"I'd look like Charlie Chaplin. A very tall, awkward, unfunny Charlie Chaplin. And I'm sure people would be trying to pull it off and try it on all night long." Pete partially spoke from experience, though he wasn't sure that most people had the same mentality as his little sister.
As she worked at getting her laptop set up, Pete leaned back against the couch again, his root beer bottle in hand. When the pictures came up, he leaned forward to see, a little surprised that she'd consider the second option, though he'd mostly been desensitized to certain types of bashfulness since hanging around Wicked and her wardrobe. He looked at both for a moment, trying to look at each from both an artist's and a friend's perspective. "Both would look nice, I think, but I like the colors on the second one the best. The shape is nicer too."
He realized that statement might have been taken a little out of context, and perhaps he was thinking TOO much like an artist. That at least got his cheeks to tint slightly as he continued. "If you're not comfortable with exposing that much you could always get a sash or belt with the shiny dangles on it to wrap around your waist."