“I miss being a real girl, sure, but I’m not a real girl anymore,” sighs Romy Mars in her single “A-Lister,” her voice floating over a dreamy beat as she sings about inherited fame, bliss, and a famous yet complicated situationship.
It was my personal song of the summer—every car ride marked with “A-Lister” flooding the speakers, preaching the lyrics as if they had any relation to my own life. Sure, I couldn’t relate to owning private jets, yachts, and famous love affairs, but the chaotic charm in how Mars completely owns her lavish and unattainable life through the essence of a vibrant pop song had me, and so many others, absolutely captivated. Why? Because she wasn’t trying to be relatable; she was just happy to vibe in her own world. And somehow, that felt refreshing.
The nepo baby discourse doesn’t seem to be an attack on those with privilege and access to opportunities others may not have. It seems to be about how they carry that privilege, whether it’s basking in it or pretending it doesn’t exist. So, in our endless scroll through celebrity children, let’s look at two in particular—Romy Mars and Lily-Rose Depp—and the internet’s strong opinions on them.
romy mars
Daughter of director Sofia Coppola—herself a nepo baby, daughter of The Godfather director Francis Ford Coppola—and musician Thomas Mars, Romy carries generational fame. But she didn’t enter the scene with a glossy magazine cover or an acting debut. No, she went viral on TikTok for making pasta while explaining why she got grounded for trying to charter a helicopter with her dad’s credit card so she could grab dinner with a friend. Reckless? Definitely. Iconic? Also definitely.
While some celebrity children cringe at the idea of ‘daddy’s money,’ Romy embraces it. She’s not pretending to be self-made for the sake of relatability; she leans into her family’s stardom. In “A-Lister,” she sings, “I wanna wake up on my quiet street, with my mom next to me.” It’s a lyric that feels surprisingly grounded for someone raised within the Coppola universe, as she’s not trying to escape her family’s legacy—she’s settled into it.
Many of her TikToks feature her mom, with one user even commenting, “Sofia Coppola gave birth to the most Sofia Coppola teenager,” seemingly referencing how Romy’s aesthetic feels straight out of her mom’s filmography.
While many famous kids try to separate their image from their families to seem more “real,” Romy’s already said it herself: she’s “not a real girl anymore,” and she’s okay with that. She knows her privilege, and instead of running from it, she’s in on the whole “nepo baby” joke and that kind of awareness seems to win people over.
lily-rose depp
Lily-Rose, daughter of actor Johnny Depp and model Vanessa Paradis, has always existed in a world of film premieres and modeling campaigns. Her public presence feels polished and purposefully distant. Honestly, if I had thousands of people dissecting my every move just because of my parents, I’d guard myself too.
She started as a Chanel ambassador at 15 and later made her acting debut, with the media often portraying her as some sort of “wild child.” That sort of attention doesn’t just follow you; it shapes you. Her fashion, her acting roles in dreamy films, even her silence, all seemed to have built a niche fanbase that romanticizes being unreachable.
In a 2022 interview with Glamour, Lily-Rose stated, “If somebody’s mom or dad is a doctor, and then the kid becomes a doctor, you’re not going to be like, ‘Well, you’re only a doctor because your parent is a doctor.’” That didn’t land well with a lot of people online, many believing it was tone-deaf considering that getting into medical school and auditioning for a film are very different pipelines.
“If somebody’s mom or dad is a doctor, and then the kid becomes a doctor, you’re not going to be like, ‘Well, you’re only a doctor because your parent is a doctor.’”
Lily-Rose Depp, GLAMOUR (2022)
Sure, the analogy might’ve been flawed, but I didn’t read it as entitlement—I read it as exhaustion. It’s not denying privilege; she just seems tired of having to constantly overexplain it. Regardless, that sort of weariness didn’t really land well online.
Enter the infamous “buttoned to the top” moment.
In an Instagram story, a fan complained, “070 was so sweet and willing. The big-headed b*tch on the right had the craziest attitude… trench coat buttoned to the TOP and these ballerina-ass slippers.”
Sure, the point of the story was probably to be a call-out, but if anything the phrase “buttoned to the TOP” became a joke, and a representation of Lily’s whole brand: mysterious and unbothered.
Lily-Rose isn’t begging for relatability. She’s no longer explaining; she’s moving forward with her career, which frustrates some who expect constant gratitude and credit to her family. It’s not mishandling privilege—it’s that she doesn’t feel the need to perform guilt over it.
Romy and Lily-Rose aren’t entirely different in terms of background. They both came from iconic families. But their public reception reveals something deeper—people don’t necessarily critique what they have; they critique how they present it. Romy seems to have shifted the narrative by being in on the joke, while Lily-Rose doesn’t seem to find it as funny. Neither is trying to be relatable, but they bring different kinds of appeal—one playful, the other untouchable.
People just seem to expect them to perform their privilege in a way that’s palatable to the average person. It’s an act that none of them can seem to get right: Be self-aware. Be grateful. Be apologetic.
So maybe the nepo baby obsession isn’t about them at all. t’s more about us, and about what we expect from people in the spotlight, especially women, and what we project onto them when they’re handed everything we’re still trying to earn.
“I’m not a real girl anymore” isn’t just a lyric. It’s a playful nod. Authenticity wins when people embrace the act instead of denying it.