Annie Walton Doyle

Writing my piece on the wonderful, amazing, superlative yet disappointingly evasive Seventeen Stay Time Foundation got me thinking.

Take your makeup love to its logical conclusion via a sensory attack on all fronts. Smelling like old ladies' handbags and young ladies' dressing tables and powder puffs and lipstick bullets has never been so easy as it is right now. It’s the scent family I call "makeup perfume."

Not often am I willing to declare myself as any sort of spokeswoman, but I am happy to speak for all of us when I say: thank Baby J winter is endin

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."

Being a “strong” and “empowered” woman is so hot right now.

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.

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

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.