Annie Walton Doyle

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

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.

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

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.

Those weird bendy rollers you’ve never used are actually a Hot Tip for adding texture to damaged hair.

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

Of all of the supposed beauty “problems” in the world, for me, roots are really the least “problematic.” In fact, I love mine dearly.

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.

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