It seems that N's high priestess was at a festival, going to the evening ritual in a simple white robe.
En route, she runs into—I'm quoting my friend here—a “Laurie Cabot clone,” hair done to the max, made-up to the nines, gown by Elvira, clanking with the weight of all her occult silver. Clearly this woman has worked for hours to make herself look like this.
“Oh honey,” she says to my friend's high priestess, “Aren't you going down to the big ritual tonight?”
“Sure, I'm going there now.”
Not-Laurie looks at her, dismayed. “Oh honey,” she says, “Dressed like that? Don't you want to make yourself beautiful for the Goddess?”