Annie Walton Doyle

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

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?

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!