The Image of America: Lana Del Rey’s “National Anthem” as a reflection of race, gender and power

Lana Del Rey is an enigma. That's kind of her genius. She exists in a space between fantasy and reality; she is the image, and she is the person, and she is neither at the same time. Throughout her discography, Del Rey creates a passive and static image of herself. Del Rey is the ultimate image, the ultimate object, a persona distinctly separate and intrinsically tied to her creator, Elizabeth Grant (Del Rey's birth name). Her ethos as an artist is deeply rooted in the pop lexicon of Americana, intentionally imploring images to evoke nostalgia rather than creating new ones. She relies on the subversion and application of these images to our modern times, twisting classic American imagery, old money and trailer parks, mob wives, and hippie bohemians, to paint new portraits of herself and the romantic figures she is fixated on. Lana Del Rey sings about men, almost exclusively, and how they relate to herself; in this way, these interpersonal examinations become a small-scale cultural autopsy of American society. Her detached, glamorous persona embodies 2010s hipster irony to an extreme in how it's rough, sloppy, and as deep and cutting as you want it to be. Del Rey's often ham-fisted approach to references and inclination for cultural commentary through such imagery is prevalent throughout her discography. Still, it is distilled into a fascinating and perplexing contemplation on race and gender in the music video for "National Anthem," off of her debut album, Born to Die. In Del Rey's depictions of rapper A$AP Rocky and herself as the Kennedys, Lana Del Rey explores themes of power in American culture, who does and does not have it, and how she can position herself within systems of power.

Immediately, Lana Del Rey's imagery calls to mind the long fetch of history. While it can be contrived to imply prominent cultural themes and ideas media wrestle with constantly are cyclical, that concept is particularly applicable to Del Rey. No artist today understands or relies on the long fetch of history quite like Lana Del Rey; she uses it expertly. Her expressions of the "old money paradise" of the Kennedys with rapper A$AP Rocky perpetuates a post-racial lie prominent in the Obama era. That particular presidential era functioned as a second Camelot, with the first family being portrayed uniquely as celebrities in their own right. Lana Del Rey plays on this concept by combining the two, 2010s hipster irony and aesthetics coming from Black hip-hop culture paired with the glamor of Kennedy's old money and classic ideas of American whiteness. It's 60s in aesthetic, 90s in mentality, and pushing back against the philosophy of the 2000s, forgoing blatant rage or party pop superfluousness to convey a scene of beautiful tragedy framed through the assassination of John F. Kennedy. As George Lipsitz articulates in "Introduction: The Long Fetch of History; or, Why Music Matters," Popular music is not history, but it can be read historically, dialogically, and symptomatically to produce valuable evidence about change over time. Popular music can mark the present as history, helping us understand where we have been and where we are going." Del Rey's explorations of power and privilege in America are exactly this. In placing American ideals of wealth reserved only for white Americans in the grasp of not only a Black man but one in cultural symbols that have been derided for their unsophistication (baseball cap over the eyes, cornrows, gold chains). Lana Del Rey highlights the history behind spaces of power Black people have not been allowed to enter and the ways they must conform to whiteness to fit those spaces and bursts those norms open. Yet, Del Rey, as a white woman, is making assumptions about the Black experience in America through her appropriation of Blackness to make herself look more subversive and her use of racial stereotypes shows an ignorance of the history of systemic injustice against Black Americans.

In making A$AP Rocky, a Black man, JKF, she is still subjecting him to racialized violence. Del Rey is putting him in a position to be mown down. Not that white men cannot be, as this event occurred against a white man, but there is an added weight to the death of a Black man in America. Especially because the systems A$AP Rocky represents in the video (the presidency, the police, the armed forces) are so often used as weapons of mass oppression against Black Americans. A Black man does not become less a Black man when he is in power. We know this from the rise of racial extremist groups during the Obama era, from doubts about his presidential legitimacy, from the scrutiny he and his family endured that differed from that of modern white presidents. In this way, Del Rey's embracing of markings of stereotypical Black culture (Zooms in on his rings, his braids, smoking, chains, and Hennessy) in spaces of white old money is subversive.

Even when leaning into a clean-cut American image, Barack Obama could not escape racialized criticism, but Del Rey presents a world where this is not the case. Still, as a white woman, her perception of Black culture, as well as that of other minority groups in the U.S., and appropriation of them throughout her career is not abated by her adjacent status to Rocky. She may have Black friends, but this is not her place to insert herself, especially given the pattern of racial obliviousness she continues to exude. Her hipster irony is a disguise for something offensive. Here, Del Rey is using a black man and black culture as a prop; their interracial relationship and biracial babies are fetishized into a political statement that ultimately rings hollow and out of touch. This is the danger of seeking to immerse oneself in the aesthetics of Americana without understanding the weight and history behind the symbols she employs. Del Rey does not acknowledge the full scale of the long fetch, the images she draws on, instead copping iconography to elevate herself to a place of power within greater culture.

Another significant reading of the "National Anthem'' reflects the gender dynamic significantly presented in much of Del Rey's music. She is a woman aligned with men. Her music is distinct in the way women are adjacent and subordinate to the rebel male figure, something for which she has been criticized. Even when trying to make statements, she does so in a very normative way. Angela McRobbie's piece, "Settling Accounts with Subculture: A Feminist Critique," reevaluates subculture through a feminist lens and how women are subjugated and relegated to objects in subculture or alternative spaces. Such a place is one in which Del Rey comfortably puts herself. McRobbie analyzes the rebel men and cultural figures in early American subcultures the very kind Del Rey loves to reference. Where McRobbie sees oppression, Del Rey seeks to be the abject, protected, and coveted, taken care of by her man and his money: "Hamptons, Bugatti Veyron." In describing the gendered dynamic of American subcultures, McRobbie states, "Women are so obviously inscribed (marginalized, abused) within subcultures as static objects (girlfriends, whores, or 'faghags') that access to its thills to hard fast rock music, to drugs, alcohol, and 'style,' would hardly be compensation even for the most adventurous teenaged girl." However, this static, aestheticized version of womanhood is precisely how Del Rey continually portrayed herself. Throughout the video, she is the pretty face and accessory to her male love interest. She is portrayed as a subversive figure, partially through the political power he holds and partly for his Blackness, which makes her association with him provocative.

While I unpack the strangeness of the racial element earlier, the ways in which Del Rey's character's power stems purely from her man and his access to resources. Her success and security depend on him. This character wants two things: her man and her money, which is acquired through her man. Whether her given love interest is Black or white, that remains the same. Del Rey croons, "He will do very well, I can tell, I can tell/ Keep me safe in his bell tower hotel." These lyrics from "National Anthem" reflect the helplessness Del Rey revels in. Her man does give her access to power, drugs, alcohol, and "style," and she loves him for it. Her power is derived from that of her partner. His power that lies in money and commodities is her power, and she is nothing without him; she says so. She gains access to a world of excessive wealth through a man, so she is more than happy to be dominated. That's exactly what she wants, and she will use her man to get to the top, as shown in the video. Lana Del Rey is a focal point, and she is an accessory, a thing to look at by both the viewer and her love interest. She dances for him, feeds him, and serves him. While Lana Del Rey frames her regressiveness as subversive, her pushback against previous waves of feminism, like that McRobbie represents, is just as hollow as an American dream rooted in consumerism and money; it is ultimately empty. In the "National Anthem" video, she is Marilyn and Jackie, but either way, they serve JFK.

To Lana Del Rey, the ultimate expression of America is both an idealized and a status under threat. Her power and that of her partner are contentious in America. Her American dream is not a reality within the systems she glorifies. It's freedom and Americana and misery and hurt; she is all of that. She knows the American dream is a hollow lie; she knows it ends, so she's going to enjoy it while she lasts, hold on to the past, and revel in nostalgia. Del Rey engages with the long fetch of history through the imagery of the Kennedys and 1960s fashion and the present of the 2010s through her and A$AP Rocky's interracial relationship and cultural markers from contemporary Black culture. The ways in which their respective places of privilege and power and the ways they do not have power in American society as a woman and a man of color weave together a complicated portrait of gender and race at the beginning of the decade.

She uses his Blackness as a way of subverting images of systems of power while still relying on stereotypes of Blackness, while still being an object subjugated by the male figure in her life. Each aspect of the video, this collage of images reiterates the phrase, "This is America now," creating a sense of national identity rooted in the pursuit of money and power, the Kenndys serving as the ultimate ideal of American success and tragedy simultaneously. In that way, "National Anthem" is a modern retelling of an American fairytale and a hollow image, a picture print of a time that was never to be and never will. Its power and imagery are intertwined with the history of the American people: Black Americans and women in America. Both of whom are more often victims of systems of power like the presidency than those in charge. Their power, even within cultural and political structures, is fleeting without changing the system itself, and that is how Del Rey's American fantasy rings hollow: the systems she glorifies will not protect her; they will not protect her Black male love interest or her hypothetical biracial children. And yet Lana Del Rey is fully entwined and ensnared by America, unable to escape, so she chooses to find glamor in her misery instead. Lipsitz,

George. 2007. Introduction: The Long Fetch of History; or, Why Music Matters.

McRobbie, Angela. 1990. Settling Accounts with Subculture: A Feminist Critique.