Brandy Fucking Melville
by Amy Zimmerman

It was the summer Lana Del Rey insisted she didn’t glamorize abuse, that she was just a glamorous person who wrote a lot about her abusive relationships. Kerry didn’t like Lana as much as people probably thought she did, but she acknowledged that they were kindred spirits: poets who didn’t write poetry, witches who couldn’t cast spells, white girls who saw heterosexuality for everything it was—passé, violent, exhausting, elective—and did it anyway.