Why Feminists Love Lana Del Rey

I like to think of myself as a feminist and a fully independent woman. I argue loudly on the feminist theories and practice, actively seek both professional experience and free birth control, blog regularly on the topic and work for non-profit organizations.

But yesterday I was turned down for an internship I really wanted. The disappointment first forced me to lie down in the shower, and then blast Lana Del Rey’s sickly sweet music through my speakers.

The fantasy world created in Lana Del Rey’s lyrics is horrifically appealing for anyone who wants to throw away their responsibilities. It’s the same temptation that pops up if you read Kerouac, only better (maybe worse) because it’s way less thoughtful.

    Somehow this fantasy feels even more destructive for women. Having my professional aspirations crushed yesterday made me toy with the idea of throwing the whole venture away. Women do still have the option of crawling away into dependence on men.

In Del Rey’s lyrics, she becomes the woman decried by Steinem and Friedan in the last half century of American feminist theory. She is without depth, at once childish and sexual because of her dependance on any male who happens along. She’s lost without a man and infantilizes herself to a basically disgusting extent. She calls her lovers “daddy” and asks whether they “love little girls.” Del Rey’s character is a romanticization of the dependency and hollow beauty valued in women directly following World War II.

The same phenomenon can be read in the work of Marie Calloway, who burst into alt lit fame with her piece “Adrien Brody.” Read with the strictest feminist mindset, the story is nothing but shit -- really problematic shit in which a young woman has no means to define herself except through her sexual encounter with a famous man.

    This fantasy is so appealing because Calloway and Del Rey’s audiences are invited to embody a character without any responsibilities beyond another person’s (or maybe lots of other people’s) sexual fulfillment. This character is the one who catcalling men imagine they’re talking to. It’s the one the characters on HBO’s Girls would like to become.
    It’s so much easier to be a sexual object than a whole person! And the beauty of feminism is that men now have the same option! They, too, can become inadvisably dependent on their romantic partner!
    That’s why the fantasy is so appealing to neurotic, over-educated hipsters. We’ve been told that all that education is going to get us a job, but it hardly ever does. In Del Rey’s world, the only thing of consequence is sex. We can give up, jump on the back of a motorcycle driven by a much-older man, and ride off into the sunset.
    It’s just really fucking appealing for modern hipster ladies. Probably dudes, too.
    If Del Rey’s listeners have been exposed to much feminist theory, though, the fantasy can be dismissed quickly after indulging. It’s not substantial or fulfilling. It’s like the soda pop she’s always singing about: sweet and terrible for you, but as long as you keep it under sixteen ounces, it won’t have any lasting consequences.