Scroll through social media for five minutes, and chances are you’ll stumble upon him. The guy with the sunglasses indoors, sipping black coffee in a café corner, typing out captions like.
Or maybe he’s the self-proclaimed life coach, balancing gym selfies with ‘alpha male’ affirmations about loyalty, legacy, and the downfall of modern women. Welcome to the conversation taking over timelines: the age of the performative male.
It’s not that performance is new — people have always curated versions of themselves. But the way certain men now stage masculinity for likes, followers, and validation has sparked a cultural conversation that’s equal parts comedy, critique, and concern.
The performative male isn’t defined by biology but by behavior. He’s the guy whose brand of masculinity feels rehearsed, exaggerated, or tailor-made for the algorithm.
Hallmarks include: Constant motivational soundbites, Carefully staged displays of wealth: watches, cars, whiskey bottles.
Gym bodies framed less as health and more as dominance proof. Aggressive commentary on women, relationships, or “what real men do.”
Globally, the most obvious reference is Andrew Tate — a man who turned performance into an empire.
Locally, Kenya has its own versions: influencers who balance self-help podcasts with a curated life of success and discipline.
The specifics vary, but the underlying thread is the same: masculinity, scripted for applause.
If the performative male seems everywhere, blame the platforms. Social media rewards what is bold, exaggerated, and packaged.
A quiet, grounded man with no hot takes doesn’t trend. But a man declaring “love is a distraction; focus on your empire” from the passenger seat of a German car? That’s content gold.
Instagram thrives on aesthetics. TikTok rewards short, punchy confidence. X thrives on hot takes and viral quotes.
All of these reward performance — which means authenticity often takes the backseat. In the attention economy, the loudest persona wins.
At the heart of this is a cultural clash. Traditional Kenyan masculinity placed men as providers, protectors, stoic leaders.
Modern realities complicate that: women are more independent, financially empowered, and vocal about equality. In this shifting landscape, some men double down by overperforming masculinity online.
Suddenly, being a “real man” is less about responsibility and more about optics. Buying expensive sneakers for clout can overshadow actually paying rent. Masculinity becomes less lived, more performed.
The performative male is however entertaining. That’s partly why the archetype goes viral. Skit makers on TikTok parody the gym-obsessed guy who also calls himself a “visionary.” Memes flourish from screenshots of performative captions.
Even influencers know it — the over-the-top delivery is what drives engagement.
Entertainment feeds on exaggeration, and performative males provide endless material.
Their content often blurs the line between parody and sincerity, which only makes it more addictive to audiences.
It’s almost too easy to poke fun. Consider:A man tweeting “kings don’t beg” from borrowed Wi-Fi.
Someone posting “legacy over love” but still DM-ing exes at 2 a.m. The endless supply of black-and-white motivational Reels with trap beats and slow-motion walking.
The jokes practically write themselves because of the gap between the performance and the reality we all suspect lies behind it.
But beneath the satire lies something heavier. Performative masculinity often masks insecurity. Young men feel pressure to project dominance and wealth, even when struggling financially or emotionally. The curated version becomes a mask that’s hard to remove.
This performance culture can drive debt (spending to appear successful), loneliness (when relationships feel like distractions), and mental health challenges (living double lives).
It also fuels toxic cycles — teaching boys that to be a man means to never admit weakness, never show vulnerability, and always “perform strength.”
It’s not only men.Women also perform online — the “soft life” content, the luxury bags, the boss-babe affirmations. Social media is full of performativity across genders.
But performative masculinity feels more glaring because of cultural expectations. Masculinity, historically, was supposed to be authentic: grounded, action-based, not words-based.
So when men turn masculinity into a performance of words, quotes, and staged visuals, it sparks sharper criticism.
Ultimately, the performative male is less about men alone and more about society. We all live in an era where identity is curated. Social media pushes us to brand ourselves, edit our truths, and amplify traits that “sell.”
The difference is that with men, the performance often leans into exaggerated masculinity — strength, money, dominance.
It’s a mirror, reflecting not just men’s insecurities but also society’s reward system. After all, these performances wouldn’t exist without an audience clicking, laughing, sharing, and even aspiring.
The performative male isn’t disappearing anytime soon. As long as algorithms reward bold displays of “real man energy,” the sunglasses and motivational quotes will keep coming.