I’m obsessed with a Christian Dior outfit Jaime King wore last month at a Rachel Zoe event, but I’m loathe to post a red carpet image because they’re so ugly.
So instead, I’ll post this one of Jaime and Lana Del Rey. To see the outfit I love, click here.
I don’t want to like Lana Del Rey’s video for “National Anthem,” and it makes no sense, BUT I DO LIKE IT. There are so many outfit changes. I’m defenseless against them.
My shoulders are cramping, but fuck me if I give up now. Don’t take that literally.
The next category contains the dresses that I think, for various reasons, are “bad.” Meaning either poorly chosen, badly fitted, or just plain ridiculous. I think. I haven’t looked at these dresses since 8am. My personality might have changed since then.
I’m going to start with Lana Del Rey, because she looked just atrocious. Bitch really doesn’t give a fuck, does she? Either that, or she doesn’t hire a stylist. Either way, the dress fits poorly (notice the vagina highlight), the opera cloak is ridiculous, and she looks like she got herself into some reefer. Her hair, I have to say, looks fantastic.
Lana Del Rey, whose star is waning, could have played her fame two ways. She could have gone high fashion Florence Welch style. Or she could have gone balls out crazy like this bitch Bianca Brandolini D’Adda, who is apparently the heir to the Fiat fortune:
Like, this bitch did crazy RIGHT! It’s so ridiculous it’s fabulous. I want this woman to take me to a party, and dance on tables with me!
What’s interesting about Lana Del Rey’s new video for Blue Jeans is…nothing.
(I much prefer the older version.)
I’m about to buy Lana Del Rey’s album, which came out yesterday, mostly to spite the media, which is telling me I shouldn’t do it.
A few weeks ago, I bought the EP, and I listen to it every day. I don’t know if it’s because I have terrible taste in music, or because, by admitting that I do, I’m impervious the endless, unerring critical noise about how awful she is. But I like it, and I like her, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
I’ve been waiting to read something, ANYTHING different about Lana besides the whining and half-assed critical dissections into feminist theory. And then, Sasha Frere Jones, whom I generally find to be a condescending bastard, wrote a really interesting piece about her in this week’s New Yorker.
He makes two points that I sum up exactly my thoughts about her two most contentious points—her performances and her “authenticity.”
1. Del Rey is not likely to be good onstage, but this puts her in the company of about fifty per cent of recording artists.
YES! One time, I actually saw Fiona Apple perform at a New Yorker festival talk with Sasha Frere Jones himself, and it was so awkward that I carved ‘I hate people’ in my right forearm with my fingernails. And another time, I saw Cat Power perform (she is the absolute worst example), and it was so uncomfortable that I peed in my own pants for relief. At least Lana Del Rey can make it through a song, even if that song is off-pitch and emotionally flat.
2. The debates that surround authenticity have no relationship to popular music as it’s been practiced for more than a century. Artists write material, alone or with assistance, revise it, and then present a final work created with the help of professionals who are trained for specific and relevant production tasks. This makes popular music similar to film, television, visual art, books, dance, and related areas like food and fashion.
Then he goes on to say, Lana Del Rey does not deserve your furor, because she’s exceedingly forgettable, or something more eloquent than that. Which is exactly what I said when I made Lana my Icon of The Week a few weeks back.
I’m excited to see what other people have to say. In the meantime, I know both Shark and Back of House are obsessed with it, and I can’t wait to get on my bike again this afternoon to listen to it myself.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Lana Del Rey the past few days. Her album is dropping on January 30, which means that the publicity elves underneath her must be whirring their magic machines, bringing her to the attention of people like me, who enjoy music but don’t follow it. I’m the last stand before she hits the Michael Buble market.
Lana del Rey, apparently, has been around for a while, or at least a few months. She first appeared on the music scene in June, when she released her single “Video Games.” Since then, she’s become one of the most hated musicians in the industry, derided for her past, her lack of musical talent, her good looks, her record deals, her music videos, being sexy, eating food, walking, and the way she came out of the womb.
People hate Lana Del Rey so much that Maura Johnston of The Village Voice named “Video Games” the“2nd Most Infuriating Song of 2011.” They hate her so much that they write long, nonsensical essays giving her the power to define what’s wrong with an entire generation of young women in America, like Amy Klein of the indie band Titus Andronicus, who says:
“Lana Del Ray is waiting for you to come home so you can go to bed and act out all of your wildest fantasies which is exactly what she wants to do—what you want to do, that is. Lana Del Ray is waiting for you because she is your mirror.
(This sounds awesome to me.)
I’m kind of obsessed with Lana Del Rey today (thanks to AJM). Is that bad? Because man, people really hate her. I say who gives a fuck if she has collagen lip injections, and is a studio produced indie star. At least she’s not fucking Death Cab for Cutie.
(Apparently she cuts her own videos, which is killer, especially because in this one, she features Paz de la Huerta being Paz de la Huerta, which means that she is acting drunk and out of control and lovely.)
