Makeover Makeup Quotes

Take care of your costume and your confidence will take care of itself.

With right fashion, every female would be a flame.

Fashion doesn't make you perfect, but it makes you pretty.

It's time to shop high heels if your fiance kisses you on the forehead.

Fans don’t mind him doing a little touch-up work, but Jesus wants complete renovation. Fans come to Jesus thinking tune-up, but Jesus is thinking overhaul. Fans think a little makeup is fine, but Jesus is thinking makeover. Fans think a little decorating is required, but Jesus wants a complete remodel. Fans want Jesus to inspire them, but Jesus wants to interfere with their lives.

Any girl with a grin never looks grim.

A makeover is the rebranding of a human being.

Dresses don't look beautiful on hangers.

You cannot choose your face but you can choose your dress.

Dresses won't worn out in the wardrobe, but that is not what dresses are designed for.

Rayna found a makeover show on TV-one of those where they sneak up on unsuspecting people going about their business, accost them with camera, and tell them they look like crap in front of a zillion people, making them cry, then build them back up with a new makeup job they won't be able to replicate and outfits so intricate they'll never remember how to fit them together. It was perfect.

An old fashioned outfit is not a costume, it's a comedy.

When Mom picked me up a little after nine, I expected her to rave about my make-over. Instead, I got a lecture about how girls my age were trying to grow up too quickly and make-up should enhance one’s natural beauty. Crushed, I remained silent the entire way home.

She eschewed the conventional star makeover, refusing to pluck her eyebrows, wear thick makeup, or change her name, and she maintained a level of assertiveness quite uncommon to female actors of her generation.

Lia shrugged. “I like makeup—and nothing says distraction like a makeover. Besides…” She reached in the bag and pulled out a lipstick.

In movies, makeovers were treated like a triumph of the human spirit. It suggested we'd had a low bar for triumph, in recent history. A dash of lipstick qualified, a haircut and some styling gel. A new outfit. That was what the human spirit had turned into.

Harry,” she said, and she said it tenderly, “have you never read a trashy novel in which the hero gets a life-affirming change of clothes and some makeup, and then goes to the party and everyone says things like, ‘By the Emperor’s bones! But you’re beautiful,’ or, ‘This is the first time I have ever truly seen you,’ and if the hero’s a necromancer it’ll be described like, ‘His frailty made this unearthly handsomeness all the more ephemeral,’ et cetera, et cetera, the word mewled fifteen pages later, the word nipple one page after that?” You said emphatically: “No.” “Then we have no shared point of reference. Thankfully, however, this is not that part,” she said. “Not even one of the Emperor’s fists and gestures could give Harrowhark Nonagesimus a sexy makeover. Sometimes I think you look like a twig’s funeral.

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

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.

Although she wasn’t used to wearing so much makeup, she’d read that giving yourself a makeover gave you a boost of confidence. When she walked through the doors into Porterville High, she wanted heads to turn.

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