Compare the opening lines of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov:

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

with Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson:

Wax crept along the ragged fence in a crouch, his boots scraping the dry ground. He held his Sterrion 36 up by his head, the long, silvery barrel dusted with red clay. The revolver was nothing fancy to look at, though the six-shot cylinder was machined with such care in the steel-alloy frame that there was no play in its movement. There was no gleam to the metal or exotic material on the grip. But it fit his hand like it was meant to be there.

I don't know about you, but to me that contrast is obvious. Nabokov manages to convey quite a bit of information without having to say much at all. Sanderson, by contrast, makes me want to clutch my head and scream out, "Too much description!" It's gross. It's vomited out on the page for people with no imagination. I'm surprised he didn't have Wax's vital statistics in a sidebar so that there would be no ambiguity about exactly how his hero looks.