Signature Styles: Performative Men

We gather here today to discuss a serious matter: the Performative Man epidemic.

Now, some of you will be painfully aware of what I am referring to, but some of you will be living in blissful ignorance. A performative man is a man (well, clearly) who dresses himself and engages in activities that align him with femininity, not as a true expression of androgyny or a disregard for gender norms, but rather as a way to attract women. These men can be afflicted with mild cases or more extreme ones, in which they parade around with feminist literature books they have not (and will never) actually read. Feminism and female aesthetics are turned into a performance.

But why call this a “signature style”? Perhaps you’re thinking what an odd concept this is. Well, I’ll explain. The performative male aesthetic has a costume-like quality, with very specific aspects ranging from beverage choice to music “taste” and the overuse of tote bags. Gender, of course, has always arguably been a performance, as Judith Butler said decades ago, especially in how patriarchal gender norms dictate expression. But these men aren’t just performing gender; they are performing a curated version of sensitivity, a visual presentation of wokeness designed for female consumption.

And that’s the crux of it. Whilst it’s genuinely positive to see men walking away from toxic masculinity and embracing aspects of femininity, the issue is when this embrace is purely aesthetic. This cosplaying of curated softness becomes insidious when it is used to lull women into a false sense of security. We see the copy of bell hooks, the iced matcha in hand, the tote bag slung just so, and assume a sense of trust, of safety. How could a man wielding The Second Sex possibly be a misogynist? But this co-option of female aesthetics and the female gaze allows men to hollow out something as radical as the subversion of gender norms into costume.

Once, subverting gender norms was a form of collective resistance. It came with social risk, even danger, and carried meaning that was lived rather than performed. Now, that risk has been stripped away. Subversion has been rebranded as style. Authenticity, which once denoted struggle and sincerity, has been flattened into an algorithmic aesthetic. We no longer perform gender for survival or resistance, but for visibility.

TikTok, Instagram and the digital fashion economy have all contributed to this. The “performative male” thrives in a culture where the appearance of sensitivity is more valuable than actual emotional work. Online, he becomes a symbol of the post-ironic age: a man who knows what he’s supposed to critique but participates anyway. Fashion is never just what we wear; it’s what we choose to perform publicly. And when gender performance becomes a marketing strategy, even rebellion feels pre-packaged.

It’s a difficult pill to swallow when we see something as deeply personal and tumultuous as gender expression reduced to a trend cycle. Authenticity has become commercialised and capitalised; we now buy our rebellion in ready-made pieces.

This style has become a point of comedy across major cities, with New York and London hosting performative male competitions. These involve young men competing to see who can best parody the parody, who performs the satire of the performative male most convincingly. And that’s perhaps the most telling part: the joke has consumed itself. The irony has folded inward until there’s no distinction between critique and participation.

Maybe that’s the true legacy of the performative male: a generation of men fluent in the aesthetics of awareness but not the practice of it. They know how to look like they care. And in the age of social media, sometimes that’s all that matters.

STYLE ANALYSIS

You will usually find a performative male listening to Lana Del Rey, Clairo, or Radiohead (women be warned: this is the scariest type of man). He’ll be wearing some sort of cardigan, carabiner, wired earphones, matcha or boba in hand, and a book he has never actually read, just wants to be seen reading it.

Look 1 is textbook performative male. The denim-on-denim ensemble suggests “art school intellect” while remaining safely within masculine boundaries. The trousers are wide enough to imply irony yet neatly cuffed to maintain order. He accessorises with the sacred trifecta: tote bag, matcha, and unread paperback. The matcha is essential; it softens the image, signalling wellness and quiet introspection, while the book operates as both prop and defence mechanism. The look functions as a curated contradiction: I am masculine but sensitive; intellectual but accessible; radical but still hot. Every element is intentional yet designed to appear accidental.

Look 2 is the advanced stage of the condition. Here, irony has reached its final form: sincerity disguised as satire disguised as sincerity again. The checked shirt left open over a graphic tee screams “I’m self-aware,” while the cap and wired earphones reassure us he’s still grounded. The matcha returns, now practically a gender-neutral accessory, and the tote bag completes the holy trinity of performative softness. The entire look performs approachability, the studied chaos of someone who “doesn’t care” but definitely thought about this outfit the night before.

Look 3 is the final boss of the performative male species- Jacob Elordi. The cardigan, loose pleated trousers, dainty accessories and smug minimalism all signal “safe choice,” the kind of man who claims to “love women” and then allegedly cheats on Zendaya on her birthday. It’s the perfect camouflage: soft-spoken, well-dressed, literate-adjacent. The red bag adds just enough flair to say “I’m not like other men,” while the reality reminds you that, unfortunately, he is.

Look 4: The cardigan is the performative man’s armour of choice. Always slightly oversized, always paired with cream trousers or jeans, it’s meant to suggest softness, intellect, emotional depth. It’s the uniform of men who want to look like they journal and talk about their feelings. The truth is, the cardigan has become shorthand for sensitivity, a way to signal safety while saying absolutely nothing. It’s domestic, nostalgic, even tender, but here it’s just costume.

Look 5: The performative man in his natural habitat, the airport bookshop. Headphones on, book strategically tilted for visibility, he performs intellectualism at cruising altitude. The leather jacket suggests rebellion, the book implies depth, and somehow he needs to carry three books at once. It’s a well-rehearsed act, the illusion of thoughtfulness executed mid-transit.

Look 6: The performative man’s athletic era. Vintage running shorts that are suspiciously short, a navy hoodie, wired earphones, and a Sweetgreen bag clutched like a badge of virtue. He’s just popped out for his morning “run,” which conveniently doubles as a visibility stroll. Every element whispers, “I’m grounded, I’m low effort, I’m just like you,” while the curated casualness betrays how carefully constructed the look actually is.