Annie Walton Doyle

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.

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."

Lash stain: what the hell. Am I right?

Many criticize Geordie Shore as entertainment in its lowest form: fights, drinking, people falling over, nudity, swearing, and “bucking” (sexual intercourse). Yet, to me, it is so much more than that. As a fully qualified human woman, I can’t help myself analyzing the show through feminist-tinted glasses. The decisions and attitudes of the “family” represent, to me, a new kind of feminism.

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!

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

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."

In life, there’s not much I love more than a good bitch. I’d take a mean, hilarious person over a “nice” bland-y any day of the week.

In much the same way I feel about my eyebrows, I feel perpetual dissatisfaction with my lips.