Annie Walton Doyle

Let this idea appeal to your insubordinate nature: the world wants me to not like my face, so guess what? I’ve decided I like it. Take that, world!

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

It’s surely well known by now that the age of the heavily drawn on, perfectly angled eyebrow is coming to an end.

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.

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.

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

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).

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.