Annie Walton Doyle

You can’t fight it so embrace it: Fluffy winter hair.

It’s a prime example of what I’ve known all along: that the true crime interest and the niceness of a person are not mutually exclusive.

In the aisles of a drugstore, one’s instinct is almost magpie-rial. Glitter! Neon! Caramel-scented!

In much the same way I feel about my eyebrows, I feel perpetual dissatisfaction with my lips.

Aside from knitting and prescribed medications, beauty products are the thing that helps me out the most during a bout of depression. Sound crazy? Read on.

During such trying times, there is one trusty frenemy whose shadowy presence always sneaks back into my life. Benzoyl peroxide, I wish I knew how to quit you.

Sometimes with skincare, it’s the satisfying science speak which lulls you into a state of security.

Inside everyone is a little bit of a Francophile, right? French things are just good and that’s that.

There seems to be something about being a Millennial that is making me depressed. Our childhoods have left us particularly unprepared for the "real world."

Blurred lip lines make your mouth look plumper in a natural, non-Juvadermed way (pretty), plus makes it look like you’ve just been making out (further proof you are pretty — as if you needed it).