How I entered and lost the performative man competition

Students converged on the steps of Carnegie Library to perform and cheer in Saturday evening’s male performative contest.

Contestants walked onto the steps with signs to “end period cramps,” holding countless cups of matcha, and tote bags draped over each shoulder. More than 100 Syracuse University students were crowded around the steps when the competition began.

As soon as the show started, I immediately realized I was completely outmatched. 

Male performative contests are one of the latest trends sweeping college campuses, with recent contests at the University of Pennsylvania, Michigan State and Temple University. Following the popularity of 2024’s “look-alike” contests, these competitions involve students parodying performative men for cheers and jeers from the crowd. 

But what is a performative man?

The performative man wears baggy jeans with a Labubu doll hanging from his belt loop. Wired headphones hang loosely with the sound of Clairo or Mitski emanating from them. He may be sipping on an iced matcha latte from one hand while holding a Jane Austen book in the other. You may spot a performative man on the street or at your local café, but regardless of location, his goal is to dress and act in ways that make him more appealing to progressive women. 

Most often, this type of performance is a mask.

“A performative male to me is someone who is disingenuous to others and himself,” said Naa Oyoo Quist, a freshman majoring in business management. 

My initial plan was not to enter the contest; I had dressed performatively only to fit into the crowd during interviews. But, when Jordan Burda, a public relations senior and the competition’s organizer, said “the outfit would perfect,” I felt I had no choice but to agree. 

My performative outfit consisted of a Kehlani trucker hat, two necklaces, a Yami Foods tote bag with my favorite Laufey album inside, and a small cat-eared keychain with a picture of my girlfriend and me. I would soon realize, the outfit wasn’t performative enough. 

As each contestant walked onto the Carnegie steps, their outfits became more and more extravagant. Shirts featured bold text stating “I Hate Period Cramps” and “Women Come First.” Labubu dolls hung from belt loops in all different colors and outfits. Person after person carried either feminist literature or multicolored totes. Some people came with guitars strapped to their backs while another brought his keyboard. 

Photo by Gunjan Silwal

A competitor in the performative man competition poses with their sign and matcha.

It was a lot. 

As Burda started the contest, she asked each of us to introduce ourselves. The crowd, which had been a group of maybe 10 to 15 onlookers when I arrived, had ballooned to almost ten times that. Each of our introductions was met with either applause, boos, or, worst of all, a deafening indifference. 

I was one of the first to introduce myself and gave a simple introduction, stating that I always have a headphone in my left ear so I can hear how right women are. While it was met with a few cheers, it was nothing compared to the rest. 

Each contestant yelled about topics ranging from their love for Clairo, their belief that tampons should be free, and how much they adored women. After the introductions, Burda pointed to each contestant, and the crowd’s cheer level would determine if they moved on to the next round. 

I was immediately eliminated. 

It stung, but I knew I wasn’t performative enough. As round two started, it was clear there was a crowd favorite: Naa, the only woman in the contest, was clearly in the lead.

It felt like we were back in ancient Rome, in the middle of the Coliseum. One wrong answer, impulsively talking back to a woman in the crowd, or not knowing the name of Clairo’s album meant immediate expulsion. 

Contestant after contestant was eliminated as the crowd booed and cheered for their favorites. 

Finally, it was down to two: Quist and Ziek Diallo. Diallo, a sophomore studying information management and technology, had become another crowd favorite. His outfit screamed performative with all the hallmarks of a performative man. As he sipped on his Dunkin’ iced matcha latte, he would emphatically yell round after round about how much he adored women. 

As it came down to the final round of cheering, Diallo made a critical error: as the crowd was cheering for Quist, he didn’t join in.

For a performative man not to cheer for the sole woman in the contest was enough reason for the people in the crowd to finally decide a winner. 

Photo by Gunjan Silwal

Naa Oyoo Quist, the winner of the performative man competition, posed with a book in hand.

Quist won the performative male contest, taking home a grand prize of $40 and a band poster. 

As Burda awarded Quist her grand prize and ended the contest, waves of students surrounded each of their favorite contestants, striking up conversations and asking for selfies.  

It was strange to watch. 

The grassroots event, which poked fun at a toxic male archetype, served as an immediate icebreaker, melting the awkwardness between strangers. Absurdity at the event turned into connection with those who spent the night watching on.

Now, the question remained: did competitions like this promote a toxic male archetype, or does poking fun help ease the tension?

“I feel like as of right now it’s not helpful or harmful, it’s just there…It just depends on where you are,” Quist said.