Few stars-to-be have burst onto the scene with more aplomb than Romy Mars, a young artist whose claim to fame was neither acting nor writing nor music but a viral TikTok titled “make a vodka sauce pasta with me because I’m grounded.” For those suffering from short-term memory loss in the mess of all that’s happened in the past two years, in March 2023, Mars — the daughter of Sofia Coppola and Thomas Mars, lead singer of the band Phoenix — was grounded, not for normal teenage reasons like breaking curfew or, uh, playing too much Roblox, but for trying to, she said, “charter a helicopter from New York to Maryland” on her dad’s credit card so she could have dinner with a “camp friend.”
Now 18 and too old for camp, Mars has three songs to her name as she navigates a career as an actor–slash–pop star–slash–icon in training (last year, she popped up in both FX’s English Teacher and a little-known indie directed by her grandfather called Megalopolis). Her newest song is also her best song: “A-Lister,” a word-dense diatribe on getting what you want and what comes after. The song is loosely referential to her time on movie sets, watching actors play pretend both on- and offscreen. Her lyrical density calls to mind the music of Gracie Abrams, another daughter of a director, who has tried with earnest humility to set her work apart. “Obviously we can’t control where we are born into, and there are a million visible and even more invisible advantages to having family members who are in any entertainment industry,” Abrams told Rolling Stone. Abrams’s music, though, exists outside of the Hollywood machine; Mars’s work leans into the mirage of fame. Rather than grasp for authenticity, she exposes the fabrication of image and idol alike.
Mars’s music is such solidly good pop that listening to it is enjoyable enough on its face. Do you have to know who Mars is to find a song like “A-Lister” a good time? Probably not, but part of what makes the track instantly iconic is the context in which Mars exists. The music is indulgent, and it’s clear that she’s indulging in her journey — not a ton, but just enough. Nepo-baby acknowledgments have come a long way over the past few years. What was once defensive denial of privilege has become a tacit nod toward it. But Mars presents a third wave: unabashed pride. She’s not milking it per se, but she’s not sorry for what she’s had access to either. Romy Mars is a pop star because she can be. She hasn’t fought her way up the ranks of anything; why would she? To apologize for it would be déclassé. I’m reminded of a passage in last year’s New Yorker profile of Sofia Coppola in which the designer Marc Jacobs addressed claims that Coppola is a nepo baby. “It’s so easy to throw around these titles like ‘nepo baby.’ What do you do, kill yourself because you come from a good family? Do you just not make art?” he said. While Coppola cut her teeth making dreamy, female-driven independent films that looked nothing like the shape of her father’s work, Mars makes pop music reflecting on the artifice at the center of her mom’s movies. She sees that music, though aural, is a medium through which an image can be made and destroyed. Mars builds a scene and then deconstructs it in a matter of minutes, the curtain closing on her fantasy.
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The metanarrative of Mars’s music grants her a kind of authenticity otherwise difficult to find in the pop landscape. Her greed and desires and fantasies are not far-off musings but tangible and within reach. Last year, she told Teen Vogue that she one day envisions an album full of little stories, but that she is willing to take as long as she needs for the work to be as good as it can get — a surprisingly mature sentiment for someone not yet old enough to buy a vape. Is “A-Lister” the type of song that warrants this kind of time and energy? No, it’s not a self-serious exploration of how fame corrupts all. She’s not a classical lyricist inventing new language for describing love. She’s talking about being pissed off at “the industry”: It’s gossip turned anthem. Listening to her music is like the most popular girl at your school confiding a secret in you. It’s a blessing just to be acknowledged, let alone share in the fun.
