Annie Walton Doyle

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

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

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

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!

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

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

Companies — like, say, L'Oreal — wouldn’t just use the broad, vague, abstract concept of diversity (by hiring Munroe Bergdorf) to lure in customers... would they? But you have to remember — companies are about money-making first and foremost. Sometimes, they’re not really about much else.

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.

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.