One bro took it even further: “Her music, from what I’ve listened to, is made for the straightest of males (and whoever else, really).” A reductive, toxic view, in my opinion, and it serves as the illogical endpoint of the very assumption it means to demolish: Having discovered that I’m not the only straight man who “gets” Lana - and robbed of that potential cred - I can only conclude that this music is designed to ensnare us all. “YES there are many straight male fans.” CerberusArcProjector was openly anxious on the matter: “ Is it OK to be a straight guy who likes Lana?” he asked.įellow men reassured him, brushing off anyone who would dare to judge. “This question is asked like every week,” another dude complained. “Feel like we’re rare af, kinda living in secrecy about it.” The top reply clarified that straight men are the subreddit’s largest demographic, according to a survey. “Are there many straight male fans of Lana?” a Reddit user called Crazybonbon asked the r/lanadelrey board. A massive bloc of straight guys love Lana Del Rey, too, even if they’re conflicted about it.

But I soon discovered that I was no outlier in the fandom.

Between thinkpieces and Twitter, and given LDR’s restless exploration of American femininity, you might assume that women (and gay men) form the vast majority of her audience - and you’d be right. While reviews of the record are positive, they don’t agree on its character: Lust for Life is at once a “ throwback” to Lana’s early swagger, a push forward into “ more self-aware” territory, and proof of her “ remarkable, singular consistency.” More enticing are essays by women about such paradoxes: Lana’s submission as a form of power, or her self-regard turning male lust inside-out. (“I just want to feel like I’m drinking cough syrup on the beach,” I said, repeatedly.) Floored when I happened to hear LDR’s “National Anthem” a few months before, I had closely followed the drip of new tracks ever since.

Even I was having trouble explaining this newfound obsession. Maddie nodded and walked out to our back patio, where she could read at some distance from the cinematic ooze of Lana Del Rey’s Lust for Life, an album that hadn’t disappeared from my Spotify in the week following its release.

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