Fiona McCade: Naked Lana is a pale impression of Manet IN 1862, Edouard Manet painted Le déjeuner sur l'herbe and upset a lot of people. This was because the picture showed two men, wearing typical mid-19th century dress, chatting and picnicking, and apparently unconcerned by the fact that they were sitting next to a totally naked woman. Fast forward 150 years and you can still see Manet's influence, in - of all bizarre places - the pages of Gentleman's Quarterly. GQ magazine has just awarded accolades to its favourite people of 2012 and to celebrate the occasion, there are five covers to collect. One shows James Corden (Man of the Year) in a tuxedo; another shows Robbie Williams (Icon of the Year), also in a tux; actor John Slattery (International Mad Man of the Year) and Tinie Tempah (Solo Artist of the Year) are equally resplendent in evening wear. Meanwhile, Lana Del Rey (Woman of the Year) is stark naked. She looks gorgeous, no doubt about that, but she sure as hell doesn't look powerful. The men are all standing, gazing directly into the camera; cool, commanding, in charge. Lana is sitting down, leaning back a little, trying not to show her lady bits. The men are many things, artistes and performers, characterised by their achievements; but she's just the "woman." She's vulnerable; lesser; no more than a piece of lovely flesh. You could easily push her over, but hey, no worries. She looks like she wouldn't complain. She's certainly not the heir of Manet's naked female, who stares straight out of the canvas and right into our eyes, as if to say: "And?" In contrast with this self-confident specimen of womanhood, Lana doesn't seem nearly so sure of herself. She wouldn't put up much of a fight. I know what the guys at GQ were thinking, but what was she thinking? Did they say to her, "You can be GQ Woman of the Year, so long as you take your clothes off?" Or was she so excited about being GQ Woman of the Year, all her clothes fell off? Either way, she stripped, when none of the men did, and it's sad. It's not that I expected great things of GQ magazine - it's not called IQ magazine, after all - but I expected more of Lana, who has really let the side down. It takes some doing to make an 1862 painting look like cutting-edge feminism, but maybe she thought that if she didn't disrobe, somebody else surely would. It's not like there's a shortage of desperate women ready to bare all to extend their 15 minutes of celebrity. GQ's criterion for Woman of the Year is probably "the first one who says yes to getting her kit off." If it hadn't been Lana, it would most likely have been Rihanna, and if it hadn't been Rihanna, they'd have simply kept on going until they got to Katie Price. I just wish she hadn't played so passively into their hands. It's plain to see what GQ gets out of this (people talking; just look at us here), but what does she get? People talking, but no respect. Given that she's often been criticised for being more stylish than substantial, taking on the role of token totty is hardly going to quell the debate about her talent, or lack of it. This feels uncomfortably like she's been advised to get her bits out for the lads in order to shift more records and, being a good little product, she's doing as she's told. However, the crux of this whole matter is context. There's nothing wrong with beautiful, naked women. There's nothing wrong with any kind of naked person, but Manet knew that showing a woman naked, when she's surrounded by fully-clothed men, has the power to shock. Some 150 years on, it also has the power to disappoint. There were only two ways GQ could have redressed the balance of equality. The first would have been for everyone to be clothed. The second would have been for everyone to strip off to their birthday suits. But given that James Corden was involved, I'm voting for clothed.