What Claudia O’Doherty of Netflix’s ‘Love’ Can’t Live Without

In Australia, all the white people have skin cancer, because white people aren’t really meant to live there. At school, you weren’t allowed to play outside at lunchtime if you hadn’t brought a hat, and there was a huge communal-pump pack of sunscreen that we had to reapply all day — parents would often come to school with small bandages on their faces where they’d had cancers removed. All of this, plus vanity, makes me very sun smart. Skin care–wise, I like things that seem like they could be prescribed by a doctor and are gentle enough for a burn victim. QV is an Australian brand that was developed in the Queen Victoria Hospital, so I love it. This moisturizer is fragrance-free, noncomedogenic, has a high SPF, and doesn’t make my skin freak out. A triumph.

Here they are — perfect, normal jeans. I hate distressed denim or any kind of whisker effect on jeans. It looks so dumb — we know it’s not real. I know you’re not a rancher or a miner or whatever profession would mean your jeans are that worn. Pretty much all jeans for women have them now, and to be frank, it’s bonkers. It took me quite a long time to find these, a pair of women’s blue jeans that have a high waist that flatter my boyish hips and twig legs. They have one percent stretch, so they’re comfortable, but don’t look like leggings.

This shampoo was invented by Jennifer Aniston. Well, not really, I think maybe her hairdresser and some Harvard scientists invented it, and Jen owns half the company. I have thin, frizzy hair that makes show-business hairstylists encourage me to invest in a wig ($6,000 to $12,000). But this makes my hair look nicer, I think, and feel nicer for sure. It’s expensive for shampoo and conditioner, so I buy it in the big, less-expensive, gray pump packs that make my shower look like prison.

I hope you like exuberant florals that conjure an English summer in the 1920s! I used to live in London, and I would regularly skulk around Liberty, a very ritzy Tudor-style department store, which is made out of the wood from some fancy British ships or something. They make beautiful floral prints that are favored by women who shoot pheasants for fun, but I like them, too, and I’ve never shot anything. I particularly love the Faria Flowers print in Marigold, in cushion form. I would stare at this cushion and dream of the day I could afford it. I bought it once I got hired to work on Love. Now, it’s on a chair in my American bedroom, and it’s a treat for my eyeballs every time I look at it.

Here is my signature scent, in case you would like to smell like me. It’s a scent Annick Goutal created for her daughter, which is why it’s called Petit Cherie. It smells like pears and cut grass. There’s this idea that you should always wear the same scent so former lovers imprint upon it, and when they smell it again, it shatters them — but it seems unhealthy to make such spite-driven choices. I’ve experimented with other perfumes, but they always end up making my nose itchy or seeming gross to me, so that’s why I’ve stuck with this one.

I am crazy about sweaters, or jumpers, as they are known in Australia. These ones by Howlin’ are great because they are lovely and plain. I would like it if my entire wardrobe looked like it was taken from a very dry textbook about clothes. In the “Knitwear” chapter, you would find this sweater. Crewneck, 100 percent Scottish wool, regular fit. No funny business. If you are affiliated with this label, please make this sweater in a solid saffron yellow and orangey tomato red. These will suit me, as I am an autumn. Thank you, I love you.