Annie Walton Doyle

My struggles with eyebrows have been well documented over the years.

I think it’s safe to say that I’m coming to the end of my blond

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."

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.

Of all of the supposed beauty “problems” in the world, for me, roots are really the least “problematic.” In fact, I love mine dearly.

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

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

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 official: I have bleached my hair to the point of no return. It can be bad: not cute and fluffy, but damaged and crazy.

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?