There’s a song I often return to when the night feels too wide and I’m left alone with my thoughts – Art Deco by Lana Del Rey.
It doesn’t beg for attention. It doesn’t scream its pain. It floats. Hovers. Observes. Just like the people it describes. Just like the pieces of myself I don’t always show.
What strikes me isn’t just the melody – haunting, velvet-soft, almost ghost-like. It’s the presence of someone so seen and yet so untouchable. Lana sings to them… about them… maybe for herself, maybe for all of us who’ve lived in that same strange limbo.
You’re so Art Deco, out on the floor… shining like gunmetal, cold and unsure…
Those words hit with a quiet weight. The kind that sneaks under your skin without asking. It’s about someone who’s too cool to care, but inside, they’re quietly decaying. They’re the life of the party, sure, but not really there. Glowing under club lights. Perfect makeup. Empty eyes.
And I see them. Because I’ve been them. Because I am them – in moments when I smile but feel nothing. When I float through gatherings like a performer, not a participant. When I feel safest watching from the edges, yet ache for someone to reach in.
Art Deco isn’t just a song. It’s a mirror.
A mirror for those of us who know what it’s like to be adored but not understood. To exist in aesthetic but long for authenticity. To be too aware of the illusion and too tired to pretend otherwise.
Lana’s voice doesn’t accuse. It whispers: “I see you.” And that’s what makes it hurt and heal, all at once.
I think the reason I love this song is because it speaks to something deeper than longing. It speaks to recognition.
It’s the moment someone notices your loneliness, even when you’ve hidden it behind cool detachment and polished edges. It’s someone choosing to see you not for your image, but for your truth – messy, elegant, aching.
