Over the past year, the image of the “performative male” has entered mainstream media. He has a classic image: drinking a matcha latte, wearing a quarter-zip, wired headphones dangling from his neck, occasionally holding a copy of feminist literature and, of course, expressing his hatred of period cramps.

Online, this archetype has taken off. On TikTok alone, the hashtag #performativemale has amassed more than 9,000 posts, with some videos reaching over 5 million views. Feminism, at least visually and rhetorically, has become acceptable for men to perform in public. Being a feminist guy is now, in some circles, a recognizable brand.

And yet, despite this increasing visibility, the broader political reality in the United States tells a very different story.

In its first 100 days of Trump’s second presidency, the Trump administration systematically attacked reproductive freedom. The actions range from freezing millions in funding for the federal Title X program that provides family-planning and preventive care, to removing reproductive health information from government websites, to failing to enforce clinic-safety protections, and even pardoning those convicted of harassing patients and providers. 

All these actions reflect a political climate that remains hostile to women’s bodily autonomy and well-being. This stands in contrast to the highly visible performative males or male feminists.

If we technically have more men who show interest in feminism, it is worth asking why tangible feminist setbacks persist. For me, the answer lies not in the presence of male feminists, but in who they are speaking to. 

In most cases, they are speaking almost exclusively to women with little to no engagement with other men. In many funny, unserious and slightly sarcastic performative male contest videos, contestants articulate their feminist philosophy mainly through their anger toward periods or period cramps. It is indeed a gesture that centers women’s experiences, but it did not challenge the very power structure.

This tendency to focus attention on women while overlooking men’s misogynistic behavior is not limited to overtly performative men. Even men who genuinely identify as feminists and participate in feminist movements can also fall into a similar trap. Whether intentionally or not, the desire to prove one’s feminism, to be recognized as one of the good ones by people who are already familiar with feminism, can frequently override meaningful action.

In these moments, feminism stops serving women or broader social change and begins serving men. It becomes a social title for progressive men to claim rather than an actual responsibility to be practiced.

If male feminists truly want to dismantle patriarchy, they must engage directly with toxic masculinity, especially within the manosphere, which usually refers to a loose network of communities that claim to address men’s struggles, such as dating, fitness and fatherhood. 

Feminist thinker bell hooks directly points out the importance of engaging men and young boys in feminism in “The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love,” writing, “While feminism may ignore boys and young males, capitalist patriarchal men do not.” 

When feminists, especially male feminists, refuse to engage boys and men, they leave them vulnerable to the alt-right pipeline in online spaces, where misogyny provides a false sense of belonging, clarity and power.

Right now, the manosphere is dominated by self-proclaimed “alpha males” with microphones, creating podcasts that aggressively market misogyny, emotional repression and domination as ideals of manhood, offering a clear and harmful sense of identity to boys and young men searching for direction in life. Young listeners make up their primary audience.

Educating men is not a distraction from feminism; it is a necessary part of it. This is why initiatives that center men within feminist and anti-patriarchal frameworks matter. 

At USC, the mental health initiative “Just Ask Men” offered a compelling model of what this work can look like. The program created a space for men to talk openly about mental health, vulnerability and masculinity, which challenges the patriarchal expectation that emotional expression is “feminine” and therefore shameful.

By fostering community and emotional literacy among men, Just Ask Men and similar events address one of patriarchy’s core mechanisms: emotional isolation. In doing so, it benefited not only men but also the women and marginalized people affected by men’s unexamined pain and anger.

Rather than performing feminism in a performative way, Just Ask Men engaged men in its substance: dismantling shame around the idea of femininity and cultivating healthier ways to navigate emotional isolation, thereby modeling what it actually means to practice male feminism.

At its core, feminism centers women’s lived experiences. But it also aims to dismantle patriarchal structures that harm everyone. Spaces for men that promote healthy masculinity, even when they do not directly address women, still serve women’s well-being by weakening the systems that produce misogyny in the first place.

If male feminists truly want to contribute to feminist progress, the answer is not curating the best feminism reading lists. It is uncomfortable conversations, peer accountability and sustained engagement with men who do not agree with them.

And just maybe, that is what meaningful male feminist activism should look like.