Annie Walton Doyle

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!

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.

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

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.

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

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

Remember at the start of the year, when we all watched a teenager with a mouth full of Juvaderm bizarrely reclining in front of a fire that looks l

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.

It’s surely well known by now that the age of the heavily drawn on, perfectly angled eyebrow is coming to an end.

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