Clothes Styles Novels & Stories

"Ouch, ouch! So bad luck this morning. Why am I being so weak? Usually, I can anticipate things like this." Totally 15 minutes. I just finished poking my head through the eyelet of the light blue shirt I chose. There are only dresses. The pile of clothes that Loko brought were all knee-length dresses, both short and long-sleeved. Gosh, he said to pick the one that best suits my taste. In fact, none of the clothes fit my taste. I really miss sweaters, T-shirts, and faded jeans. Where can I get those comfortable clothes? There was a knock at the door, firm but not urgent.

Maggie sighed, “fine.” “First things first. Name someone from a movie or show who’s style you like.Then tell me what you need your clothes to do for you. Do you want to be able to work out in them? Do you want to look hot? Do you feel comfortable showing your stomach or legs?” I asked. Rishi nodded, “good questions. Also, what are big no’s for you, as far as clothing.”

“Sometimes the path to beauty is transparent… and a little dangerous.” They reached a door and stepped inside. The room was like stepping into another world; racks upon racks of clothes were hung neatly, and each piece was on a wooden hanger. There were satin evening wear with lose backs, men’s three-piece suits with pointy collars, beaded cocktail dresses, and long winter coats with decorated edges. There were a few more designs that got Sylvania’s attention. “I love them all,” she said softly, running her fingers along the smooth fabric of a velvet dress.

Lyra was standing in front of me, wearing the most flimsy dress that she could ever own. No, this couldn’t be her dress. I was familiar with her wardrobes like a dream and that piece she never had in her closet. Most of her clothes were traditionalist, with full sleeves and knee-length dresses, it filled most of her closet with jeans and blouses, shirts, and dresses. She wasn’t a big fan of fashion, but packed her wardrobe with a good number of designer brands.

"Change your clothes. I have prepared it on the bed. I give ten minutes for you to match your style today." What kind of clothes does he want to give me today? And what style does he want? Without asking much, I left him who was eating. I entered the room and saw shorts and sports bras. Is he crazy, telling me to wear teenage clothes? There are boots also made of fur. This is a teenage style. I have to tie my hair into two hemispheres. Is that what he wants? I finished putting on my clothes and I thought I looked stylish. He looked at me and smiled slanted.

We were apparently using different dictionaries. I opened the closet for the first time, and almost choked on my tongue. There wasn’t a black or navy blue suit in sight. The closet was filled with clothes that I was certain bore designer labels, and every last one of them was as far removed from my general uniform as possible. This whole arrangement just got better and better. He was still playing dress up with me. I rifled through the clothes. Cashmeres, silks and cottons. Reds, golds and blues. The small girlish part of me that generally lay dormant was delighted by the selection.

“You needed something to wear, and I wanted you to have options. When you’re dressed, come out.” With that, he turns and leaves, as if outfitting an entire room for me is the most normal thing in the world. I stare at the rows of clothes again, completely overwhelmed. I needed one item, not a whole damn wardrobe. Stepping inside, my fingers graze the fabrics as I scan everything. The dresses range from short, slinky pieces that look like they belong in a club to long, elegant gowns that wouldn’t be out of place at a high-end gala. The trousers and jeans look tailored and expensive, and the t-shirts are soft and perfectly casual. The lingerie sets are displayed like art, organized by color, a

I mumbled to myself, pulling at the train. “I take it you don’t like ball gowns.” I wasn’t expecting him to hear what I said but if we are on the subject I might just make it clear. “More like hate. I’m not a dress person. I prefer shirt and pants. More comfortable. More practical. More subtle. Basically, a world better.” “I thought as a past model and owner of a clothing brand, you liked dressing up.” “There’s a reason it’s called Comfort AND Style. Unfortunately, we don’t have ball gowns yet. I should really mention it to Rose.”

*NICOLAS–MANSION* Nicolas stood in front of his spacious and luxurious wardrobe, staring at the endless rows of designer clothes and expensive suits. He knew he had to pack light, but the thought of leaving any of his precious belongings behind made him anxious. Of course, he would be gone for a long time... Niclalos started by selecting a few casual outfits, a few pairs of jeans, and a couple of T-shirts. He had always been a fan of the classic look, so he made sure to include a few button-down shirts and a blazer.

He peered at their tattered clothing, noting the changing styles. He aimed the shaft of light at the next body, stared at the cadaver, and then angled the lamp toward the figure beside it. Jesus Christ. These bodies weren’t from the time of de Montalt and Nottidge, but later, much later. Their clothes were from the 1920s or 30s. The skirts were shorter, the styles similar to those in old movies he’d seen on TV.