How To Describe Your Character’s Appearance

When you’re writing about your protagonist, you want the reader to see them–their clothes, shoes, the 891389868_b3506b074f scarf they wear, that old-fashioned belt buckle that shines in the sunlight. These images will engage readers in the plot as they watch a movie inside their brain, complete with a fully-described cast of characters. The more unusual you can make an article of clothing or accessory, the more memorable:

Here are some ideas for colorful descriptors:

Round spectacles tinted pink
John was wearing tan slacks and a powder-blue golf shirt, a thick gold chain around his neck. He chewed gum. Mary looked at him and thought, Perfect.
The driver was a big guy, wearing a steel-gray suit, wine-colored necktie and sunglasses. He looked like one of Warren’s security people: good physical condition and too big for the Corolla.
Wore a rumpled suit and a tie that wasn’t knotted properly
Wore a faded gray David Lynch Rules sweatshirt, wrinkled cargo pants, high lace-up boots
Tight beige cotton pants and a loose cotton shirt striped with shades of blue and pink and red. No panty line.
Tweed jacket, coat
Tight sleeveless tunic over crop pants
Despite that, and the ugliest Aloha shirt I’d ever seen
With their beaded purses and gem-studded slippers, their arched eyebrows and raccoon eyes
Dust-streaked plaid shirt and faded Levis
graying heavyset man with wire-rimmed glasses
his t-shirt contoured around his body like wet kleenex
Sturdy, compact body, neatly dressed in a pressed suit, shined shoes and perfectly rolled-up sleeves
Tan jacket. Brown pants, black shoes, a groove in his forehead from a hat now resting on his lap.
The heavyset copy wore an ill-fitting gray suit over a pale blue shirt and a 1980’s navy blue tie. . Taking fashion direction from NYPD Blue
Frisson of fear (delicious)
Dangerous stillness about him
wore martial arts slippers
the collar of his greatcoat
poor taste in clothes
Top button of his shirt was undone, exposing his undershirt
Chunky, square-faced, with short, curly hair and a bald spot at the crown of his head. He had small back eyes, fight scars under them, a nose that had been hit a few times.
Middle-aged, wavy-haired brunette packed tightly into a peacock-blue knockoff Chanel suit.
Barrel-chested, rust-bearded fireplug, five-six in thick-soled shoes, with sturdy, hirsute wrists and lumberjack hands. He wore a yellow-and-blue window-pane shirt, a big-knotted red tie of gleaming silk brocade, leather knit suspenders.
His hand was still damp—from the water faucet in the restroom, Virgil hoped.