Decoding the age of performativity, both online and offline

"...And all the men and women merely players.” When William Shakespeare penned this iconic, and oft misquoted, speech, we have to wonder if he was, in addition to being a witty playwright and keen observer of the human condition, a clairvoyant. When he proclaimed, “And one man in his time plays many parts,” did he somehow predict the coming of “-core”, “aesthetics”, and curated feeds? Or perhaps man has always been a chameleon, changing faces and personality traits depending on who they’re with. With so much of our lives shifting online, and some generations growing up entirely on the internet, it’s no surprise that people meticulously craft personas to project online. In a world where people increasingly ask for Instagram handles over phone numbers, social media has become a short personal portfolio, offered up for acceptance into the new “cool”.

“DUMP”

Social media’s appeal has largely been its personalisation. When Facebook began, it was restricted to university students (you needed an edu email address to sign up). MySpace’s appeal was the concept of showcasing your own corner of the internet, full of your taste in music, movies, books, etc. It was like inviting someone into your room. But none of these sites were as influential as Instagram. At its conception, Instagram was a photo diary. People posted photos of their breakfasts, their sunglasses, leaves, whatever struck their fancy—touch-ups were far from anyone’s mind. The Instagram of yore, however, was a much different place from what it is now. Gone are the genuinely low-quality photos with the Valencia filter slapped on. In its place are carefully curated carousels with a cohesive theme; blurry photos that were taken and then re-taken; artful, zoomed-in shots of décor all tied together with a hopelessly blasé caption like: “photo dump.”

THE PERFORMATIVE MAN

If you’ve been active online recently, you’ve likely stumbled across a video or tweet poking fun at the so-called “performative man”. Formerly, male archetypes were easy to pin down. They were the muscle heads in sleeveless tees, the gaming nerds hunched over monitors, or the finance types in Patagonia vests. They were paper-thin, easy to project onto, and identifiable by key traits that never change despite the seasons. These archetypes are not extinct but instead an accepted part of society at large. As consumption continues to take the helm at the wheel of today’s society, a new genre of man has entered the cultural sphere. These men, as documented and meticulously researched by countless viral posts and those who have encountered them in the wild, are recognised by their ritual of sipping iced matcha, their canvas tote bags, and their haircuts with names like the modern mullet. They listen to Clairo and Beabadoobee, read feminist theory, discuss Sylvia Plath and Sally Rooney, and insist on wearing wired headphones. This wave of men is less defined by profession or pastime and more by how they frame themselves. Their choices in music, style, and décor function as signals, turning consumption into an aesthetic calling card. They pride themselves on being better than the toxic masculinity ghouls who flood society.

But are they truly better, or have they curated the perception of being better? It is identity as an exhibition, curated not for privacy or personal joy but for circulation both online and off. What is striking is how this curation no longer lives solely in the grid. It spills into coffee queues, bookshops, and dinner parties, where outfits, beverage choices, and conversational sides seem optimised for a hypothetical audience. The language of feeds and Stories has become the language of daily life. The result is a subtle but constant performance, where the self becomes a brand and presence is less about being in the moment than about producing it.

#MUNDANE-CORE

In this climate, authenticity is not so much lost as it is repackaged, polished, and ready for the next post. That impulse has begun to shape not only how people adorn themselves and their homes, but also how they approach the most ordinary aspects of daily life. Habits once considered private, even humdrum, are now filtered through an aesthetic lens. Take finances, for instance. Being careful with spending has been reframed on TikTok as “frugal chic”—a term that dresses thrift in the language of aspiration, prioritising quality over quantity, skimping on the small to afford the long-lasting. A few years earlier, it was “underconsumption- core”—a fleeting but telling sign of how even restraint became a style to emulate. In effect, these labels confirm that the For You Page has become a brand manager, turning what once belonged to private habit into categories fit for public display.

ASK YOURSELF: WHO IS THIS FOR?

Perhaps the question we should ask is not whether our lives are real, but whether we are living them for ourselves, or simply for the scroll. Between filtered mornings and curated evenings, we risk forgetting the quiet, unphotographed moments that shape who we truly are. Some habits need not be aestheticized, and some meals are best left off our Stories. The challenge is to do things for no one but yourself, and to find joy in that small rebellion. We all perform, whether consciously or not, for those around us or the endless online gaze. Give yourself permission to step back, to savour the unmanicured, and to exist authentically.