Annie Walton Doyle

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

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

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

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.

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.

Being a Drag Queen isn't one-size-fits-all femininity. Not all real life women are glamorous and fabulous at all times, nor should we feel we have to be.

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

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.

Is there any makeup as synonymous with the twenty-teens as eyebrows?

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