Annie Walton Doyle

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

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.

Do you have a good side? I definitely don’t have a preferred “side.” I am sometimes pictures of myself for my job, and I don’t know which side is better.

If there’s one thing that makes me deeply proud of my generation (apart from our general anti-Brexit sentiment) it’s the newfound omnipresence high

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.

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.

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

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.

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.