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!

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.

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

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.

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

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

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

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

If there’s one thing that makes me deeply proud of my generation (apart from our general anti-Brexit sentiment) it’s the newfound omnipresence high

There seems to be something about being a Millennial that is making me depressed. Our childhoods have left us particularly unprepared for the "real world."