It’s 150 B.C., and the Roman Republic commands the respect of the world as the most feared empire in the land following its devastating victory over Carthage in the Second Punic War. And yet, one Roman senator isn’t satisfied. Anxious, maniacal, but driven, Cato the Elder is convinced Carthage will rise again from the ashes. Cato starts concluding every single one of his speeches with ‘Carthago delenda est’ (Carthage must be destroyed). At one point, desperate to drive the point home, “one of his stunts in the senate was letting a bunch of deliciously ripe Carthaginian figs drop from his toga,” as Mary Beard explains in her book SPQR. The figs, Cato explained, came from a city under Carthage’s domain — a mere three days’ journey from Rome. The message was clear: Carthage growing in power, and most alarming, encroaching upon Rome. In 149 B.C., Rome waged its third war against its ancient rival.

Fast forward to a different age of empires, and now it's October 21, 1984, in the middle of the second presidential debate. Reagan is 73, the oldest president in American history, and thus the talk of the town. His first debate against Democratic candidate Walter Mondale (56) hadn’t gone.. so well. He’d seemed confused and rambly — a painful reminder of our more recent 2024 presidential debate. The press was flagrant about its coverage of Reagan’s capacity to serve. In this second debate, the moderator asks Reagan directly whether he has any doubts about his capacity to handle the physical demands of the job, like lack of sleep. Reagan pauses, smiles, then delivers the killing blow:

"I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit, for political purposes, my opponent's youth and inexperience."

The crowd erupts, cheering at his clever spin on the question. The camera pans to Mondale, who’s unabashedly laughing. Mondale later said he knew he’d lost the presidential race in that moment.

After all, Reagan had been an actor.

Whether you like it or not, you have to give it to Cato’s cunning and Reagan’s sprezzatura. Performance is at the heart of nearly every domain of our lives, not just politics.

In sports, Connor McGregor managed to attract millions to the UFC because he was so much more than a fighter. He performed — the first to weaponize trash talk like a savage poet, the first to pull up to pressers in Armani suits, and repeatedly able to call the his shot, fight after fight, as the ‘Mystic Mac’.

Magicians do far more than merely perform magic. For decades, thousands have flocked to Vegas to watch the likes of David Copperfield and Criss Angel make a show of magic, not just the whimsical tricks themselves. David Blaine inverted that model by conjuring up a more intimate, bare bones, raw style, yet it was a performance nonetheless.

In 2020, during the Great Awokening, we were reminded of the Scarlet Letter-esque morality play that can take over our social lives. Self-righteous (usually wealthier) social circles rewarded a song and dance of collecting virtue signals like Pokémon. Whether you wanted to or not, you had to participate in the ‘Oppression Olympics’ in some shape or form. Your performance, or lack thereof, influenced where you fell in your own social circle while under the gaze of your judges — your peers.

Even your family dynamics aren’t immune to the demand of performance. We all inherit a role in our own family’s show, whether your family is akin to the suffocating politcking of Downton Abbey, the bickering of Schitt's Creek, the cozy lightness of Gilmore Girls, or something else entirely. You’re probably stuck with some form of family performance. Unfortunately, outright denial of family politics doesn’t get you off the hook. Perennially online fashion writer, Derek Guy, broke down the similar logic used by people who declare they're "not into fashion":

“people who loudly proclaim they're not into fashion are often doing so bc they want people to know they're not superficial. instead, they are high-minded and 'serious.' in doing so, they are committing the same sins of vanity and pride that they criticize the fashion industry for."

Declaring you’re “not into fashion” is itself a deliberate social signal and identity choice, just one that’s rooted in signaling seriousness or anti-superficiality. It is not, however, a neutral absence of fashion awareness. Like in family life, trying to ‘opt out’ is its own style of performance.

Of course, how could we forget about work politics. Probably the most valuable lesson I learned in undergrad in my basic management class was the performance of work. Many, MANY employees, of all shapes and sizes, invest heaps of their time and effort into the facade of work — the performance of appearing busy, because ‘busy’ signals ‘working’, thus ‘busy’ is ‘good’. The insufferable jargon (“I’m at capacity.”), the blatant productivity rain dances, the arbitrary blocking of their own calendars, the lengthy emails, the insistence on being included in meetings that do not need you, and so forth. This is performance.

And then there’s our media landscape, which fully embodies and rewards a particular type of performance. If you’re not careful, social media rapidly, methodically transitions you from casual efforts to socialize to pigeonholed performance — chances are you don’t post what you really want on Instagram; instead, you’re hyperaware of what you post, when, and how, because you’re concerned of how your peers will perceive your online performance.

Influencers? Dance, monkey, dance. TikTok gives them the world’s biggest stage, and it’s all about performing for the algorithm. Live or die by the algo. TikTok has taught us that it’s not about being famous; it’s about your camera angles, your hooks, your lighting, your song choice, your emotions — your acting.

The performance even shapes our physical reality — our cities. As developer Coby put it: "cities have become reflections of the media created about them. People move to New York or London to live out fantasies derived from whatever show / influencer they personally admire, and mirror their lives around that."

The pressure to perform across all realms can feel like all gas, no brakes.

But here’s the good news: caring is cool again! Earnestness matters — shout it from the rooftops! Caring is, in fact, good. We're finally making it through the bitter online winter, the decade-plus of holier-than-thou, tawdry irony. Maybe because everyone's just tired of acting like apathy is cool.

Adam Mastroianni describes in Experimental History, “you can outlaw war and you can mandate love, you can ban falsehood and demand truth, but you won't get anything you want unless you can convince other people to want it, too." And to convince other people, sometimes all they need to feel is that you care. Performance can be an illusory trap — yes, it exists in many parts of our lives, but people can suss out your insincerity, hollowness, and manipulation. Often, your performance is all for naught.

Which brings us back to Cato. He acted his heart out with those damn figs, but his performance, nor the figs, weren’t the deciding factor in pushing Rome to war. Rome had been the aggressor in the lead-up, knowing Carthage couldn't legally retaliate since the last war. Cato’s performance was fabricating a false pretext. The figs were irrelevant theater, so his only success may have been pissing off his fellow senators.

Maybe that's the thing we can take from all of this: performance is real, yes, and it feels like it’s everywhere, yes — but it's not always relevant, necessary, or what's driving the outcome. Take solace in that.

Thanks for taking the Pack,

Zach

_{The vibe-killer disclaimer: The opinions in this post and all other posts only represent myself and do not represent the opinions of my employer or any groups I am a member of.
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