I Hate The Stans

I got pissed off at a Lana Del Rey tweet because apparently I don’t have enough things to get annoyed about in life.

Lana Del Rey seems upset that Ann Powers of NPR didn’t give her the WordPress equivalent of a knobjob in print. If you want to read it, here it is. I can’t bear to finish it because I can’t bear to read thousands of words about Lana Del Rey.

Powers writes an appreciative, though not uncritical essay. She notes that Del Rey was largely regarded by critics and cynics as a bullshit, self-creation and (in Powers’ charitable view) that it took Del Rey time to find her artistic voice. Even I can tell that the writer is looking at her work in a greater context. But that’s not good enough for Lana Del Rey, apparently

“my gift is the warmth I live my life with and the self-reflection I share generously (sic)” Sure. Of course.

Does any remember her disaster of a performance of SNL, which went so bad even Brian fucking Williams felt like he could talk shit? What does that have to do with anything, you ask? Good for her on having blind, ridiculous faith in herself and blotting out the horrible failure that would have driven other performers out of showbiz. But we can’t rewrite history especially when it happened where everyone could see it.

Sometime after that, a friend sent me a link to “Gods & Monsters” and I swore I could hear the collagen and botox in Lana Del Rey’s lips and face. Like she went to get the injections right before going to the studio to record the vocals without waiting for it to settle.

See? That paragraph is the kind of thing that should hurt feelings. That is below the belt. That is not criticism. It’s sarcastic and mean.

Now it’s 2019. She’s critically acclaimed and sells out arenas on tour. She won, yet it’s not enough. Lay prostrate at the altar. Sadly, there are plenty of fans willing to do so which is pathetic. It hit me like a ton of bricks reading the replies.

Ninety-eight percent of the replies basically read like that. In the interest of fairness, I will post one LDR fan who seems, I dunno, reasonable?

EXACTLY! The writer is a fan. But the writer isn’t a STAN. And that’s what Lana Del Rey wants! And that’s what all these artists want. They want a Beyhive. They want an army of fans to swoop in and defend them, kamikaze-style, against any perceived offender. Guess what? It works. Stans love to play the role. It gives them something to do, an identity. Like rooting for a sports team. Or MAGA but for. . . I don’t know, Chris Brown or somebody like that.

The only reason I’m picking on Lana Del Rey is because she’s the one who pricked my finger today. It could’ve been anybody else. It could’ve been Kobe Bryant stans, or Rick & Morty idiots, or WWE fans (aka Stamford wives) or LITERALLY ANY FANBASE OF ANYTHING EVER. Star Wars, The Office, Steven Universe, all sports, any and all video games, literally any movie produced by a comic book company. I can’t enjoy just Superman or Spiderman. I have to enjoy the entire universe of the company that produces them. I have to defend (video game manufacturer) with all my heart even though I have nothing to gain by fighting what South Park called “Console Wars”.

There’s the superfan. The stan. The fanboy. The attack dog. The person whose fandom becomes part of their personal identity. The person who will engage in a pissing contest even though they’re getting it all over themselves.

Why think critically when you can let yourself be manipulated by the thing you love so much? Do you think you’ll get a pat on the head or something? Lana Del Rey wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.

Lana Del Rey wouldn’t even piss on you for her own amusement.

Coincidentally, I’m writing this on what would have been Freddie Mercury’s 73rd birthday. You know, the guy who wrote “We Are The Champions”?

YAAAAASSSS! WE STAN A QUEEEEENNNN!

We are the champions, folks. You, the audience and we, the band. More specifically, we who will be climbing into our limos after the show to drink champagne and party with gorgeous wo/men. We definitely are the champions. All of you who paid to see the show and bought the album and the commemorative t-shirt from the merch stand? You. . . uh, yeah. . . you too are the champions, just not as much. You’re like the minority shareholders of the championship.

Thank God that Twitter didn’t exist in 1978 because the Queen stans would have been insufferable. Probably would have been named “The Royal Family” or some dumb shit. Thank God the band got their asses kicked in the ’80s and were irrelevant for a while after Freddie died before social media. I wouldn’t be able to justify liking this band at all.

It’s a good song, though.

 

 

 

 

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  1. Pingback: The Worst Queen Songs | The Kentucky Prophet

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