I’m reading this article about singer Lana Del Rey.
Jewish Journal blogger Tamara Shayne Kagel writes: “Lana Del Ray’s stereotypical, codependent, frivolous girlishness is a regression for feminism according to a new article in the Atlantic. Definitely worth a read. Spencer Kornhaber’s contention is that for Lana “in every instance, her stated belief is that without being beautiful, she’s nothing. And what’s really uncomfortable is that she can’t seem to conceive of the world in any other way.” As a lover of all things romantic, I am too sucked in by her idealistic devotion to her man. But Kornhaber rightfully points to the fact that Lana may have crossed over from romance to unhealthy obsession. “We all know people in unbalanced relationships, where one party’s more enamored than the other, but Del Rey sells this problem as not a problem at all—and as inevitably tied to gender.” Is she redefining being pathetic as the new girly?”
I’m thinking about all the beautiful women I’ve known well.
With exceptions, they got all of their self-worth from their beauty.
I think that’s how life works. If you’re a beautiful young woman, the world is at your feet. The power of your beauty must be intoxicating. And it diminishes your incentive to develop yourself in other ways.
I remember asking a beautiful girlfriend a few years ago, “What percentage of your self-worth comes from your looks?”
She said, “One hundred percent.”
This was an unhappy woman on about six different mood stabilizers and anti-depressants. She’d never married, never had kids, and never accomplished much. She wasn’t thriving in her career. She didn’t have any graduate degrees. She was smart and funny and talented, but without much accomplishment for her four decades on earth.
