Mia Lasic-Ellis

Based on my past op-eds, I’m clearly interested in how the expansion of digital technology has changed our lives. A phenomenon that I’m tickled to find and that people scrutinize is that of the performer. Performative reading, performative men, performative everything. Per usual, I’m not here to rage against the machine and say we shouldn’t use these labels, but my question is: What are we if not performers?

I’m grateful that I’m living in the timeline of airdropping and hoverboards over latrines and blood-letting. That said, when I hear people talking about a performative person—someone who is behaving a certain way so that they’ll be perceived positively—I think to myself, there’s no way this is a first. Surely our ancestors adopted behaviors, styles and aesthetics as a way to join a community, as an exercise of identity or just because it’s what they wanted to do. Either way, could you imagine a pilgrim being called a performative singer? It’s preposterous. Everyone reading this is already stressed enough over society, money and mortality. Why should we add fuel to the fire and shame others for picking up niche hobbies and habits?

Another peculiar facet of performance that I’m interested in is authenticity. In my mind, performative reading is a bastardization of the real or true act of reading. However, I’m sure we all know how being “real” or “relatable” has become its own strand of performance. People like President Donald Trump and Emma Chamberlain have reached unparalleled amounts of power and influence just because they seem “authentic” to their audience. Is this authenticity really sincere if it’s intentionally replicated? I obviously don’t think so. And because everything is in some way staged or performed, I think we should be kinder to each other and just shut the f**k up.

Another reason I think we should hesitate before criticizing someone for doing whatever they want is because we’re contributing to a culture of disenchantment. Instead of looking at someone reading and wondering what they are reading or why they are reading it, you just jump to the conclusion of the performance. Then the magic of the moment is lost, and you standardize the experience of the performer. The pro? You get to humble the person you don’t like by labeling them as performative. Now they are associated with other performative people in your mind and you can hate them all. Trust me, I’ve done this before and it feels fabulous.

What I’m trying to do more, though, is enjoy the enchantment of the moment and acknowledge the courage that each person has to express themselves in the era of peer surveillance. If they are reading, dressing in a certain way or listening to a kind of music just to impress others, isn’t that embarrassing enough? Why should we waste our breath speaking about a performative person if that’s all they wanted in the first place? All in all, there just don’t seem to be any clear winners here, only a recipe to make even more anxiety.

One person who I know pushes past that anxiety is Lance Hulme ’28. Lance is a bookworm’s dreammmmm!! When I met him in the fall of 2024, I saw him posted up in Thorne with a large stack of history books. Many would whimper at the thought of being perceived as a “performative reader” in such a public place, but Lance made it clear to me that he could give less of a f**k about those opinions. He described to me how he’s read since childhood and how books have served as his physical and mental exercise since then. If we were to continue this futile campaign against abnormal behavior (like reading books), I think we’d be in a much darker place, since we’d have fewer Lances in the world.

The last and final point of why you should push through and do whatever you want despite being shamed for your performance is that literally everyone is going to die. Something that I do to overcome embarrassing moments is close my eyes and say, “Everyone who knew about this will die someday.” Yes, mortality is scary, but so is the thought of having your life ruled by boring ass b*****s. Seize control! Embrace the embarrassment! And pick up the damn book.

Neiman Mocombe is a member of the Class of 2026.