Karl Klockars

"It's a maverick-y wink."

I’m sorry I have to do this.  Really, I am.  I told myself I wasn’t going to mention Sarah Palin again until at least 2011 or so (and she’ll be back, mark my words).  I was going to enact the Paul Anka – Simpsons theory of public visibility (“Just don’t look,” we all sing) but I have to do it one more time, and it’s Top Chef’s fault.

Let me explain.

Top Chef New York debuted on Bravo last week.  In the credits, if you’re not familiar, every chef gets about 1.5 seconds to establish their TV version of “personality,” be it with a hand gesture, a hair toss, a muted scream or just a winning grin.  This season, there’s some fancy-pants pretty-boy chef who chose to spend his 1.5 seconds looking into the camera and dropping a knowing, “charming” wink.  One little eyelid drop, and I thought to myself – you can’t do that any more.

For a short amount of time, I too was a winker.  And now I’m not.  Because of Sarah Palin.  She’s killed the wink.

My wife used to have a co-worker that was a winker.  Every now and then, when we’d be at professional or social events with her, every now and then we’d make random eye contact, and she’d wink at me.  She’d look me square in the eye, and wink at me.  I’d then corral my wife somewhere away from the crowds and whisper “Whatsherface winked at me!”

The Palin-2012 poster.

What was going on – was she into me?  Was this some silent signal that I should be passing onto my wife?  Is this woman, The Winker, trying to move in on a co-worker’s man?  She would sigh, and say to me:  “She’s a winker.  Don’t worry about it.”

Since then, terrifying enough, I’ve noticed myself doing the same thing.  Not to random people on the street or anything, but every now and again, I’ll find myself winking at my wife, at least.  A silent form of communication, a quick acknowledgement of appreciation and care, a quiet little “hi there – how are you” between two people.

And now that we’re in a Post-Palin electoral world, everything Palinesque is now somewhat comical.  Mention things like moose, huge wardrobe expenditures, Russia, and Africa, and for the next few weeks it’s still going to be an easy punchline.  Part of that also includes the act of winking.  It’s gone.  The wink is gone, and Sarah Palin killed it.

I suppose that’s not entirely accurate:  This ad from the Obama campaign slammed home the silliness of the wink in just 30 short seconds or so.

And like that…the wink was dead.  As though struck by lightening.  Tina Fey couldn’t do that.  All the talk shows in the world couldn’t drive the point home any further.  She winked.  The world watched…and now, no American can tip a wink to anyone without evoking that feel of folksy, fakey-fake down-hominess.  To wink in November of 2008 is to tell a joke by moving a few muscles.

If you’re a winker, it’s hard to break yourself of the habit of winking.  Think about how often you blink.  It’s so often and natural that you never even notice.  For people who have chosen the wink as a method of communication, it’s almost the same thing – you always notice that you’re winking, but oftentimes it’s halfway into the wink that you think to yourself, “Hey, I’m winking.”

To break ones self of the wink, you have to be constantly vigilant of all your facial tics, nervous responses, and uncontrollable muscle spasms.  And if you haven’t tried it, good luck with that.  No, go ahead – give it a shot.  Pay complete attention to all of your facial movements.  Keep a diary of them.  I just blinked again.  That’s one.

Keep winking, blondie. You look like Dr. Chase from House anyways.

And then the smarmy blonde model guy Top Chef wannabe comes along, tips a wink at the viewing nation, and grins.  There’s no way he can know that he’s instantly portrayed himself as a fool, a self-important nobody, an empty chef’s coat.  In his defense, they shot all those things months ago, perhaps even before the Wink Seen ‘Round The World got fired off at the debate.

All the same – poor guy.  I guarantee that’s not the only time he’s ever been a winker, and now every single episode I watch, up until the time that he’s asked to PYKAG* will be marred by “that winking pretty-boy chef guy.”  I’m probably going to say that out loud every time he comes on the screen, followed by profanity, followed by my wife punching me in the arm.

The Wink won’t be gone forever – but for at least a short while, it’s going to be saddled with a lot of baggage.  Beware the wink.  Never before has one eye been able to say so much.  Thanks, Sarah.  If you’re ever in Dubuque, Iowa, let us know.  I’ll buy you a burger and a beer at Paul’s Tavern.  Until then, see you at the primaries.