The first dress that I wore in the Spice Girls, which everybody thought was a little black Gucci dress, was actually from Miss Selfridge - it wasn't a little black Gucci dress.
I'm pretty damn obsessed with Gucci. The fashion. It's like a painting! The advertising is beautiful and I've actually never owned one piece of Gucci in my life and then I was in Paris with my husband for shows and we went to Gucci and I got the brown loafers, a boot and a couple sweaters - it's totally how I dress. And I love how they're articulating the girls. They're bohemian and whimsical.
If I could dress anyone, I'd like to dress the Queen - she can handle anything. I'd put her in black - she never wears black - and add a little leather, maybe. A little rock n' roll.
I had a very down-to-earth product, my wrap dress, which was really a uniform. It was just a simple little cotton-jersey dress that everybody loved and everybody wore. That one dress sold about 3 or 4 million. I would see 20, 30 dresses walking down one block. All sorts of different women. It felt very good. Young and old, and fat and thin, and poor and rich.
You should always own a black dress because no one ever remembers a black dress.
The biggest thing is online shopping. So that you don't have to dress up, go down Bond Street or Rodeo or wherever, go and be intimidated by shop assistants to buy Gucci shoes or a Prada dress. You can just go online and, if it doesn't fit you, send it back. And I think that is the biggest, biggest difference, because that means everybody can do it.
A black dress is beautiful! It's a good choice. It could be the wrong choice at certain events or situations, but it's very rare that you see a girl who looks bad in a black dress.
You can see the next big trends in fashion on the red carpet and see what colors, silhouettes are hot right now. You might see Taylor Swift wearing Gucci, and most of us can't afford that Gucci dress, but you can look at the beading and be inspired by it for, say, your prom or a friend's wedding.
My third grade teacher called my mother and said, 'Ms. Cox, your son is going to end up in New Orleans in a dress if we don't get him into therapy.' And wouldn't you know, just last week I spoke at Tulane University, and I wore a lovely green and black dress.
With the NBA's dress code, I had to revamp my wardrobe a little bit. They call it 'business casual.' You have to wear dress jeans or dress slacks, with a collared shirt or sweater. And you can't wear athletic shoes.
The little black dress must be luxurious, rich, sensual, diaphanous, exotic, severe, lush, demure, demanding, frivolous, amusing, and it must linger in memory, but above all, it must be simple and little and black.
I have very little fashion sense, and to tell you the truth, I give it very little thought. I dress to be as comfortable as I possibly can. Most of my clothing is either black, grey, or dark blue, and I don't really wear a lot of colours. But I do like jackets. I have a little bit of an obsession with them.
I once had a boyfriend who couldn't write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties; it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something.
The zenith of elegance in any woman's wardrobe is the little black dress, the power of which suggests dash and refinement.
Scheherezade is easy; a little black dress is difficult.
Jane was wearing a charcoal shift dress. The black dipped into a love V accented with a large black chiffon bow. A layer of delicate black lace peeked out from the bottom of her dress. Her long blond hair was pulled back tightly into a straight ironed ponytail. Her makeup was simple: coral blush on her cheeks and gunmetal shadow brushed under her blue eyes.
One is never over-dressed or underdressed with a Little Black Dress.