We’ve lost the plot of ‘Lolita’
Brynn Fleisig
Jeffrey Epstein was many things, though a literary savant was not one of them. In photos released by Congress on Dec. 18, 2025, as part of the Epstein files, women are seen with lines of text crudely scribbled with black ink on their feet, necks, and bodies. The text is taken from none other than Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita,” with the novel lying on the bed in the background.
Not only did Epstein own a first edition copy of the novel, in which the anti-hero Humbert Humbert fantasizes over and sexually abuses a 12-year-old girl, Dolores, whom he privately calls “Lolita,” but his private plane was notoriously called the “Lolita Express.”
It’s doubtful Epstein grasped the underpinnings of “Lolita” in any regard. By the newly released photos, it’s evident that he had monumentally failed to realize that Humbert is the depraved joke of the novel — not its infallible hero he looked up to. His perverse misreading and utilization of the text in his sex trafficking ring demonstrates an ironic ode to Humbert’s satirical depravity.
While his reverence of the text is especially vile, Epstein is not the only person to monumentally misunderstand “Lolita.” From filmmaker Stanley Kubrick to singer Madison Beer, Nabokov’s work has been misinterpreted by readers of every demographic. Much of this romanticization can be attributed to the visuals associated with the story. Both the movie adaptations and various cover works for the novel misconstrue the dark essence of the tale. “Lolita”’s carnal nature has been the source of cultural and political discourse for nearly 70 years — the novel has been banned in France, England, Argentina and New Zealand at times — yet is revered as one of the greatest books ever written.
By no means was “Lolita” an easy novel to publish. The book’s erotic and pedophilic content caused multiple governments to attempt to prevent its publication at the time of its release, citing it “obscene.” Yet, its popularity today begs the question of why has “Lolita” survived when other classic yet troubled texts have crumbled under the test of time. Regardless of the answer, an ultimatum is clear: “Lolita”’s romanticization needs to stop.
Actress and writer Emily Mortimer of The New York Times explained that the book’s longevity stems from how it “doesn’t apologize for Humbert’s vile transgressions,” but doesn’t romanticize them either: it unintentionally leaves Humbert and Delores open for interpretation in a way that undermines the story but emphasizes its consumability.
The novel was never supposed to be memorialized as a predator’s bible, yet it’s easy to see how it could become one. Nabokov avoids language such as “pedophile” and “rape,” for the entirety of the text, instead using the term “nymphet” to describe young girls, and “Lolita” to depersonalize Delores. Nabokov’s choice of Humbert as the narrator can masterfully test the reader’s moral threshold as it creates a feeling of complicity in his crimes, and is not supposed to be a pathway to empathize with him. A feeling of discomfort is “Lolita”’s goal - though seemingly not as widely recognized as it should be.
First printed in 1955 Paris by Olympia Press (which often accepted pornographic material rejected by other publishers), “Lolita” had a simple moss green cover chosen by Nabokov himself. In a letter regarding the cover art for the novel, Nabokov expressed that “there is one subject which I am emphatically opposed to: any kind of representation of a little girl.”
But, nearly 70 years later, there are hundreds of versions with young girls plastered on the front. Book covers have 0.8 seconds to grab readers’ attention, and designs nodding to sexually explicit content are more likely to sell. Many covers depict partial human faces, increasing emotional connection with viewers by 62 percent. The “Lolita” cover regarded as the most successful of all time reads, “The only convincing love story of the century,” on the inner flap of the dust jacket.
The lustful portrayals of “Lolita” compose just a fraction of the oversexualization young girls face in the media. Professor of gender, women’s and sexuality studies at the University of Iowa, M. Gigi Durham, studies what she calls the “Lolita Effect” which theorizes that media advertisements sexualize and exploit narratives about pre-pubescent girls for profit motives.
Although the text has been trending among young audiences for years predating Epstein’s exposé, “Lolita’s” popularity has heightened in the wake of a hyper-girlish fashion and design aesthetic known as “coquette.” The trend, which first emerged in 2020, trademarked its style with bows, pearls and lace, all reminiscent of child-like dress.
In America, Google searches for “Lolita” rose to nearly 50% in July of 2024 — the same month searches for “coquette aesthetic” showed a 100% increase. Searches for “bow outfits” on Pinterest synchronously surged by 900% in 2024 and has remained high since. Even Vogue couldn’t explain the trend without mentioning Nabokov's novel: “The [coquette] aesthetic arrived in 2020, trotting towards us in silk ballet flats and little bows, armed with Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita,” wrote Liana Satenstein.
Both pink and problematic, the stylistic “aesthetic” has sparked debate over its meaning and the connotation it carries.
The word “coquette” is defined by Merriam Webster as “a woman who endeavors without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men.” With this definition comes the sexual aspects of the coquette, emphasizing submission and lust — an obvious parallel to “Lolita” wherein Humbert even claims that, “It was she [Lolita] who seduced me,” (Humbert Humbert is truly delusional).
Alternatively, coquette can also be seen as an embrace of a feminine style that women were once told was embarrassing and anti-feminist. The coquette aesthetic declares it acceptable to enjoy various pinks and wear flowy dresses while still being taken seriously socially and professionally. In the aftermath of girlboss feminism emphasizing that capitalistically-oriented womanhood was the main route to feminist liberation, an embrace of hyperfeminine expression like the coquette style feels like a breath of fresh air.
The reclaiming of hyperfemininity is stylistic and cultural, but there’s a fine line between romanticizing girlhood itself and romanticizing the predatory aspects of acting like a young girl in an adult world. The style itself is not harmful, but it is imperative to understand when its influences are.
Social media star and singer Madison Beer has been known to embrace a soft, coquette style in her wardrobe and vocals. She dons lacy pink dresses and opera gloves for her performances while her music is imbued with heart throbbing sexual tension (her new album “Locket” is no exception). It's no surprise that she was asked if she “romanticizes” the novel — her response that she “definitely” does faced major, and rightful, backlash.
What lovers of the coquette style like Beer need to understand is that there is no need to use “Lolita” as the ideological foundation for their hyperfeminine dress. The trend is allowed to be popular and important without needing to appreciate inappropriate colloquial associations that, in this case, are wicked enough to risk undermining the magic of coquette itself. Coquette cannot exist in a vacuum — just as with any other style movement.
The culture of “Lolita” has legitimized various forms of misinterpretation, from Epstein’s vile obsession to coquette subculture’s use of the book as a darling accessory. One can’t help but imagine Dolores sorrowfully gazing out from the pages, wondering why her story is about everything but her; how her eponymous tale has somehow led everyone to forget her true name, her humanity and that she was more than “just a girl.” The issue is not simply about Epstein or Beer or even one trend specifically — it’s the culture that keeps aestheticizing the abuse in Nabokov’s writing, mistaking it for a surface-level meaning.
The book was intended to unsettle the reader from within, not shallowly seduce an audience. It's time to honor the intentions of the original text and its modest moss green cover. Put down the "#Lolita." You'll thank me for it.
