Annie Walton Doyle

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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.

My struggles with eyebrows have been well documented over the years.

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

Many criticize Geordie Shore as entertainment in its lowest form: fights, drinking, people falling over, nudity, swearing, and “bucking” (sexual intercourse). Yet, to me, it is so much more than that. As a fully qualified human woman, I can’t help myself analyzing the show through feminist-tinted glasses. The decisions and attitudes of the “family” represent, to me, a new kind of feminism.

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.