Performing Arts: Satire On Performative Culture

Eli Kim, design editor

“Zzz....ihateperiodcramps....zzz.....feministliterature...huh? Did I forget to set my alarm to clairo instead of beabadobee? Shoot, her voice is so dreamy I almost didn’t wake up!” I say hurriedly, tossing my Hello Kitty pajamas on the floor and going straight into the closet. Hmmmmm, red and plaid, red and plaid. Hey, I’ll switch it up and go with plaid and red today,” I say, taking out my clothes, which seem identical to the rest of the clothes in the closet. After I filmed my grwm TikTok, I ran over to the kitchen counters and started making my matcha. I only make it the traditional way of course, with one of those brown tube things! Then, I get out my bamboo-fiber yoga mat and start practicing Pilates. Only for 5 minutes, any longer and I won’t have enough energy to go to the women’s march! Before I go, though, I brush my teeth quickly in my rectangular granite sink built by two women plumbers on Etsy (I ONLY support businesses run by women). Heading out the door, I suddenly remembered that I forgot to feed my cat Laufey Jr. her breakfast, premium blue tuna with an egg yolk cracked on top for extra protein.  

“Be safe my sweet, beautiful princess!” I say, before running out my apartment door, grabbing my Tote bag--made from 100-percent-recyclable material--and just barely catching the elevator.  

When I get in, I start practicing listening to The Smiths on my cassette player with only one earbud in. 

 “The Smiths you say? You have great taste in music. No... not mysterious enough. The Smiths? I too love Morrisey!” The elevator opens and I walk into the busy streets...of LA! I check Google Maps on my iPhone before quickly switching to my flip-phone to take a call.  

“Yeah, I don’t get all this stuff with mass consumerism, why is it that we have to make everything about money and stuff,” I sigh, kicking a Starbucks cup into a sewer grate. I was speedwalking towards the women’s march when all of the sudden I hear this voice say: 

  “Free seafood boil bobbing! Come dip your head in the barrel and try and get as much seafood boil as you can!” Obviously, I walk over but quickly put my vintage headphones, stolen from an elementary school computer lab, on and start blasting niche, underground artists to drown out the delicious sounds of seafood boil. 

Resisting temptation, I turn and keep walking until I eventually get to the women’s march protest thingy. After protesting for a few hours and doing lots of protest-y things, I sit down to go get lunch at some super niche place that I can’t say the name of because it’s too niche to have a name. After finishing my McDonald’s, I sit down at the park bench in central park and kick at some random, homeless guy’s leg and throw in a little heel click to truly show my silly, yet mysterious, nature.  

“Hmmmmm, which piece of feminist literature should I read first? I think I’ll start by rereading Little Women for the eighth time in a row!” After rereading the first line eight times, I get super thirsty for even more matcha. I walk into the matcha store and sneakily hide behind the matcha shelves. There, I uncover a super hidden secret keypad, where I enter the super hidden secret code,  

“P2J9J0M4TCH4”. A hidden door opens, and I walk into the super normal CIA base. 

“Agent 67, reporting for duty,” I say, taking off my red plaid jacket to reveal an actual suit, taking off the circle frame glasses to put on a pair of sunglasses. A large, bright white screen lights up from the back of the room.   

“Wow Agent, you were doing great out there! Even I wanted to grab you by the neck and curse you out for a minute there!” said a commanding voice from the same screen.  

“Thanks officer, you know I can always count on you,” I pull off my performative, skin mask and reveal a bright green alien face -- the three black eyes, antennas and everything. 

  “The mother colony is very pleased with you sending out the secret performance formula, disguised as this ‘matcha’ thing onto Earth. Soon, these Earthlings will face our wrath once they realize that they are slowly turning themselves into feed for our Queen!” my commander laughed maniacally. I rubbed my little alien hands together and grinned a devilish grin,  

“Mwahahahaha, soon EVERYONE ON EARTH will be PERFORMATIVE, and then we can feed them to the nest!”