To present I Love LA as merely a Gen Z version of Girls is a reductive way of describing this deeply observant, uncompromising work of television.

It helps, of course, that the performances are natural and fast-paced, clearly taking Sennott’s acerbic, deceptively nuanced lead. These are smart portrayals of dumb characters.

That I find some of these people more trying than charming doesn’t prevent “I Love L.A.” from being a show I actually quite like. (The ratio of charm to annoyance may be flipped for some viewers, of course; different strokes, as we used to say back in the 1900s.) If anything, it’s a testament to Sennott and company having done their jobs well; the production is tight, the dialogue crisp, the photography rich — nothing here seems the least bit accidental.

I Love LA leads with its characters’ most aggravating characteristics. .... But the writing gets sharper and more distinct over the course of the season. .... Even after a full eight-episode season, it still struggles to define its other characters as well as it does Maia and Tallulah. But there’s something electric in that dyad.

There’s turbulence – it takes several episodes for Maia to downshift from sketch trope to character, an initial barrier to entry for a promising series that rewards patience.

Sennott has a keen eye for the absurd workings of the influencer world, not to mention some great jokes about it. But her engagement with this new form of celebrity is so superficial for most of the 8-episode season that it’s hard to tell whether the show is meant as a commentary on shallowness or if it’s just shallow.

"LA" does not add any critical lens or takeaways. Sennott and her costars speak with an irritatingly fake affect, are shallower than a puddle in the desert and prize selfishness, indolence and artifice. The dull stories the show crafts around them add no insight or substance.