From Mexican drug cartels to anti-feminist rallies: How Lana Del Rey crafted a dark musical war on culture
Some of the world’s most notorious works of fiction are those teeming with unapologetically left-wing, against-the-grain, and culturally disruptive rallying cries for change. Within this realm of culture reside the fiery blaze of the oppressed: worlds that have been repeatedly suppressed by the glowing ammunition of conservative values, some of which crumble at the mere defiance of tradition. However, on the opposing side, a more insidious truth takes root – a society consumed by the stoicism of unwritten laws, one that has long forsaken the hidden malevolence at its very core. The debate surrounding Lana Del Rey as a problematic figure can be seen as trite, often eliciting eye rolls when brought up again. Yet, embedded within it is a narrative as ancient as time itself: a perverse, paedophilic undercurrent ingrained within society, one that will persist unless we actively exercise prudence.
Make no mistake: Del Rey is an excellent songwriter. She possesses the ability to capture that romantic, 1950s-style aesthetic that immediately conjures up feelings of nostalgia, even if you’re not American nor born in the ‘50s. However, it’s precisely her talent that makes her cultural resonance somewhat troubling. From the release of her debut album, Born to Die, Del Rey has graciously epitomised post-feminist notions, along with a movement that essentially tells women that they can be what they want to be, even if it’s reminiscent of older gender stereotypes.
And that’s absolutely fine. If a woman wants to live a life that, for some, may be seen as traditional, that’s completely her choice, and it’s nobody’s place to say otherwise. However, the point at which it becomes a little more complicated is when abusive notions, much like many women who were forced to take up such roles without the luxury of choice, are exercised under the guise of romanticism. Del Rey’s penchant for glorifying abusive spaces has been widely discussed, and the singer has routinely defended herself, but if we teach more women that being a victim is something to celebrate, doesn’t it perpetuate harm?
This isn’t an attack on Del Rey; instead, these discussions are meaningful because a lot of people – myself included – enjoy her music. But the ambivalence accrued from her subject matter is rendering enjoyment an increasingly tricky venture. ‘Lolita’, for example, is perhaps the most well-known example of Del Rey’s attitude towards female sexuality. Del Rey references the famous work by Vladimir Nabokov to craft a story about her past experiences with abusive relationships.
The story is narrated by a paedophile who becomes infatuated with 12-year-old Dolores Haze, AKA ‘Lolita’. The narration is detailed with prose that attempts to excuse his sickening behaviour as he laments his status as a sophisticated man, not a monster. Del Rey pays tribute to this in her song ‘Lolita’, to which she sings, “Light of my life /fire of my loins”. Beyond this, Del Rey has been seen as a trailblazer for what people more generally call the ‘Lolita aesthetic’, which effectively sexualises vulnerable young girls and abusive men.
This has become an entire subculture in itself, with many on social media platforms like TikTok showing off their ‘Lolita aesthetics’ to the familiar sounds of Del Rey hits. Society has always had paedophilic undertones, but this movement has become a powerful contributor to its reign. What’s more, Hollywood has washed over Nabokov’s initial sentiment, rendering it lost in a mosaic of visually pleasing images, catering to a cultural infatuation with young girls.
Many musicians glorify American values, and there’s nothing wrong with doing so, but when it panders to predominantly Republican values – namely extreme right-wing, pro-gun beliefs – it becomes a little trickier to defend. You might have seen the string of images that recently resurfaced of Del Rey’s face being used on a bunch of guns in Mexican drug cartels, showing off the singer’s impact on certain factions of America. Here’s the truth: Right-wing American male nationalists love Lana Del Rey. Besides the obvious, like providing an uncensored version of a different age, she is everything that straight men venerate in the seductive, sex-symbol tradition of the American way. She is encapsulated in the image of a bittersweet California lover, kissed by the golden sun and draped in an American flag. A figure reminiscent of cigarettes and shattered dreams.
Many who think of her almost immediately think of the American flag next. On top of that, she’s been closely associated with Republican values for a long time, even once being accused of voting for Donald Trump. She stands as a charming yet confidently assertive homage to an era when aspirations leaned towards meritocracy and progressed into triumph rather than conceding to withdrawal.
Del Rey has always defended this, saying that taking up traditional gender roles makes her as much a modern woman as the next person. At the same time, she also claims not to be a feminist, which, in today’s climate, is challenging to relate to. Unless you possess an unequivocally misunderstood definition of feminism, chances are you probably are one.
Aside from becoming an enabler of problematic ‘Lolita’ culture, an anti-feminist, and a symbol of right-wing American values, she yields a confusing response in that she also epitomises individuality and embodies the liberation of womanhood. Lan Del Rey is unwavering and unwaning; no offering can sway her to relinquish her freedom. Relating to her is perhaps more accessible for some, but maybe that’s the allure. Or the issue. Whatever the answer, she remains the most paradoxical musician in today’s culture: a real war on culture and a true emblem of celebrating individuality, but not without the risk of fascist-plated ideology.
