The personification of the American dream is Lana Del Rey.

Since the release of Born To Die, Lana Del Rey has consistently had her finger on the cultural pulse, embracing 1950s nostalgia and the nihilism of Russian writers, much to the joy of depressed females worldwide. Every album's mood mandates a different look, one that has been so flawlessly executed that it doesn't feel like it was purposefully developed but is still in fashion. Despite constantly reinventing herself, Del Rey's love of traditional Americana, fevered patriotism, and the American dream survive.

On Born To Die, it was less clear; in the album's images, she was almost drenched in red, white, and blue and draped in the American flag. Del Rey's vocals, which were described as baroque-pop and laced with a yearning for the old guard, suppressed American sensibilities, and adventure, were said to channel a tortured Marilyn Monroe. Her suitors are compared to James Dean, criminals, and oil tycoon kings. She joins forces with these guys at tremendous personal expense, frequently in search of love, but more frequently, cash and jewelry.

When it comes to love, capitalism is in full swing, and what could come off as romantic neediness is actually a push for financial stability. Dark and lonely, I need someone to hold me, he'll do great, she sings. I can tell, I can tell - keep me safe in his belltower hotel," in the song "National Anthem." In Born To Die, there is never a love that comes without some sort of trade; she offers her own attention and beauty in exchange for something stable and secure.

According to historian Sarah Churchwell, the American Dream was continuously reinvented by each generation up until the Cold War, when it changed into a defense of consumer capitalism and effectively put an end to our conception of it. Born To Die's artistic universe, which is populated with glass Coca-Cola bottles and Lolita-inspired sunglasses, is similarly fixed in this nostalgic atmosphere. However, Del Rey departs from American suburbia and enters its enormous vast metropolis on the follow-up, Ultraviolence.

The drugs in "Florida Kilos" are used in place of the diamonds she craved in "Born To Die": "Cooking up a dream, turning diamonds into snow." The dream has changed and altered, delving into the seedy underbelly of America. Tonally, it shifts to a fuzzier, psychedelic rock sound than Born To Die's epic drama, but it nevertheless harkens back to a bygone America, this time with seediness, groupies, drugs, and overdoses before the #MeToo movement.

Following albums Honeymoon, Lust for Life, and Norman Fucking Rockwell! nevertheless, adopt a happier approach while continuing to explore what it means to Del Rey to chase the American dream due to the need to adapt. 'Lust For Life' She declares us to be "masters of our own fate" and "the captains of our own souls" in a startling display of personal power. She paints a hopeful picture of America in these albums, but it is swiftly dashed with the appearance of Did You Know That There's a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd.

The American Dream seemed to have failed on that record, nowhere more so than in the track "A&W." 'Part I: American Whore' and 'Part II: Jimmy' are the two halves of the lengthy seven-minute track. The song hints at the root-beer-sipping Americana that its name conjures, but it also manages to sift through previous manifestations of her persona and come out remade. With a subtle but stirring piano accompaniment,

The song begins with Del Rey's distinctive breathy, vintage-Hollywood vocals, which reflect the melancholy grandeur of the Born To Die era. However, the song deviates from her customary penchant for dramatic outros around the five-minute mark by slipping into a trappy, frenetic exit with cries of "Jimmy only love me when he wanna get high" paired with a thudding bassline.

According to co-producer Jack Antonoff, Del Rey's unvarnished look at its monotony and emptiness as she leads us through the life of a "American whore" feels oddly novel. Does the intentional change away from discussing the father's difficulties that have infamously influenced her lyrics support this? She expertly fills the roles of the absent fathers and James Dean impersonators she used to sing about with female characters in a cheeky pivot.

"I haven't done a cartwheel since I was nine, I haven't seen my mother in a long, long time," she sings in the song's opening. However, she uses that same painful relationship to mock her boyfriend Jim in the song's final line: "Your mom called, I told her, you're fucking up big time."

Jim is a legendary character that has long appeared in Del Rey's discography as a substitute for JFK, controlling partners, and even the Lizard King himself. His appearance on "A&W" was a cathartic conclusion to her obsession with emotional harm and older guys supporting her, but it wasn't just a callback to Ultraviolence. Del Rey provides her most honest description of the demise of the American dream in "Lust For Life," and she does so in a setting that feels just as Budweiser-soaked as she did in her earlier work. It is a more aggressive commitment to the personal freedom she flirted with on "Lust For Life."