The Weakest Twink

He’s done it again. My bestest friend has acquired himself a brand-new-state-of-the-art Twink. A twink, for the uninitiated, is a boyish boy or sometimes even a boyish man. The classic twink is usually this side of twenty-five, a high school or college student and homosexual. This year's model is sylph-like, has eyelashes that you can grab in a fist and bee-stung lips.

In the Pakistani scenario, twinks are usually well proportioned, good looking (somewhere between the merely decorative and drop dead gorgeous) with a budding penchant for the finer things of life. This covers everything from a perfume tester to an Armani jacket. Most twinks want to be "mo-dels" and carry their bulging portfolios around with them. Textbook twink has cultivated petulance and caprice to a degree of refinement hitherto unknown. This manifests itself in carefully choreographed expressions: The Mood, The Scowl and the The Pout. On a bad day, all three. The height of fun includes an evening at Pizza Hut, some sex and –if he’s been a good boy- an extra hour on PS2. Twink parents are notoriously negligent. Twink mom is oblivious to her son’s rapidly increasing designer wardrobe. Twink dad somehow overlooks his long absences from home –often to other cities. Finally, even the average twink knows that his indispensability is based on his youth. You will be constantly reminded of this by repeated references to the exams he is taking or the lecture he has to get to tomorrow morning. He is begging you to confess that the last time you did homework was in the early 80s.

It takes two to tango. Every Twink needs a Patron. Yin and Yang. The classic Patron is usually older (35ish upwards) with a strong sense of insecurity flowing from his fading beauty and prowess. He is amazingly bright but feels that his friends will satiate his intellectual yearnings sufficiently. He has enough intelligence for two people and is therefore willing to overlook brains in his significant other. He also has a deep yearning for youth and even deeper pockets. To him a twink is a trophy, a prize, a statement that he is still desirable despite the weathering effects of age. Play it again Bosie.

The whole Twinkology scene leaves me stone cold. Nothing can be worse than an evening where one is foisted with a twink for company. The twink usually arrives with bi’s, tri’s, ab’s and thighs testifying to a life spent in a sweaty gym. Invariably the Mood, Scowl and Pout appear when he discovers that I have no music by Maroon or Nine Inch Nails. (“What are we doing with this boring old man when we could be eating a Chicken Extravaganza with extra cheese?”) Attempts at conversation crash-land with the Patron invariably stepping in to rescue his protégé. You are regaled with stories of how brilliant the infernal child is (“He just got accepted at the LSE.”). If the blurbs are anything to go by, junior is all set for a Nobel, a Pulitzer or an Oscar – in 2072.

Twinks have inspired some great art, so all is not lost. Thomas Mann's "A Death in Venice" and Lucino Visconti's luscious film of the same name are paeans to Twinkism. On a less lofty note the Pet Shop Boys wrote a wicked song called "Rent" presenting a twink-eye view of life:

You phone me in the evening on hearsay /You bought me caviar/ You took me to a restaurant off Broadway /To tell me who you are /We never-ever argue,/ we never calculate/ The currency we've spent /I love you, you pay my rent

Don't get me wrong. I do not mean to trash all younger men in the process. Indeed I love younger men. I have been out with many truly fascinating younger men. It’s the dynamic, the power play, the money and the sheer Humbertishness of the twink-Patron relationship which scares me shitless. Fran Lebowitz (author of the definitive “Notes on Twink” in “Metropolitan Life” )said “All of God’s children are not beautiful. Some are barely presentable.” I rest my case.