Of Matcha and Men
We are kids born after 9/11. Kids who grew up spending hours watching Disney Channel, enjoying shows between music video previews and Pillow Pet commercials. Kids who grew up with the internet during its least offensive days. Kids who spent their teens painting SpongeBob sunsets on calculators during a global pandemic. Kids who watched Amazon haul videos riddled with propaganda made by good-looking influencers. Through the internet, these kids found everything from new music to khaki pants and sweetheart dresses.
And they all grew up, practicing the American tradition of trying to be the most interesting person in a room and the human condition of wanting to belong to a community.
As a result, you get this meme:
“I hate a man who listens to Clairo and drinks Matcha.”
Sorry for my pessimistic narration and inclusion of unnecessary details; I promise I have a point to sell. I saw this meme about a month ago, and I instantly knew what it meant: performative feminism. Guys who read classic literature in hopes that a girl with long brown hair, salon-cut bangs, and patchwork tattoos would see and fall in love with them. Stealing queer culture by painting their nails and using slang that never belonged to them.
More than just high school or systemic stereotypes, I’ve noticed we’ve associated individual songs, movies, and even beverages with communities and, therefore, associate stereotypes with them.
Here’s a story for you: I was seeing this guy, Noah, for about a month. He was sweet, had a car, and had platonic female friends (In my opinion, all green flags).
We met at this local Orlando band show, you know, the type that’s held in a coffee shop. We all stand around, coffees in hand, nodding our heads to indie-rock over speakers too loud to hear vocals. That’s also where I met Nina, his best friend.
A couple of weeks into seeing him, Nina and I saw each other at a decently priced concert, where, in line, I said, “This is gonna be such a good show, except with all the Clairo and Matcha men here, you know?”
“You know Noah loves Clairo, right? He has a tattoo of one of her song lyrics.”
See, I thought I was smart.
That I was above the noise of performative bullshit disguised as authenticity. Above the meme of male manipulators with their obscure boringness and diamond-shined niches. I tried to lighten up the mood. I mean, it’s easy for me to play the fool, but this time I really was. At the same time, I felt conflicted. Here I met a guy I really, really liked. And he was performative?
Clairo, for those who don’t know, is a bedroom pop singer-songwriter whose melodies are both quiet and deeply hypnotic. I get why people enjoy her music; they have for years. Recently, lots of men have been joining her largely female fan base. Clairo herself was in an interview when asked why cis-straight-male Brooklynites enjoyed her music so much, to which she didn’t really answer.
“For an easy way to talk to women”. At least that’s what the meme suggested. That’s what I, a slow-witted writer, got from her non-answer. Now, sitting at this show with Nina and knowing what I know now, I felt silly.
Because I’d been getting to know Noah. And I asked myself— am I just assuming he’s a performative feminist because of the meme? Because of that tattoo? Am I letting a meme control my thoughts about someone? And yeah, I totally did. I committed the age-old sin of assuming.
And that’s what I fear: we are getting smaller and smaller with these micro-assumptions. We continue to judge others and make connections even harder for ourselves. Recently, there’s been a shift in rhetoric about the importance of authenticity in celebrities and influencers. That’s why these memes are made in the first place. I’d argue — we’re doing this in real life too, personalizing content and applying stereotypes or memes to daily life. Or at least, that’s what I was doing.
These subcultures, including the Clairo stan community, are made and cultivated by women. We need these spaces, these artists, these movies. But on a human level, it’s one more thing social media is doing to make us hate each other.
As a somewhat-smart woman, I ask myself if I judge these guys too quickly. Lord knows, I don’t have the will or want to get to know every matcha drinking man. But the few I do, I like. One of my best friends is a guy, and we got along because he wasn’t into typical boyish things. Plus, we both rock a tote bag.
On top of that, UCF just recently made a performative male and performative masc lesbian contest, respectively. We are physically casting judgements on people to a level so ironic and meta that the joke has been taken over by the “enemy.”
Internet culture is making it harder for human connections — one of the sandpile list of things that social media does to make life more miserable. To combat this (the patriarchy and capitalism), I suggest the human thing to do and be a little more open-minded. I’m not defending men who perform for the sake of sleeping with women. Nor would I say “not all men.” I am suggesting everyone be a little less judgmental.
Or, you will be making a fool out of yourself at a concert.
Strike Out,
Orlando
Written by Riley Flynn
Edited by Riley Flynn and Liv Wagner
Riley Flynn is a journalist and writer for Strike Magazine. She has been writing for over six years and has been a staff member on strike since fall of 2024. She dreams to work in live studio production for sports and reality TV. But in the meantime, Riley loves to talk music, fashion, and lifestyle throughout her narrative, poetry, and journalistic writing. You can follow her on Instagram @rileysage04 and reach her via rileysflynn04@gmail.com.
