She offers me a Diet Coke, a Red Bull, and a coffee, the last of which has just finished percolating in the same kind of $30 coffee maker I had in my college dorm room. Her long brown hair is neatly brushed, and her face is free of makeup aside from a slight and delicate winged eyeliner-the only visual connection to the femme fatale look of her professional life. COLLIER SCHORRĭel Rey too is simply adorned in slim jeans, a plain sweater, and ballet flats. “We process things as a family,” Del Rey says, speaking to her bond with her siblings. Her brother, Charlie, uses a sunny room in the back as his office, and their sister, Caroline, is over often. There’s little in the way of decoration other than a magazine cutout of Marilyn Monroe tacked to a window in the bathroom and a few pictures of family. The home is comfortable, clean, and simply adorned. But it is also exceedingly modest for a woman of Del Rey’s fame and resources. I can only describe it as unassuming, with a small yard of yellowing grass.
Is this quick assembly of a now waterlogged and forgotten daybed amazing to Lana Del Rey, one of the most successful and influential singers, songwriters, and forces in popular music overthe past decade? Some of my doubt manifests in relation to her house, which seems more set design than home, conceived to persuade me that I’m in the presence of the world’s most down-to-earth multimillionaire.
