A young woman with magenta-streaked hair stands in her bathroom, speaking to a webcam. In a hushed tone, she chews over a thorny problem of young adulthood: how to apply full evening makeup when you’re already inebriated from drinking all day?
She begins her tutorial by wielding that totem of collegiate binge drinking everywhere: a red plastic Solo Cup. One jump cut later (after a “Law and Order: S.V.U.” drinking game), she re-emerges, thoroughly intoxicated. She misapplies a gob of glue. It dangles from a false eyelash. She lines her lips with a black pencil.
“It doesn’t matter what color it is, ’cause you’re gonna blend it,” she slurs, batting her eye glue. “Don’t let this scare you.”