Organized by specific time periods, coverage includes:
The Ancient Egyptians: Noble garments, wigs and hairpieces, eye make-up, jewelry
Greece and Rome: Classical elegance, the Etruscan wardrobe, bright colors, the toga
Middle Ages: Medieval Europe and Byzantine fashion, age of chivalry, trains and sleeves
Early Renaissance: Damask, taffeta, velvet, tight-fitting bodices
Sixteenth Century: Flowering of the arts, science and fashion, doublets and ruffs, bodices
Seventeenth Century: Influence of the Baroque, ribbons and embroidery, wigs for men
Eighteenth Century: Extravagance and excess, masks, buckled shoes, three-cornered hats, hoop skirts
Nineteenth Century: Victorian values, crinolines and bustles, artificial hair color, double-breasted jackets
Twentieth Century: The age of diversity, global style, mini-skirts, supermodels, street fashion, new fabrics.

Bette Robinson is a twentysomething Emory graduate who shunned her parents' hippie ideals in favor of a high-paying yet excruciatingly boring job at a prestigious investment bank. One day, after a particularly condescending exchange with her boss (who sends her daily inspirational e-mails), Bette walks out on her job in a huff. After a few weeks of sleeping late, watching Dr. Phil and entertaining her dog Millington, Bette's uncle scores her a job at an up-and-coming public relations firm, where her entire job seems to revolve around staying out late partying and providing fodder for clandestine gossip columns. What follows is one episode after another of Bette climbing up the social ladder at the expense of her friends, family, and the one guy who actually seems worth pursuing.

In theory anyway, the world of finance shouldn't be a mystery to Rebecca, since she writes for a magazine called Successful Saving.
Struggling with her spendthrift impulses, she tries to heed the advice
of an expert and appreciate life's cheaper pleasures: parks, museums,
and so forth. Yet her first Saturday at the Victoria and Albert Museum
strikes her as a waste. Why? There's not a price tag in sight.

It kind of takes the fun out of it, doesn't it? You wander round, just
looking at things, and it all gets a bit boring after a while. Whereas
if they put price tags on, you'd be far more interested. In fact, I
think all museums should put prices on their exhibits. You'd look at a
silver chalice or a marble statue or the Mona Lisa or whatever,
and admire it for its beauty and historical importance and
everything--and then you'd reach for the price tag and gasp, "Hey, look
how much this one is!" It would really liven things up.