Men, Matcha, and Mommies

Lessons from a performative man competition

Ashley Sudeta

I’m a big believer in experiential learning. You can study a topic for hours, but you won’t have true understanding until you encounter it face-to-face. Theoretically, I understood what a “performative man” is, but honestly, I don’t spend enough time around men to feel like I know any. My first real life encounter with performative men was at a “performative man contest” at Northrop Mall on a Thursday evening. I did my TikTok research and was ready for what I’d see. Matcha, Labubus, feminist literature, and men. Bring it on.

The brat-green event flyers I saw left me wondering who organized the event. My question was answered shortly after I entered the modest crowd—the contest was not organized at all. Performative men and casual spectators looked around nervously as they trickled in. It was clear nobody knew what they were supposed to do. Still, I was happy to watch the men mill about and perform. They pretended to read on the bench or posed in the middle of circles like pigeons scrapping over crumbs of attention. Gradually, some performative men faded into the background. They gazed at the standouts with envy as matcha was poured and shirts with feminist slogans were revealed. 

Chaos morphed into a somewhat organized line of performative men when students from the Gender, Women, and Sexuality Studies (GWSS) department showed up to conduct interviews. The interviewees parroted lines about loving women and hating period cramps. I could tell it was supposed to be funny, but some of the jokes fell flat. Each monologue was a long-winded attention grab that I didn’t feel compelled to listen to. As disappointing as this was, it gave me a crystal clear understanding of performative men—mildly demanding, constantly vying for validation, attention, and praise.

I found it ironic that while the entire event seemed to be for the purpose of mocking “performative men,” it’s possible that some of the men who participated in the competition display these traits in their everyday lives. There’s a sense of dissonance to some men knowing what a performative man is and that women find them unpleasant, but lacking a true understanding of the underlying dynamic and reasoning. Either this is true or my patience was worn too thin to listen to 20 repetitive and rather unoriginal speeches on a Thursday evening.

I couldn’t let the GWSS students have all the fun, so I skipped to the end of the line to speak with one of the standout performative men. Faaris, my personal pick for winner, wore a keffiyeh, pearls, and a t-shirt with a slogan about God being a woman. He held a Hilary Clinton book upside down and posed as if lost in thought. There was a level of detail to his costume and act that conveyed the raw desperation and rigid posturing of a performative man. Anyone can throw on a button-down shirt and a Labubu carabiner, but it takes a greater level of social awareness to recognize and emulate the specific attitude that makes performative men so subtly irritating.

When I asked Faaris for a comment on the competition, he responded with a speech on three reasons why he’d be a bad boyfriend. 1. He’s too ugly. 2. He’s too clingy. 3. He’ll call you “mommy” instead of “babe” or “baby.” I tried to riff on his statement, but my mind was blank, all thoughts replaced with one reaction: ew. Without saying the phrases “period cramps” or “wage gap,” Faaris managed to tap into a more subtle facet of performative men—the need to be constantly cared for, reassured, and mothered. Everything clicked.

“Performative man” is a new term, but it describes a trend that’s been around for a while. It turns out I already knew what a performative man was. Even as a socially reclusive lesbian, I’ve run into my fair share of men who use social consciousness and self deprecation to disguise their belief that women owe them attention. The competition just taught me the stereotypical hallmarks associated with the archetype. There’s nothing wrong with baggy jeans, tote bags, or wire earbuds. Trends come and go and men should feel free to live how they please. These stereotypes just pop up because it’s easier to spot an ugly Labubu keychain than an ugly attitude toward women.