"It's the future. FUTURE IT UP, BITCH! Yeah, it may look stupid, but that's the thing. It's the future. The future will always look stupid."
— Diamanda Hagan talking about modern Doctor Who.
Clearly a member of the Alpha Class, he was dressed in the style of a gentleman of the twenty-first century. The flared shoulder-yoke that required all doorways to be two yards wide. A high fan-like collar that made his head look like a lunar eclipse. An anti-radiation cloak hanging from the shoulders. Lucite sandals and a tunic that showed off his bony legs. His drooping black moustache flowed into a neatly-trimmed goatee. His head was shaven (Proton wondered why the Man of the Future had to be synonymous with baldness - you'd never find a starship captain without a full head of hair!) and surmounted by a skullcap bearing a circular antennae for one of the new-fangled 'mobile telephones'.
I hate clothes, okay? I hate buying them, I hate picking them out of my closet, I can't stand every day trying to come up with little outfits for myself. I think, eventually, fashion won't even exist. It won't. I think, eventually, we'll all be wearing the same thing. 'Cause any time I see a movie or a TV show where there's people from the future or another planet, they're all wearing the same thing. Somehow, they decided, "This is going to be our outfit: One-piece silver jumpsuit, V-stripe, and boots. That's it." We should come up with an outfit for Earth, an Earth outfit. Candidates propose different outfits. No speeches, they walk out, twirl, walk off. We just sit in the audience and go "That was nice. I could wear that."
— Jerry Seinfeld, Seinfeld, "The Jacket"
"She thanked God that veesuits were already out of style by then—the stupid things had been the rage for a while, those metallic white jumpsuits with a silver V-shaped stripe on the chest. Seemed like everyone had been wearing them at one time."
Opening Scroll: In the last days of the Oroton Empire, the space capsule Probus II was sent to penetrate the darkest corners of the universe. Their mission: to provide employment for a bunch of crusty old ex-Royal Shakespeare Company pooves who—apart from the old biscuit commercial—haven't worked in years, and to ponce about the universe in silver body suits and those rather fetching gold knee-length boots.
— Fast Forward, "Space Pooves" skit.
"I put on my spacewalking gear, my silver Harrods helmet and Gucci space boots. Karla dressed casually in a skimpy Bacofoil matching two-piece."
— Captain Kremmen of the Star Corps
