Annie Walton Doyle

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.