Annie Walton Doyle

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

The wonderful thing about knitting is that it combines mindfulness with mindlessness. You have to concentrate, sure, but you can easily lose yourself.

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

For a long time, I suspected that primer was a bit of a swizz. Makeup to go under your makeup, you say? Sounds very “Emperor’s New Clothes” to me.

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

Self-care is a phrase so enthusiastically tossed about as of late that in many ways it has lost all meaning. In the same way “wellness” has gone, the concept now seems vague and fuzzy, somehow ineffable.

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."

Remember your first foray into the makeup world? Everything was more fun then. Colors were chosen in a magpie-like fashion.

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.