In recent months, as both my , I have become possessed by vivid fantasies of faking my own death and starting a new life in the woods. As of this morning, however, those dreams of going increasingly mad in the Berkshires have been replaced by the urge to abandon all my earthly responsibilities for a romantic swamp retreat. This, as you might imagine, comes in response to news of Lana Del Rey’s characteristically unhinged she .
And just as Taylor Swift made the it-girl accessory of 2023, Lana has now ushered in a new genre of dream man: the Alligator Swamp Husband. And yes, I obviously need one. Like many zillennial women who were exposed to in their formative years, my brain chemistry has been forever altered by fantasies (and later, ) of doomed love affairs with .
Interestingly, the bulk of Lana’s actual, public-facing has seemed to involve a string of musicians and, on one notable occasion, a cop. But while I can’t date a flatfoot because I’m not a fucking narc, nor a musician because I’d be living in constant fear that he would try to serenade me and I would feel awkward about it/not know what to do with my arms, I think an Alligator Swamp Husband is something I could get on board with. Now, as someone whose primary hobbies include drinking dirty martinis in hotel lobby bars , I can see how the Louisiana bayou may not seem like my most natural habitat.
But personally, I envision my swamp self as more of a font change than a rebrand. Based on what I’ve gathered .