The Rise of Identity as Performance Online

Who are we, if not performing? In today’s digital landscape, identity as performance online has become increasingly common, the moment a man posts a picture of his matcha latte next to a copy of Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” on his Instagram story, he is no longer sharing a moment—he is staging a mood. We live in a time where existing online feels less about being yourself and more about selling yourself. This begs the question as to, who are we? if we’re not performing?

What once felt like a spontaneous way to share ourselves online has turned into a calculated act driven by what gains approval.

Your profile is now a storefront, and your personality is now a brand.  But when everything is curated, where does the performance end, and where do we truly begin?

Media theorist Shoshana Zuboff once described that our digital selves become “behavioral surplus,” as platforms package, predict, and profit from pieces of our identity. It’s not hard to see how this plays out every time we curate a profile or perform a version of ourselves for likes, comments, and clicks.

The psychological cost of this system is noticeable, as one user on Reddit voiced out: “I had people-pleasing tendencies before my internet addiction and it has just fueled them more over time. I feel the need to share pretty much everything I do with someone online… I need validation for most things I do in a way that’s not healthy.”

Online Identity as Performance: The Archetypes

This urge to curate is most clearly seen in social media archetypes. Take, for example, the rise of the “performative male.” On platforms like TikTok and Instagram, there’s a growing archetype of men who sip matcha lattes and tote feminist literature, adopting soft, artsy Pinterest aesthetics. This is also evident in music consumption. Take Clairo, an indie artist whose intimate songs deeply resonated with young women. Today, her presence on a man’s vinyl shelf or spotify playlist signals as a way to appeal to the female gaze.

The Commodification of Conscience

It’s also critical to clarify that this criticism is not an attempt to gatekeep art or police sincere emotional expression. Men are breaking away from traditional male codes, and their honest appreciation for female artists is a positive step.

However, the existence of a few sincere individuals does not negate the cultural trend. The problem emerges not from the honest listener, but from consumer culture’s systematic commodification of this aesthetic.

This sort of dynamic shows us how consumer culture absorbs and repurposes authenticity.

When a sensitive, ‘soft’ male identity becomes predictable and marketable, emotional truth no longer defines its value but as a social signifier.

It nudges men into a new role the “woke softboy” where listening to female artists signals desirability and gradually turns emotional expression into performance.

This aesthetic capture of virtue may represent the final stage of commodification. It’s a reminder that even gender and identity are now staged for an audience.

This isn’t necessarily a sign of deep conviction, but a signal, a way to project emotional depth, progressive values, or desirability.

This isn’t just about men. Online culture thrives on archetypes that package values. Take the Dark Academia aesthetic, which turns literary passion into a consumer checklist of tweed blazers and vintage library backdrops. Or Cottagecore, where consumer culture converts the desire for “simple, anti-capitalist” living into a marketable set of flowy dresses and curated enamelware.

This constant recycling turns who we are into just another product, measuring authenticity not by how we live, but by how well we perform a role and how much of that aesthetic we can “afford.” This tension illustrates identity as performance online today, where visibility shapes selfhood as much as authenticity does.

The Quiet Rebellion

The effect is a visibility trap, We increasingly tie our sense of self to what we can display. A coffee run isn’t just about caffeine; it’s about holding the right cup in the right light and angle for an Instagram story. Skincare isn’t just self-care; it’s content. The internet now blurs sincerity and performance, leaving us caught between who we are and who we think we need to be.

And yet, we forget the basic contradiction: we are not products. We are not brands. our identity is not a performance. The metrics and the trends are merely stage lights, they are not the sum of us. Who are you when those lights aren’t on? When there is no audience, no algorithm, no feed to refresh? You are just breathing. You are still becoming.

Your worth cannot be packaged or sold.

It exists outside of aesthetics, consumption, and outside of the endless demand to be seen.