This trio's cuntalicious behavior throughout Bachelorette is so cringe worthy that it'll make you want to turn it off halfway through, but Lizzy Caplan, in this opening scene, is gold. As Gena, the mussy, strung-out drunk whose drug rattled look is totally working for her, she kills it while rolling out of bed and maintaining the exact same look throughout the movie, complete with a full-fledged disdain for life and just the sickest half-moon nails I've laid eyes on. I, too, have puffy waves, a collection of pre-worn band t-shirts and a habit of keeping eyeliner on for too many hours, but I'll never have that brand of thin, willowy arms, painstakingly dragging a cigarette to my mouth surrounded by a cloud of untamed, dip-dyed hair.
She doesn't give a shit when everyone rides her for how short her perfect International Klein Blue dress is, or bother to even put on anything besides ankle boots at the wedding with a beige cocktail dress. Here she is, a coked-out mess, just trying to stay awake through the reception, and punch me if I sound like an idiot, but good god does she look enviously fantastic doing it. I think I speak for the rest of us when I say I feel less like someone who can skip a shower, throw back two too many shots of tequila and just make it work and more like this character's freaky younger cousin. You know, the one who puts on the kind of Urban Outfitter skinny jeans that instantly stretch out the second you get two legs in 'em with an actually gross old t-shirt and wonders why the look, complete with that big tranny-style eye makeup doesn't work for me the way it works for her.
And you know why? Because she's like the Lou Doillon for real life. America's answer to french muses who go, "Ah, no, you just put on eh blouse and walk out zee door." Fuck no you don't just put on a blouse and walk out the door! Who are these people?! But then there's Lizzy Caplan, Melrose Trading Post's answer to St. Germaine's laid-back Parisian babe, mega chillin' in whatever she can find, whether it's a bride-ordained frock or just the sheath she's frantically been running around in for the past fourteen hours straight.
After all, if you can look hot in a Jack Johnson shirt, you've won the game.