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.

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!

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.

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

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

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

Take your makeup love to its logical conclusion via a sensory attack on all fronts. Smelling like old ladies' handbags and young ladies' dressing tables and powder puffs and lipstick bullets has never been so easy as it is right now. It’s the scent family I call "makeup perfume."

Remember your first foray into the makeup world? Everything was more fun then. Colors were chosen in a magpie-like fashion.

Writing my piece on the wonderful, amazing, superlative yet disappointingly evasive Seventeen Stay Time Foundation got me thinking.