The Spire

Kimberly Von Randow ’28

Opinions Editor

Somewhere along the way, “performative” became the insult of our generation. It used to be something reserved only for the most lying, manipulative of the performative males out in the world. Now it’s deployed with such casual brutality. What went wrong?

Post about a cause you’re passionate about? Performative.

Dress too nicely for your 8 a.m.? Performative.

Say “good morning” with enthusiasm? Absolutely performative—also suspicious.

Meanwhile, the people giving away these accusations are usually performing their own moral correctness with the commitment of someone running for a Tony Award. It’s high drama. It’s sociology with a side of theatrical flair straight out of Erving Goffman’s dramaturgical analysis.

But the problem isn’t that people perform. The problem is that we pretend some performances are real and others aren’t. Spoiler: They’re all performances. Every last one of them. Which then raises the burning question: is an authentic performance an oxymoron or a possibility?

Things get complicated when we try to discern “performative” from simply performing. When people call something “performative,” they mean your performance feels curated for praise and applause. Kind of like if you’re in Dinand reading some feminist literature hoping a Ramona Flowers type of girl will take notice. That would be performative, but only if you’re not truly enjoying the feminist literature you claim to like.

Most of what we do in life is curated to a certain situation. You don’t walk into mass the same way you enter your kitchen at midnight, and you don’t speak to your professor the same way you speak to your group chat. (And thank God for that.) Wanting to be seen a certain way isn’t immoral, it’s human. The intent behind your performance is what matters, it’s what discerns meaning and personality from spectacle made to impress.

However, authenticity isn’t about stripping away every social instinct until you’re left with the barest, most unedited version of yourself. That’s not authenticity; that’s a meltdown. Authenticity is coherence. It’s the moment you realize that your internal world and your external behavior are finally on speaking terms instead of being in a long-distance relationship. It’s performing in a way that reflects who you are or who you want to become because it feels right. And getting some recognition with it doesn’t hurt either, right?

Which brings us to the grand finale: the reality that “All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players.” a message Shakespeare knew especially well.

And that’s why the word “performative” has lost all useful meaning. Calling someone performative is like accusing someone of breathing too loudly—it’s technically true, but it also misses the point entirely. Of course people are performing. We perform kindness, confidence, competence, coolness, activism, enthusiasm, apathy, whatever. The goal has never been to eliminate performance but to get to the root of what our performances are trying to accomplish.

Maybe the real shift we need isn’t to stop performing, but to stop pretending we aren’t. Transparency about the act can be its own form of authenticity. A performance rooted in sincerity—however messy or imperfect—can tell the truth just as well as any raw confession whispered into a void.

So if the Oscar really does go to all of us, it’s proof that we’re all doing the best we can with the roles we’ve been given—rewriting the script when it doesn’t fit, improvising when we forget our lines, and trying to pull off a finale that makes some kind of sense to any of us. And if nothing else, we’re at least keeping the show interesting.

So keep looking at the invisible camera in the corner like The Office whenever something odd happens—what other way is there to stay sane?

Featured image courtesy of Google Images