Are you dating a “performative male”? Here’s how to spot one in SG

The first time I met a performative male in 2022, who my friend was dating, I nearly died. Sort of. He was an early prototype exhibiting telltale signs, and the near-death bit was entirely my fault. I choked on a fishbone laughing after he pulled a vinyl from his tote bag and seriously claimed Ruth Bader Ginsburg would have loved the “sonic politics of Ethel Cain’s sound.” 

Since then, the species has only evolved. 

What, or, who classifies as a performative male?

The performative male is now a full-blown caricature on social media, a man intent on curating a personality that screams quirky, cultured, and faintly exhausting. 

• He drinks iced matcha lattes, refuses syrup in the name of “flavoural purity,” and lugs around a quote-emblazoned canvas tote from a book he’s never read (See: Catcher In the Rye).
• He listens to Clairo, but only Immunity, and only on vinyl. The vinyl will be found in this tote bag, and occasionally pulled out to be talked about.
• He subscribes to the sartorial template of a small top, big bottom, and tote bag, while the more extreme versions wear denim bermudas, a crop tee, and penny loafers. The final bosses slide a book into the back pocket of their bottoms.
• At his most powerful, he has painted nails and frequently mentions that he cried during America Ferrera’s monologue in Barbie.

“Performative Males” throughout the ages

The performative male is just the latest in a long lineage of alternative male personas stretching back as early as the early 2000s, each one challenging traditional machismo while moisturising regularly. Back then, they were SNAGs (Sensitive New Age Guys, also known as his real name, David Beckham) and were celebrated, or satirised, for being emotionally aware, feminist-adjacent, and spiritually curious. They also religiously used sunscreen. 

By the late 2000s, the hipster movement ushered in a new breed: men who shot on film (artsy!), could pronounce “Sartre” (intellectual!), and wrote poetry on typewriters (quirky!). They were Tom from 500 Days of Summer, and Tumblr was their stage, flooding with pale-filter selfies of them in beanies, flannel, and quoting Murakami or The Smiths. 

And this isn’t just a Western export. Japan’s “herbivore men” embraced gentle, non-aggressive lifestyles that prioritised peace over power, while South Korea’s flower-boy phenomenon continues to showcase soft, pretty masculinity to global acclaim.

Allyship as an aesthetic

This phenomenon also reminds me of a 2024 tweet that goes “you can always tell when a man’s moustache is performative and not representative of his true spirit,” which brings me to what makes the performative male so fun to mock. Many who unironically cultivate such a persona to check the right boxes of what they think makes a man capable of attracting female attention (sensitive music taste, quirky drink, feminist literature!) will, at best, realise it’s performative, because they’re doing it for the aesthetic. 

In essence, aesthetics become a commodity. At worst, they have enough sentience and attention span to weaponise emotional language and thoughtful references to Simone de Beauvoir and Maya Angelou to get what they want. 

Some adopt such progressive values for clout; others weaponise them as a cover for their textbook toxic behaviour. Beneath the soft raw denim and scent of Le Labo Santal 33 is often a polished kind of narcissism, one that can hold a great conversation, appear emotionally literate, and even simulate self-awareness, all while lacking basic respect. He ghosts not because he’s conflicted, but because he’s unashamed to after having landed you as a prize. 

However, we’re not always innocent either. 

When someone mirrors our aesthetic preferences or parrots our politics, it’s easy to project delusional depth onto the archetype. But treat them as a two-dimensional ideal, and in the end, we’re all just going to end up as Saoirse Ronan in Lady Bird. We could even reinforce such behaviour up in the digital clouds. When an algorithm learns what’s popular based on a coherent aesthetic which we like, heart, or swipe right on, there is an incentive to push such content or convince men to adopt a performative male persona. 

Identity as a performance

According to sociologist Erving Goffman in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, much of our identity, regardless of gender, is a performance. We curate our settings, appearance, and manner to influence how others perceive us. We dress and behave in a way that reflects how we want to be perceived. In that light, there is some sincerity to the digital selves of men who are genuinely shy, sensitive, or have read Joan Didion’s bibliography. Like it or not, social media remains a stage for self-expression. So, how do we make sense of such men? Honestly, I’m not sure we can. Still, we owe it to ourselves to hold space for the former, and to help anyone, of any gender, to fully realise a persona they’re cultivating beyond the surface.

We also have to believe that people, ourselves included, sometimes slip into personas not out of deception, but navigation. To map modern life. To express something truer, find community, signal values, or yes, find love or attention. Performance isn’t always pretence. Sometimes, it’s an aspiration to be something better than ourselves.

And if you’re already bored of the performative male trend, I suggest getting a head start on the next act before the season starts: Hallmark Season Men. They’re festive, mostly fictional, and, mercifully, harmless because they’re always out farming… or gathering horses…. Or something.