#8: The real fakeness of Lana Del Rey

MANILA, Philippines - British GQ put it best when they wrote about singer Lana Del Rey as their Woman of The Year: she’s beauty, Instagrammed. You can practically set Lana on permanent Sierra and find yourself affirming that, well, she belongs there. For all of our misgivings about the former Elizabeth Grant, she has proven that while she has frozen her brand in time, she knows how to get with — and get away — with it. How else does one explain her year, with Vogue covers, an H&M campaign, and a Mulberry bag to her name? Gangster Nancy Sinatra has successfully positioned herself as the alternative pop star — your modern-day tease, refusing Rihanna’s straightforward swagger, and challenging Lady Gaga’s over-the-topness. What began with a home video exposition in Video Games has escalated into a much-maligned Saturday Night Live performance, and several more music videos that are torchbearers for her Cherry Cola drinking, 8mm dreams (one of them was even set in 8mm). Lana Del Rey allowed us to buy into her myth and into her artificial old world, where James Dean and Marilyn and Elvis are the norm; where romance is hopeless (“Been trying hard not to get into trouble, but I’ve got a war on my mind”), and where submitting to an aching, almost-abusive love is tolerated. So much so that she decided to release the same album, “Born To Die,” twice this year, with nine additional tracks — strengthening the case for the shadowy, tragic disposition of the all-American bombshell. That’s what Instagram is all about, anyway: classic projection.