shirt, a baby blue tie, and a blue carnation in his lapel, which Hedge sniffed and then ate. “Well,” Jason said, “at least your mom overlooked me.” Piper knew that wasn’t exactly true. Looking at him, her heart did a little tap dance. Jason was dressed simply in jeans and a clean purple T-shirt, like he’d worn at the Grand Canyon. He had new track shoes on, and his hair was newly trimmed. His eyes were the same color as the sky. Aphrodite’s message was clear: This one needs no improvement. And Piper agreed.

Sheets of flowing raven-black hair...all wrapped up in that saccharin sweetness you only find in church-ladies and Girl Scout moms. It was enough to make a girl sprint to the nearest shopping mall for a free makeover.

That’s awesome, I told her, but I’m letting you use my body so that we can break into Lara’s office, not so that you can give me a makeover. Besides, if I wander around looking like this, people will either know I’m doing magic somehow or wonder how I managed to sneak a flatiron into Hex Hall. It was an odd thing, watching my face crumple into a scowl at…myself. “You’re supremely irritating when you’re right,” she said, waving her hand. Once again, my hair sprang out in a messy halo of curls.

Are Dex, Biana, Stina, and Wylie getting makeovers too?” Sophie asked, hoping Dex would show up with his hair dyed black and styled all shaggy—because Emo Dex would be hilarious—and that Stina would end up with giant hair-sprayed bangs.

Bram knocked, and Chas opened the door, her music growing louder. She had strips of tinfoil in her hair and a cigarette dangling from her lips–which she immediately hid behind her back when she saw Bram.   "Hiiii!"   Both of Bram's brows flitted upward. "Hi." He looked at the foil. "I'm not even gonna ask."   "Martians are trying to control my thoughts, stupid." She noticed me then and smiled. "Hi, Nora! Ooh…" Her eyes fell to the weapon. "Shiny."   "Nora needs some more appropriate clothes if she's to use the shiny," Bram said.   Chas clapped her hands together. "Makeover!"   Oh, God no.…

I gesture at the hair, the dress, the shiny, sexy costume that somehow caught his attention in a way that "just Meg" never did. Because the fact is, he's looked right past me all year. Even in my old gown, I didn't register - like I don't exist unless I fit their weird category of hotness. I suppose that's what they don't tell you about makeovers in the movies - that maybe the people who gasp with grand double takes aren't worth the effort. Because if I don't deserve his attention when I'm myself, then what good is he?

Uh-uh,” Della told him. “You need to fix this—now. Do you really want the Black Swan to see what you’ve done?” Keefe shrugged and grabbed a pastry from one of the platters in the center of the table. “They’re walking around crusted with ice and turning their bodies to stone. Cactus head is nothing.” “Okay, let's try this a different way,” Della decided. “If you get to makeover my son, then I get to makeover both of you.” “Works for me,” Keefe said. “I look awesome in everything.” “Tell that to your feet when they spend the rest of the week balancing in my tallest heels,” Della told him. “Okay . . . forget that.” Dex reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny brown vial. “This will get rid of the green.” “Thank you.” Della rumpled Dex’s hair as he gave the vial to Fitz. Fitz downed it in one gulp, gagging at the taste. “No more pranks,” Della said, wagging a finger at all three boys. “Or—what if Fitz looks normal, but doesn’t smell very good?” Keefe asked. Biana giggled. Della sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Keefe?” “I hear the Lord of the Universe title is up for grabs. Unless Foster’s trying to snatch it.” “All yours.” Sophie had enough responsibility already.

Actually, yeah, I did buy a few new things,” she confirmed, then she teased a little more by adding, “I think Pete is going to really enjoy my outfit tomorrow night.” “Pete seems to like you no matter what you’re wearing,” Luke grumbled. “So, what did you buy for good ol’ Pete?” Darn, if he didn’t sound jealous! Could it be possible? It’d mean she meant something to him. Something more than Dr. Doolittle anyway. “I bought a mini skirt.” She wouldn’t tell him about the hair and the shoes. Or what she bought to wear under the skirt. She heard him cough. Hard. As if having a spasm. “Luke? Are you okay?” A couple more very tense seconds of coughs, and then, “Did you say a skirt?” She wanted to smack him.

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Mindy runs to the DVD player and delicately places the disk in the holder and presses play. “Will you sit in this chair, please, Princess Mindy?” I ask, bowing deeply at the waist. Mindy giggles as she replies, ”I guess so.” After Mindy sits down, I take a wide-tooth comb and start gently combing out her tangles. Mindy starts vibrating with excitement as she blurts, “Mr. Jeff, you’re gonna fix my hair fancy, ain’t you?” “We’ll see if a certain Princess can hold still long enough for me to finish,” I tease. Immediately, Mindy becomes as still as a stone statue. After a couple of minutes, I have to say, “Mindy, sweetheart, it’s okay to breathe. I just can’t have you bouncing, because I’m afraid it will cause me to pull your hair.” Mindy slumps down in her chair just slightly. “Okay Mr. Jeff, I was ascared you was gonna stop,” she whispers, her chin quivering. I adopt a very fake, very over-the-top French accent and say, “Oh no, Monsieur Jeff must complete Princess Mindy’s look to make the Kingdom happy. Mindy erupts with the first belly laugh I’ve heard all day as she responds, “Okay, I’ll try to be still, but it’s hard ‘cause I have the wiggles real bad.” I pat her on the shoulder and chuckle as I say, “Just try your best, sweetheart. That’s all anyone can ask.” Kiera comes screeching around the corner in a blur, plunks her purse on the table, and says breathlessly, “Geez-O-Pete, I can’t believe I’m late for the makeover. I love makeovers.” Kiera digs through her purse and produces two bottles of nail polish and nail kit. “It’s time for your mani/pedi ma’am. Would you prefer Pink Pearl or Frosted Creamsicle? Mindy raises her hand like a schoolchild and Kiera calls on her like a pupil, “I want Frosted Cream toes please,” Mindy answers. “Your wish is my command, my dear,” Kiera responds with a grin. For the next few minutes, Mindy gets the spa treatment of her life as I carefully French braid her hair into pigtails. As a special treat, I purchased some ribbons from the gift shop and I’m weaving them into her hair. I tuck a yellow rose behind her ear. I don my French accent as I declare, “Monsieur Jeffery pronounces Princess Mindy finished and fit to rule the kingdom.” Kiera hands Mindy a new tube of grape ChapStick from her purse, “Hold on, a true princess never reigns with chapped lips,” she says. Mindy giggles as she responds, “You’re silly, Miss Kiera. Nobody in my kingdom is going to care if my lips are shiny.” Kiera’s laugh sounds like wind chimes as she covers her face with her hands as she confesses, “Okay, you busted me. I just like to use it because it tastes yummy.” “Okay, I want some, please,” Mindy decides. Kiera is putting the last minute touches on her as Mindy is scrambling to stand on Kiera’s thighs so she can get a better look in the mirror. When I reach out to steady her, she grabs my hand in a death grip. I glance down at her. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is opening and closing like a fish. I shoot Kiera a worried glance, but she merely shrugs. “Holy Sh — !” Mindy stops short when she sees Kiera’s expression. “Mr. Jeff is an angel for reals because he turned me into one. Look at my hair Miss Kiera, there are magic ribbons in it! I’m perfect. I can be anything I want to be.” Spontaneously, we all join together in a group hug. I kiss the top of her head as I agree, “Yes, Mindy, you are amazing and the sky is the limit for you.

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Doing as many makeovers as I do, I’ve learned a few things about what makes women feel better about themselves. The starting point is usually getting a new haircut. I don’t want to generalize, because every case is different, but I think it’s best to err on the side of styling your hair shorter the older you get. In my opinion, it’s generally not a good look for women over thirty to have hair way below their shoulders.

Whoa! Where’d your black eye go?” she asked as I set my tray down and sat beside her. “Tiffany covered it up for me.” “I’ll say. I hate to think how much she damaged the ozone with all the hairspray she must have used on your hair.” “Thanks, Bird. You look nice this evening, too,” I said. The waitress dropped off a basket of hot rolls. I grabbed one and started slathering butter on it. “Sorry. It’s just a shock to see you looking so…” “Pretty.” “You’ve always been pretty.” “Oh, please. Can we move on to another subject?” I glanced over to see Jason eating and talking with Brandon. “Yeah, I think we better. I’ve heard of head injuries changing people’s personalities--” “Bird, you don’t live with a beauty queen, okay? I know when it comes to appearances, I’ll always fall short. And if you want to know the truth, I’m a little self-conscious about the whole makeover.” “Sorry,” she said. “Subject change?” “Right.” She looked around as though searching for a subject. I hated being so irritable, but I just didn’t feel like me tonight.

No one is interested with your past, non-professional relationship with Agent Harris, Detective Garner.” I cut them off. Seriously, nobody wants to hear it (I know I do not), since it is probably a perfect fairy tale of a prodigy guy and prodigy girl, and together they catch bad guys while looking excessively beautiful at doing it. They look so majestic side by side, like prom king and queen from some cheesy coming-of-age movie where they dance flawlessly and sing like pro despite that it’s their first gig. Also, their eyes sparkle. It takes a long, sort-of out-of-sense explanation why eyes can figuratively sparkle, but it just does. You know in romantic comedy movie where the guy stares far away and then he is smiling when he finally makes a decision involving the only girl he wants to spend eternity with? And girl when she meets a boy band member? Yeah, that’s how they look at each other. Jemma looks at this guy like how girl looks at boy (ah, it even sounds sexist in my head), but not at me. She looks like me like I am a special case that she wants to solve. She looks at me like she's trying to find my eyes (which is, always there, I don't know why it is so hard for her to see a pair of black dots above my nose), and maybe I am a little bit irritated because this Harris guy breathes and just like that, you can see the grace in Garner--how big, mushy twinkie, of a person she really is. Also, I am definitely irritated because Jemma's ex is terrifyingly perfect, it's alarming, but then there's me. She's settling down with me. I feel insecure and I do not like that feeling. So, like a literal five years old child, I stroll between them, ruining their unexpected reunion (hey, doesn't anyone want to talk about how Harris tracked down all cases at JCPD so he can jump into whatever his ex is currently working on? This is not reunion, it's stalking) and offer him a handshake. At the time like this, I wish I had electricity running through my palm. I probably couldn’t end this Harris guy’s life, but at least I could give his perfect blond hair a ‘struck by lightning’ makeover. “Hi, Detective Irving. Homicide Unit. Strategic Expert. By the way, I’m good at combining them, you know.” I introduce myself. Which is true, I can be writing a mental note on how to eliminate this threat in my head for all he knows. “Strategy, and murder. I can mix them up.

Guurl. Tell me. Do you keep your hair this long for religious reasons? Like, will you lose your strength if you cut it?--Terry, a member of the glam squad, to Khloe Richardson

But do you ever notice how large your forehead is? Or how you’re always putting your hair behind your ears?” “Isn’t that what people with hair do?” “No,” Tiff says, horrified. “You do that because you don’t have a side bang.” “Do I need a side bang?” “In my professional opinion, yes.” “Then give me a side bang,” Phoebe says. Maybe this is all she needed the whole time. Maybe this is the finishing touch of the grand makeover. Why didn’t she think of it earlier? A side bang!

The old man in the opposite seat has gone now. I can see my reflection in the dark glass, broken up every now and then by the flash of a light. A lock of thick, blonde hair has come loose from its up-do, and oh God, the make-up. I’d forgotten about that. I’m wearing way too much of the bloody stuff. Industrial quantities of it. I’ve been sponged and brushed to within an inch of my life. My eyes have been smothered with kohl and mascara. Apparently, it’s the smoky eyed look, but I’m not too sure. I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. If the house-mate hadn’t taken it on herself to give me a make-over first thing this morning, then I wouldn’t be looking like a cross between a tangerine and a clown right now. She’s good at plenty of things, Lucy, such as managing an art gallery and navigating her way around the London Underground, but she’s certainly useless when it comes to make-overs. I’ll swing by a shop when I get off the tube and source a packet of wipes

Id capitalism wanted people to express themselves. In fact, to express every conceivable side of themselves, and sides they’d never even dreamt of. Change your clothes, change your shoes, change your hair, change your hair colour, straighten your hair or curl your hair, or shave it all off. Who cares? – just so long as you keep changing it and paying a capitalist to do it for you. Buy a new TV, a new computer, a new cell phone, a new iPod. Buy endless gadgets and keep buying every upgrade. Just keep buying. Indulge yourself, treat yourself, pamper yourself. Buy, buy, buy. Try a new image. Keep rebranding yourself. Keep having makeovers – because then you need to buy a whole new set of goods to reflect your new self

Welcome!’ said the lady with the clipboard. She looked like a flight attendant – blue business suit, perfect makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She shook our hands as we stepped onto the dock. With the dazzling smile she gave us, you would’ve thought we’d just got off the Princess Andromeda rather than a bashed-up rowboat. Then again, our rowboat wasn’t the weirdest ship in port. Along with a bunch of pleasure yachts, there was a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship. There was a helipad with a ‘Channel Five Fort Lauderdale’ helicopter on it, and a short runway with a Learjet and a propeller plane that looked like a World War II fighter. Maybe they were replicas for tourists to look at or something. ‘Is this your first time with us?’ the clipboard lady enquired. Annabeth and I exchanged looks. Annabeth said, ‘Umm…’ ‘First – time – at – spa,’ the lady said as she wrote on her clipboard. ‘Let’s see…’ She looked us up and down critically. ‘Mmm. An herbal wrap to start for the young lady. And of course, a complete makeover for the young gentleman.