And climactically, “This Is What Makes Us Girls,” whose title alone is just trolling you so hard. Wherein a pack of small-town Lolitas booze it up, trigger catcalls, skip school, break into pools, steal police cars, maybe hit the pole, etc. etc. This is all breathy, breathtaking bullshit, a shameless jumble of Rebel without a Cause, Fast Times at Ridegemont High, Twin Peaks, Showgirls, Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979” video, Gossip Girl, and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

But if you forget to approach this with a cynical, detached remove — if it catches you Internet-distracted and momentarily vulnerable — the last verse will, for a split-second, whack you across the nose with an old Vanity Fair: “They were the only friends I ever had / We got into trouble and when stuff got bad / I got sent away / I was waving on the train platform / Crying ‘cause I know I’m never coming back.” This, too, is objectively ridiculous (even if it’s apparently true), but she sounds so serious and genuinely despondent. This all has been so absurd: Who cares what percentage of that, or this record, or her is true? What do you care? Whether Born to Die sells 100,000 copies or 10,000 or 1,500, it has served a valuable purpose as the Internet’s insta-backlash, hype-vortex tipping point, the darkest night yet of our Tumblr-ing soul. A cautionary tale. We should be ashamed; what we did to Black Kids looks rational and nurturing by comparison. This record is not godawful. Nor is it great. But it’s better than we deserve. We broke her; we bought her.