The uniforms of the Imperial Guard are camouflaged in order to protect their wearers by hiding them from sight. The principle is that what the enemy cannot see he cannot kill. This is not the way of the Adeptus Astartes. A Space Marine's armour is bright with heraldry that proclaims his devotion to his Chapter and the beloved Emperor of Mankind. Our principle is that what the enemy can see, he will soon learn to fear!
—Chaplain Aston, 10th Company, Firehawks Chapter, Warhammer 40,000
Camouflage is the colour of cowardice. I have no need to hide from my foes. I have no fear of death. My colours I wear openly, they proclaim louder than any words, "I am proud to live - I am proud to die".
—High Lord Commander Carab Culln, Red Scorpions Chapter, Warhammer 40,000
(After the heroine is scolded for disregarding "the four S's" of camouflage while on guard duty:)
"It's because of the one C, Sarge!" said Polly, still staring straight ahead.
"And that is?"
"Colour, Sarge! I'm wearing bleedin' red-and-white in a bleedin' grey forest, Sarge!"
She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrum's little piggy eyes there gleamed a gleam. It was the one they had when he was secretly pleased.
"Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks?" he said.
"Don't want to be seen dead in it, Sarge," said Polly.
"Hah. As you were, Perks."
"It's because of the one C, Sarge!" said Polly, still staring straight ahead.
"And that is?"
"Colour, Sarge! I'm wearing bleedin' red-and-white in a bleedin' grey forest, Sarge!"
She risked a sideways glance. In Jackrum's little piggy eyes there gleamed a gleam. It was the one they had when he was secretly pleased.
"Ashamed of your lovely, lovely uniform, Perks?" he said.
"Don't want to be seen dead in it, Sarge," said Polly.
"Hah. As you were, Perks."
In a distillation of the most enchanting miscalculations of late-90s fashion, The Tribe is a capsule of the late nineties’ fascination with the pointless: decorative zips that lead to nowhere, shirts with a single, swinging sleeve, those crinkly satin tops that were doll-sized in the hand but could be stretched out to cover the chest of an adult woman. There were forehead jewels and long, ethnic earrings that crashed into collarbones. Pipe cleaners threaded through feathered hair. An alarming preponderance of white dreadlocks. This was a dystopia before The Road or The Walking Dead, and now it’s refreshing to tumble through a decorative, altogether cuddlier dystopia.
Now, we are in troubled times. When it happened, I thought the Statue of Liberty would change. Instead of "Give me your tired and your poor," it would be her with a baseball bat going "You want a piece of me!?" There was hardcore security. In New York, stopping people in the tunnel. In Washington, they had F-18s flying, air cover everywhere. In San Francisco... not so hardcore security. At the Golden Gate Bridge, there's a Hummer, and I'm talking about the car... One Hummer here, two Guardsmen, same at the other end of the bridge. The problem is that the Hummer and the Guardsmen are in jungle camouflage. For those who never been to San Francisco, the bridge is bright orange. So I feel like going: (impersonating Elmer Fudd) "Be vewwy, vewwy quiet. We're wooking for tewwowists. Hahahahaha."
— Robin Williams, Live On Broadway
