Some people get annoyed by performative males because they are annoying or are pretending to understand feminist literature without actually having critically examined the patriarchy and their position within it, or whatever. I, however, have my own gripe: They stole my style.

My collection of sweaters and cardigans (some of which are hand-made) has been years in the making. My loafers are authentically worn from miles of walking. I am still using the same wired earbuds I bought back when phones got rid of the audio jack and we all had to get new ones. (I have never owned AirPods. That is not an economical choice; it’s a personal statement.) The pages of my books have faded from many days spent reading poetry in a sunny meadow. And if I don’t know what a Labubu is, that’s only because I’ve been in this game too long to care about such recent developments.

You can imagine my horror when a friend informed me that my aesthetic had been co-opted by a bunch of idiots on the internet. (I had to be told because I have never once downloaded TikTok and get all my information from print newspapers and the many wise and insightful women in my life). Now everyone will think this is a gimmick rather than my authentically pretentious spirit! They’ll say, “Here comes some idiot following a trend,” instead of, “Here comes some idiot staring at one page of ‘The Bell Jar’ without turning it.”

There’s only one solution, of course — I will have to change everything about myself. A new haircut, new clothes and a new hobby that I don’t really enjoy but need everyone to see me doing.