Annie Walton Doyle

On the difficult and important topic of highlighter, I’m torn.

It’s funny to think that sometimes I don’t have the energy to get off the couch, or to buy groceries, yet my face is constantly using said energy t

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

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.

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

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.

As someone with a longstanding and deep love of a shine-face, powder blush has always been somewhat of a problem area for me.

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

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.