Winner Yasmina Bruton declares herself the “king of performative males” after competitor forfeits.
On Friday afternoon, the McFarlin steps at The University of Tulsa were home to listening and learning more than the halls of learning within, during Caleb Bovell, Lacee Johnson and Charlotte Belanger’s long awaited performative male competition. In direct sunlight and 85॰ weather, 30-something contestants sweltered in sweater vests before a buzzing throng, all waiting to find the most performative of men.
For the uninitiated, performative males (sometimes referred to as male manipulators) are men who live for female attention. Seen drinking matcha and dressing like a weird European guy on a girl’s “dream guy” Pinterest board from 2021, they are the kind of feminists who make sure that every woman around them knows they are feminists. This insufferable archetype of young man has become so prevalent in recent years that they have become a well-known staple of social media vernacular. Your standard TikTok or Instagram fiend would instantly recognize things like Labubus, tote bags, conspicuously held feminist literature, earth-toned sweater vests and wired headphones as “performative,” as well as music like Clairo, Beabadoobie and Lauvey.
This competition was one of many since the heyday of the stereotype’s popularity in mid-July. The rules were simple: dress up and answer questions in the most comically over-the-top version of a performative male that you can. The winner would receive a prize: a “performative male starter pack.” No small number of contestants, including myself, were eying the spoils of war. One such contestant was team William and Joshua Aars, brothers on a dual ticket. Joshua (whose name, he insists, “pales in comparison to any woman in history’s”) claimed not to even know of the prize, hopefully asking if it was “to end period cramps forever?” His brother William agreed.
Pictured below, William’s outfit is a great example of the performative male setup: a Labubu hangs from his belt next to a tie he put there for no apparent reason. He holds high a novel entitled “Women Who Opt Out,” while his sweater and untucked dress shirt form a classically performative aesthetic. Across said top run the wires of a pair of white earbuds, connecting, as he graciously showed me, to a phone playing Clairo’s performative male hit “4ever.”
Another competitor, Thomas Hurst, said that he, too, had no idea of a prize: “I just figured that with all women go through, the least I can do is show up and show out for them.” And show out he did: his lensless Dahmer glasses, tote and vinyl record are all textbook examples of the useless objects in the performative male everyday carry. A fourth competitor, Morgan Williams, claimed not to even know there was a competition happening: “I just saw what appeared to be some like-minded individuals here, so I thought I’d… educate some of my fellow men on how to be better towards women.”
Competitor William Aars, clad in his performative attire. Aiden Hoogstra | Collegian
Despite the turnout, the idea of a performative male competition had its dissent. Spectator Eva Brodt was “disappointed” by the competition, saying that the scourge of performative men “is a real problem,” and “we shouldn’t act like it’s a joke.” Her opinion is not unpopular. The performative male stereotype is a bad one — of men doing something morally questionable at best. Many argue that these competitions make things like manipulating women and co-opting feminist material for personal gain a “silly quirk,” and not a genuinely scummy thing to do. Even so, Brodt did find the competition amusing, and watched the majority of it.
Competitor Thomas Hurst carrying his feminist literature. Aiden Hoogstra | Collegian
Controversial or not, the show must go on. The first round was a simple model walk. Afterwards, Bovell asked for a crowdsourced assessment of the performers, eliminating those who elicited too few cheers. Next, questions were asked, each to three volunteers; the two who gave the better answers stayed in the game, while the one in third was asked to leave. After several rounds hardly thinning the pack, the performers were asked to name various feminine hygiene products. There were only so many to name, and the question went to whoever raised their hand first. Anyone who answered incorrectly or made it to the end of the questions without answering one was disqualified. At this point, things were getting close. With only seven contestants remaining, the performers were asked to actually perform something. One contestant performed a guitar and vocal cover of a Lauvey song while another performed one by One Direction. Two others sang renditions of their favorite feminist artists, one played an improvised keytar solo, and one played Riptide. Being written by a man, this song selection ended up being the thing that sent him home.
Next, the contestants were asked to give a short speech, after which only two would be permitted to move to the final round.
After some rousing performances, the names of the final duo were Aidan Romero – equipped with an amplified electric guitar and a pocket of tampons — and Yasmina Bruton, one of many female performative males at the competition.
The newest twist: questions were now asked by the audience themselves. The first was a true zinger: a crowdmember demanded to know how such enlightened men could both be sipping on matchas not from a small business, but a major corporation: Starbucks. Yasmina answered first: “part of being an ally is taking responsibility for my actions,” she began, invoking the great virtue signal of over-accountability and apologizing profusely for her mistake. Aidan’s response took another route: “actually,” he said, “I thrifted this latte from the bins at Goodwill, just like everything I’m wearing. I don’t buy from corporations.” The crowd erupted for both, with a slight edge going to the second contestant.
Next, the two were asked to name five songs by Fiona Apple, Clairo, Beabadoobie, and Lauvey — all classic performative performers. Yasmina went first again. She could not, in fact, name any songs by any artists besides Lauvey and attempted to make up for it by singing some Lauvey for the crowd. Aidan again had the edge in this question, managing to actually sing a song — albeit not five — by every single artist, including a guitar backing for his Beabadoobie verse.
All seemed lost for Yasmina, until a strike of fortune turned the tables: the crowd, likely won over by her claim to be 6’7” while clearly being roughly 5’2” and her comically well done magic marker goatee, began demanding to know how, as a feminist, Aidan dared to attempt to beat a woman in a competition. The speeches were forgotten; the guitar became irrelevant. Yasmina took full advantage of the opening, delivering a masterfully humble speech, the crux of which was that all she really cared about was that all the women of the world were happy with the result and that she as a performative male did not want to see another man take something away from not her, but them. Aidan went up against the boos of a turned congregation, and began his speech: “How many times have we seen this??? Man and woman pitted against each other… just like,” he clutched his beanie in anguish here “the 2016 election?” A dramatic pause, and then: “Hillary Clinton versus Donald Trump!! Terrible results — we can’t repeat that….” He went on in this vein for a bit, but it quickly became apparent that he had no endgame for this unexpected change of atmosphere. In the end, his speech, reactive to the crowd, turned into a virtue-signaling resignation, “withdrawing to make way for female voices.” He dropped to his knee before the victor, and the game was ended. Yasmina Bruton was officially the most performative man on TU’s campus.
“I hereby declare myself KING of ALL performative males on campus!” cheered Bruton to thunderous applause. The performative male competition, in true feminist fashion, had not elected a male winner at all. The awarding of the coveted “starter pack” to Yasmina Bruton proved once and for all that women really can do anything men can — even be a scumbag.
Winner Yasmina Bruton with her matcha and Laufey album. Aiden Hoogstra | Collegian
