Matt Riseman

Matt Riseman enthusiastically enjoying his matcha outside Carnegie Science Hall.

When I read last week’s article, “Bates College is Suffering from a Performative Male Epidemic” in The Student, I found myself more frustrated than usual. While the article brought up some interesting points about men’s behavior, I was left with a more pressing question: What does it mean for a young man to be himself in today’s world?

While the trend of the “performative male” is real—characterized by Clairo and matcha lattes—the assumption that these gestures are inherently manipulative or inauthentic misses something deeper. The conversation tends to stay at the surface, focused on image, instead of asking what these performances are reaching for and what they reveal about how men are trying to navigate softness in a world that rarely makes space for it.

About a month ago, I was sitting under a tree on the Quad reading a book. It was a beautiful day outside. I was walking home from class and decided to have a seat. I saw many friends walk by and said my hellos and cordial waves. Eventually a good friend of mine walked up to me and joked: “You’d be a performative male if you weren’t wearing your crocs.” It was harmless and I laughed. There was no maliciousness about it; It was simply an observation and a reminder that my crocs are not as subtle as I think they are. However, since that day, the memory has stuck with me. It serves as a reminder of the battle surrounding what it means to exist authentically while also confronting others’ perceptions and judgments. 

This encounter reminded me of my summer at Seeds of Peace where I worked as a counselor. My campers regularly accused me of “aura farming.” For those unfamiliar, aura farming means performing actions to cultivate a cool or impressive image according to Urban Dictionary. Again, this accusation was not made out of cruelty, though it does reflect a cultural instinct. That is, sincerity can not be trusted and in response, we must mock it. I think this idea rests behind the story of the performative male.

Men today live in a strange paradox. The old model of masculinity, stoic, dominant and detached, has been rightfully assessed as harmful. However, a new model of masculinity has not yet been born. So, when a man tries to be tender, reflective or self-aware, he risks ridicule for doing the very thing society claims to want from him. He’s told to open up, but when he does, he’s laughed at for performing openness. We, as a collective, can’t have it both ways. If we want men to be more emotionally fluent, then we have to create a culture that rewards this fluency with understanding, not suspicion. 

Most men I know do not have many places where they can be real. For a lot of guys, romantic relationships become their only outlet for vulnerability, the only space where being tender and gentle feels socially permissible. That kind of dependence is not fair to anyone, and it leaves friendships thin and performative. We need spaces that let men live their emotions, not perform them. I have found refuge in places such as the ultimate frisbee team (shout out OWhip) and the radio. In sports, and especially the culture cultivated around ultimate frisbee, there is a sense of freedom to express yourself that I truly appreciate. When I played my final game with last year’s seniors, I cried my eyes out. What a feeling that was– to be truly human and care so deeply about something even if it ultimately was a bunch of dudes chasing a piece of plastic. Radio, alongside frisbee, gives me a place for unfiltered expression: to play the music that moves me and send it out into the community. Both are great examples of spaces and environments that allow anyone to both live and feel authentically. 

Performance isn’t the problem, it’s what we’re performing that matters. If, as Judith Butler famously argued, all gender is a kind of performance, then who’s to say that performance can’t also be truthful? Think of musicians: Yes, they perform, but that doesn’t make their music fake. In fact, the performance is what brings their truth to life. So what if the so-called performative male isn’t a manipulator, but someone trying to find a new vocabulary for being? What if what we’re witnessing is the awkward, necessary process of unlearning a culture that never taught men how to care? Authenticity can’t be curated; it must be participated in.

The real epidemic is not performative males; it’s a culture that leaves men so alienated from their own emotions that sincerity becomes a punchline. So yes, call out manipulation when it’s real. But also, make space for men who are trying, however clumsily, to unlearn what they were taught and step into something gentler. If you see someone reading or slacklining on the quad, maybe they are not performing but trying to remember how to be. 

Matt Riseman is a member of the Class of 2026.