Annie Walton Doyle

Is there any makeup as synonymous with the twenty-teens as eyebrows?

I think it’s safe to say that I’m coming to the end of my blond

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.

It’s official: I have bleached my hair to the point of no return. It can be bad: not cute and fluffy, but damaged and crazy.

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

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!

Being a Drag Queen isn't one-size-fits-all femininity. Not all real life women are glamorous and fabulous at all times, nor should we feel we have to be.

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

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

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