Inspired by the student on the path in front of me this morning, whose collection of garments were individually interesting, but could in no age under the sun be called an outfit. Change only a couple of words and it fits surprisingly well...
He signed to one of his guards, and he came forward bearing a bundle wrapped in black cloths.
The Messenger put these aside, and there to the wonder and dismay of all the Captains, he held up first the short sword that Sam had carried, and next a grey cloak with an elven-brooch, and last the coat of mithril-mail that Frodo had worn wrapped in his tattered garments. A blackness came before their eyes, and it seemed to them in a moment of silence that their world stood still, but their hearts were dead and their last hope gone.
'Dwarf-coat, elf-cloak, blade of the downfallen West, here are the marks of a fashion victim.'
No-one answered him; but he saw their faces grey with fear and the horror in their eyes.