The Danger of Performative Dissent in a Post-Platform World

I was having one of my rot sessions doom scrolling on tiktok the other day and only just learned what a “performative male” is. I know it's meant more of a joke but it made so much click into place. Beyond the matcha-loving, tote bag-carrying facade is the kind of man who talks about equality, justice, and progress, but only when it plays well to the crowd. Someone who adopts all the right words and stances, not out of deep conviction, but because it’s good optics. It’s a performance designed to look radical without risking anything. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this kind of performance isn’t limited to gender politics. It’s everywhere in our activism, in our discourse, and in our leaders. But it is especially noticeable on social media.

In many ways, it’s getting harder to tell the difference between radicalism and reactivity. Every other day, we’re pummeled by a new crisis, each one stacking over the last like waves that never recede. Yet for all the noise, it feels like we have less and less real power. The people with the loudest platforms rarely offer actual tools or long-term strategies. Just look at the spectacle that unfolds daily on X, where personalities like Elon Musk and Donald Trump dominate the conversation with provocation, chaos, and ego. Their posts shape the algorithm, not through wisdom or solutions, but through sheer volume and controversy. What we’re witnessing isn’t leadership. It’s theater. And the more we engage with it, the more we normalize a style of public discourse that prioritizes noise over nuance, virality over responsibility. They perform dissent because engagement is the metric that matters now, not impact.

We’ve confused being angry online with building power offline. It’s a seductive illusion. A cutting tweet or a viral post can feel like action, especially when the likes roll in and the comments echo your frustration. But in truth, most of this activity doesn’t move anything forward. Rhetoric may feel cathartic, but it doesn't redistribute power. It doesn’t change systems. It doesn’t pass policy. It doesn’t even build community. It just recycles pain through a machine that profits from our attention.

We’ve mistaken the aesthetic of activism for the substance of it, but rhetorical firepower is not the same as revolutionary momentum.

And often, it requires working in ways that aren’t sexy or shareable.

There’s something deeply unsettling about how easy it is to look like you care without having to do much at all. The algorithm rewards those who can provoke, not those who can plan. So we fall into loops of outrage and exhaustion, constantly reacting, rarely regrouping. The pace is relentless, and the churn makes it hard to think clearly, let alone act with intention.

We start to follow voices that sound urgent, but urgency isn’t the same as clarity. Some people are masters at diagnosing problems but offer no tools for solving them. They aren’t interested in building something sustainable because the system already rewards their discontent. But if someone isn’t organizing, if they’re not creating alternatives, if they’re not helping you move from despair to direction, then they’re not helping you at all.

Real power isn’t viral. It doesn’t need to be loud. It moves slowly, quietly, often behind the scenes. It takes time to build trust, time to test ideas, time to plant institutions that can weather storms. That kind of work doesn’t trend. But it’s the only kind that lasts.

There’s a difference between critique and creation. One tears things down. The other makes something new. It’s easy to be a critic. It’s harder to be a builder. But if we want something better than this, i.e. something better than the churn, better than the endless stream of commentary with no consequence, then we have to choose the harder path.

Not everything that feels radical actually is. Sometimes it’s just the algorithm making you feel seen, while quietly making sure you stay stuck. So the next time you feel fired up by something you saw online, pause and ask yourself: does this help me build? Or does it just make me burn?

We don’t need more noise. We need more people who are willing to work. People who understand that strategy is slower than slogans, that organizing is less glamorous than outrage, and that change is rarely obvious until it’s already happened.

Let’s not get lost in the algorithm. Let’s get back to building.

It’s a brutal statement, but it’s one we need to hear. Because our collective attention is being siphoned into channels that aren’t designed to empower us. They’re designed to monetize us.

Sonam Pelden