A Look at the Performative Male

 

I was in the library when I noticed a guy adjusting his rings for the third time in five minutes and I couldn’t help but wonder, When did masculinity become a full-time performance?

I’ve spent a lot of time watching men on campus, and in a school full of wired headphones, rings and carefully chosen playlists, how many of them are actually real? 

The Urban Dictionary defines the performative male as a guy acting like a stereotype of masculinity to impress people. But I don’t need a dictionary. I go to a mostly white school so the examples are everywhere. You can hear them walking down the hall with carabiners dangling from their jorts or listen to them talk about their indie playlists and “obscure” music taste. 

Watching them is hilarious, embarrassing and completely exhausting. As a queer woman, I must admit that these past two weeks researching performative men has been the most I’ve ever willingly talked to men, period.

I took a couple of days out of the week to set up a poster board outside of Talley. On the board read, “Are you a Performative Male? Come talk to me,” so, these are guys who are self proclaiming this information. I used a playlist with a mix of Clairo, Deftones, and Jeff Buckley in attempts to attract them from afar.

Take James, for example. A mechanical engineering major, James is the kind of guy who insists he’s not performative while flipping on a stage. He listens to “mostly rock” through wired headphones not to be edgy but because he’s broke. He wears band shirts but when you ask him about said bands, he actually knows the songs they make. In a sea of fake deep boys I talked to over the past few weeks, James was almost refreshing. 

He has a girlfriend, which gives him a tiny bit of credibility – I spoke to her well. She told me he was toxic, which made me a little concerned about what that meant for their relationship. 

But talking to James’ girlfriend made me realize something else: women notice the performance too, and it’s becoming part of what we consider baseline “relationship material.”

In a school where performative men dominate the straight dating pool, the typical classic masculine guy (the one really into sports, lifts weights and listens to country) is no longer the only type that gets attention. Instead, attention often goes to the guy who curates his playlist perfectly, has rings on each finger and is really in tune with his emotions. It is exhausting for women to constantly try to figure out whether a guy’s behaviors are authentic or just part of the performance.

Beau, in exploratory studies, is the perfect example of performative energy. He even told me he’s a performative male when he walked up to me in Talley. He wears rings like they’re armor. His right AirPod is broken, but he still bragged that the sound quality was “so good.”

He listens to Destiny’s Child, ‘90s alt and rock. He once competed in a performative male contest, proving his idea of masculinity as a sport. He drinks matcha like it’s part of his personality, claims to be Capricorn but doesn’t know his big three, and has never been in a relationship.

 Out of all the men I spoke to, I honestly related to Beau the most.

His energy got me thinking. What does it even mean to perform masculinity or femininity as a man? Society gives men a very narrow script: be tough and competitive, and you’ll be considered a man. Anything softer, like expressing emotion or showing vulnerability, society has deemed as “feminine.”

Performative men like Beau are opening a door for others to explore emotional awareness. While the performance can be often over the top, it normalizes the idea that men can be in tune with their emotions, care about aesthetics and still claim masculinity without being less of a man. 

Society’s definitions of masculine and feminine traits are rigid but performative males complicate that. Listening to 90s R&B or drinking matcha may seem normal but it’s part of a subtle cultural shift. Expressing emotions or enjoying things that are feminine doesn’t make a man any less masculine. While the performative energy is exhausting, it also highlights a silver lining. Men are experimenting with identity and emotional expression in ways past generations have not.

Evan, a civil engineering major, shows up with a different type of performance. When I saw him, he was wearing jorts, had a Red Bull in hand and shared that he listened to a mix of rap, R&B, and indie rock. Already, he seemed less intense than Beau or James. He doesn’t use wired headphones, doesn’t know his zodiac sign and only recently began caring about fashion.

Women likely notice this half-hearted performance because it’s approachable, offering the possibility of real interaction without the constant performative energy. Evan highlights an important point. Not all performative behaviors are extreme. Sometimes playing with style or music taste is just men exploring identity rather than trying to dominate attention.

Still, curating your personality for female attention is manipulative. Whether it’s the music you claim to love, the fashion choices you make or the casual flex of being “emotionally aware,” men sometimes design these behaviors to shape perception rather than to reflect authenticity. Women may interpret subtle gestures as signs of depth or sensitivity, but when those traits are performed, it becomes a game instead of an actual connection. 

This is what makes performative masculinity so complicated. On one hand, it’s refreshing to see men more in touch with their emotions, open to aesthetics or willing to discuss vulnerability, which past generations traditionally discouraged.

On the other hand, the intent behind these behaviors matters. Curating yourself to appeal to women turns emotional awareness into a tactic, not a trait. Emotional awareness is valuable, but only when it’s genuine. Otherwise, it reinforces the stereotypes performative men claim to subvert.

I thought most of the guys I talked to would be humanities majors, the “deep and artsy” type. But most were in STEM fields like mechanical engineering, civil engineering and exploratory studies. That makes their performative behavior even more noticeable.

These are men in male-dominated, technical fields, yet they still feel the need to act deep or sensitive. It’s like they are trying to seem interesting in areas they don’t have strong personal interests in. 

The result is a strange mix: men good at science or engineering but acting like they read feminist literature or play acoustic guitar to impress women. Performative behavior isn’t just about personality. It’s a way to signal masculinity and social skills outside of schoolwork or careers.

After weeks watching and talking to men at NCSU, I realized one very important thing. I really do not want to be with a man. Seeing all this performative behavior was both funny and exhausting. As a lesbian, I can appreciate that some men are exploring emotions and personal style, but when everything is a performance, real connection feels impossible.

Also, my culture is not your costume. We were wearing carabiners and Birkenstocks first.

As I sip my matcha in peace (the Common Grounds in Jordan Hall has the best) I think about how authenticity is rare. So while performative males may be a cultural trend worth noticing, emotional honesty, humor, and real connection are worth more than theatrics.