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.

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

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

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!

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

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.

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

In life, there’s not much I love more than a good bitch. I’d take a mean, hilarious person over a “nice” bland-y any day of the week.

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

In much the same way I feel about my eyebrows, I feel perpetual dissatisfaction with my lips.