Bros, Stop Flexing: India’s Performative Male Epidemic Explained

There’s a line in a popular Hindi song: “Mard ko dard nahi hota.” Translated, it means, “A man doesn’t feel pain.” But if you’ve scrolled through Instagram lately, you know that Indian men are definitely feeling something and performing it for the algorithm.

Somewhere between the rise of scented candles, Instagram reels about “self-care Sundays,” and carefully curated playlists titled Rainy Day Vibes, a new figure has emerged in modern dating culture: the performative male.

He is not the swaggering macho stereotype of Bollywood’s past, nor the patriarch who thought washing dishes was beneath his dignity. No, this is the “evolved” man who reads a book in a café corner, orders matcha instead of masala chai, and posts teary captions about “healing.”

At first glance, it seems like progress. After all, softer masculinities are a welcome break from toxic dominance. But scratch the surface and you see something else: a performance, a rebranding of the old male ego dressed in pastel sweaters.

Masculinity as Aesthetic

The performative male epidemic is less about change and more about aesthetic strategy. He doesn’t just read; he makes sure you know he reads, preferably something slim, abstract, and visibly intellectual. He doesn’t just cook; he posts his sourdough starter with hashtags about “nourishing souls.” His playlist is not just music, it’s evidence: See, I am sensitive. See, I am different.

This is masculinity as marketing. And like any marketing strategy, its goal isn’t authenticity but consumption, in this case, female attention.

The Indian Twist

In India, this epidemic has a unique flavour. On one hand, we are a society where women still shoulder the bulk of unpaid domestic work, where the “modern” man doing laundry is praised like he just solved the climate crisis. On the other hand, young urban men want to appear progressive without actually dismantling the structures that benefit them.

So you’ll find the Indian performative male quoting feminist slogans on Instagram stories, but quietly leaving the maid to wash his socks. He’ll celebrate Women’s Day with a performative post, but baulk if his partner earns more than him. In the metro cities, he is everywhere: sipping overpriced coffee, sighing about existentialism, and yet letting patriarchy do the heavy lifting at home.

Why Women Fall for It?

It’s easy to see why this act works. For generations, women have dealt with hypermasculine rigidity: men who refused to cry, refused to cook, refused to see women as equals. Against this backdrop, a man who sprinkles lavender oil on his pillow feels revolutionary. The bar was low, and the performative male slid right under it with style.

But here lies the danger: performance without politics. His softness exists in curated moments, such as a love of indie films, a carefully photographed bookshelf, and maybe a potted plant or two, but it rarely translates into genuinefeminist allyship.

The Labubu Analogy

Think of it like the current obsession with Labubu dolls, quirky, wide-eyed, oddly adorable. People buy them not because they need them, but because they signal taste, sensitivity, and a certain vibe. Similarly, the performative male is collecting gestures of softness and therapy lingo, curated aesthetics, and gentle hobbies not necessarily to live them, but to signal them. He’s a lifestyle brand in human form.

The Feminist Reckoning

Now, here’s the question: should we mock him or welcome him? Both, perhaps. It’s good that men are moving away from toxic stoicism. But if masculinity becomes another curated performance, women end up shouldering yet another burden, this time, to separate sincerity from spectacle.

Real change isn’t a Spotify playlist or a #HeForShe story. Real change is sharing household labour without applause, questioning your privilege without needing validation, and listening to women without performing empathy for likes.

The epidemic of the performative male reveals a truth about our times: masculinity is in flux. And while we should celebrate softer expressions of manhood, we must also ask if this softness is lived or is it just another costume stitched together for social media and dating apps?

Because if men are only pretending to evolve, then women aren’t looking at progress. They’re looking at the same patriarchy, now accessorised with matcha lattes and mood-lighting. Women don't need soft aesthetics; they need shared emotional and domestic labour consistently.

So, next time a “soft boy” crosses your feed, ask: Is this cultivation or commitment?

Views expressed by the author are their own.