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He’s engaged a mixture of rent boys and sugar babies – the rent boys with pre-agreed upon terms and expenses to save time and manage expectations, and the sugar babies (or as he sometimes calls them “regulars”) beginning as the rent boys with straightforward money-for-sex quid pro quos, the inner workings we might be more familiar with. For a businessman like him, money creates a shorthand. As Adam, a somewhat cynical financier, who often views these relationships in similarly speculative, monied, and pragmatic terms tells me, “wallet love” – an induced state of pseudo-affection brought about by cold, hard cash – is “about efficiency”. “But actually when we strip it back, sugar babies are coming from a point of essentially just wanting to earn more money because they themselves don’t have it.”įor some, the sugar gayby-daddy relationship is one of convenience. “We presume sugar babies as this kind of luxurious body,” continues Patrick. Our enduring idea of the sugar baby possesses a glamour divorced from the reality that those seeking these arrangements are often in a position of financial precarity, born not out of a desire for such glamour and excess but out of necessity. These zeitgeist images have a pervasive effect: “We see sugar babies as above us, but really they’re not. “At first all sugar babies are vulnerable,” says Patrick. The reality for most people engaged in this enterprise is far from glittering, and littered with compromise. This is the lush, enduring image of the sugar baby, but how much of this rings true in the real world? The sugar baby of our imaginations, in the iconic words of Ms Petras, demands with every flick of their blinged-out wrist: “If I cannot get it right now, I don’t want it at all!” The relationship between daddy and baby is one imbued with a glossy romanticity by images such as these a fairy-tale dichotomy with our daddies – virile, mysterious, Mr Big types with bottomless pockets – on one end, and our babies – impatient, spoiled, designer shopping bags in tow – on the other, locked in a sexy, pouty, Fifty Shades-esque battle of wills over where the private jet should land. You only need to look at the icons of gay pop culture – from the OG daddy whisperer Lana Del Rey, to our most recently cannonified Kim Petras – for an insight into this phenomenon. Our bratty, patron saints of kept boys and girls, with their French-tip manicured, Hamptons-spiced auras, bestow such lucky creatures with shining, elevated status. But with Blue Neighbourhood, freed from the restrictions of YouTube, Sivan has made music that boasts an unashamed queer sensibility: It is about gay lives and gay love, gay happiness, and gay sadness, too.The sugar gayby, according to Patrick, one twink I speak to who identifies as such, is “an aspirational vessel”. It’s Sam Smith eating his pronouns on “How Will I Know?” and Nick Jonas shamelessly baiting his newly acquired fans, flaunting his fetishes, and offering tantalizing tales of “technical” gay sex. So much of what is ostensibly “good for the gays” in pop music is, oftentimes, nothing of the sort. (If YouTube is cotton candy, the melancholic electropop of Blue Neighbourhood is a morphine tango.) But the moodier youthful outbursts (who hasn’t said, in their own way, “I’m just a lost boy”?) should be ignored or forgiven when Sivan writes with such an appealing candor, including on “HEAVEN” about the intersection between his sexual and religious identity. Now, of course, this arc is far from unique to Sivan’s music, and on a 16-track album, there’s a case to be made for the contrast of light and shade.
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It begins with “WILD”-“You make my heart shake/ Bend and break/ But I can’t turn away/ And it’s driving me wild.” The blue neighborhood is a geographical space (“Trying hard not to fall/ On the way home … Kissing up on fences/ And up on walls”), but it must also refer to the idea that young gay love-concealed from others, sometimes even from the object of one’s affection-can be both transcendent and punishing: “Never knew loving could hurt this good … I’ve never ever wanted to be so bad.” This trilogy is, depending how you read it, a tale of forbidden love in stultifying suburbia or a fantasia of unrequited lust. His portrayal of what it is like to be a young gay man on the cusp of adulthood works precisely because it rings true. Especially in the Blue Neighbourhood trilogy of songs-“WILD,” “FOOLS,” and “TALK ME DOWN”-there is beauty and loveliness to be found but also trepidation, marginalization, and the disappointment of unfulfilled dreams. What’s so wonderfully refreshing about Sivan, in contrast to the confected, cotton candy breeziness of YouTube, where all gay narratives must have sunny, uplifting endings, is that there is an identifiable honesty and grittiness to his music.