Ladies, let’s be honest: the days of the jock are over. We’re done with the same mindless brutes who incoherently grunt at the TV during football games and maintain subpar personal hygiene. The Taft school is ready for a new heartthrob: a man who is refined, soft-spoken, and in touch with his feminine side, some would say.
Cue the Performative Male. While other boys roll out of CPT at 8:12 with bedhead, the Performative Male wakes up at sunrise (naturally, it’s a circadian rhythm thing), and does his daily affirmations: “Feminine hygiene products are a necessity, not a luxury!” (true). After a quick 100 repetitions in the mirror, the Performative Male picks out his outfit for the day. The actual outfit isn’t what matters (a vintage shirt and jorts will do); it’s the accessories that make or break the look. String headphones are a must, and paired with a tote bag carrying a copy of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar? The look is coming along wonderfully.
After a spritz of Dior Sauvage, he is ready to head to his first class: Gender and Sexuality in Literature. Being the only boy in the class, the Performative Male takes it upon himself to speak for the women in the group. He knows that by consistently dominating the conversation and explaining the woes of the patriarchy to the women in his class, he is just doing his part. After all, if he wasn’t there to fight the patriarchy daily, who else would? Certainly not women; after decades of bravery, they can rest their pretty little heads knowing that the Performative male will champion the cause (he’s practically Gloria Steinem or Betty Friedan).
After lecturing his class, the performative male stops at the delivery kiosk to get his matcha (oat milk, strawberry syrup), to help curate the rest of his look. On the walk back to his room, he listens to Laufey (Clairo shade?) and preps for an acoustic sesh on his uke (ukelele). He masters his rendition of Phoebe Bridgers’ Scott Street, then lies in bed, listens to Joan Baez, and sheds a single tear. Yes, ladies, it’s true, the Performative Male has a softer, more emotional side. What a breath of fresh air.
After his deep emotional cleanse, the Performative Male heads up to the athletic center for his afternoon ex: yoga. He burns incense and charges ethically sourced, moon-charged crystals while in downward dog. The cortisol plateau from the matcha, paired with his daily ashwagandha supplement, is really kicking in. After showering and changing into his night outfit (a turtleneck paired with corduroy pants and occasionally a beanie), he heads to the Dining Hall to grab a quick bite before his club meetings. He makes himself some hot tea (his evening drink of choice) to sip on while attending his weekly Girl-Up meeting: he knows it’s an affinity group and that his attendance makes the girls marginally uncomfortable. Still, any sacrifice is worth it in the pursuit of justice.
Finally, after a long, hard day in the life of the Performative male, he has his nightly Facetime with his mom. When she asks him why he has spent $5000 on artisanal matcha this month, he rolls his eyes, lectures her on the evils of supporting large matcha conglomerates, and tells her to shut up. She wouldn’t get it; she never had to sip an ethically sourced, regeneratively farmed oat milk matcha latte, while mysteriously gazing into the distance, and simultaneously pretending to read a copy of The Feminine Mystique. ‘She doesn’t know the real struggle,’ he thinks to himself while he drifts to sleep, ready to do it again tomorrow.
