Yet again, Women’s Day has come and gone. For most of us, only a technicality, though. Because we are a generation (gimme a loud cheer, my gals) that has seized the day. Tight. Everyday.
Who’s this “we” some may ask. Fair enough. Let me spell it out then. Again. We as in this new woman, look around you. We as in the female who owns her space. We as in she who is out to nix the cliches. We as in her, diva plus badass plus feminine rolled in one. We as in you, that girl who doesn’t wait for March 8th every year to be reminded for a day that she matters. No way, sista!
That being cleared, I personally couldn’t have asked for a better start to the so-called Women’s Day than the season’s first Formula 1: The Australian Grand Prix. That too India time 9.30 am. Simply lovely! If Saturday’s qualifying and Sunday’s result are any indication, we’re set for some swashbuckling pro max racing in 2026 between the top four teams, some heart-stopping race start pile-ups, tantalising new-engine overtakes, surprise podiums by the rookies, botched up pit-stops, wet weather DNFs and of course the not so “inchident” free title fight eventually.
The ‘Performative Female’ Tag
Coming to the performative female bit then. The pigeonholed perpetrators of patriarchy would now want to jump in and claim F1 as their own. Here, even the newly discovered “performative male” analogue species – that tote carrying, matcha infused, Zadie Smith touting intellectual “soft boys” – tend to draw the line, even if reluctantly. F1 is primarily boyzone.
That’s why my bright orange Red Bull tee is received with sly sniggers at the gym, my Insta post on the chequered-flag moment is considered sus, and my Maxy Million DP cutely questioned. Maybe it’s not that big a deal. Maybe I am overthinking. Maybe it’s a passing phase. But tell me: Why do I, being a woman, have to explain/justify/clarify/overstate/defend my interest in F1, to men especially? What’s with the quizzical look? How come only those familiar with the car mechanic jargon are deemed authentic?
Not so with men. It’s considered natural for the gym bros to be lat-raising to an F1 playlist. The neighbourhood uncle is being a typical uncle, trundling to the GP video on his mobile. The college boys ovio will do an extended pit stop at a bachelor pad to watch the latest Drive to Survive before the real deal begins. And millennial machos are just being themselves when they energy harvest over F1 fantasy gaming.
And we’re just talking of “watching” F1, mind you. Pure fandom girl. “Women drivers in F1” I am not even going there as of now. That’s already explosive terrain. Instant DNQ!
If anyone’s frothing at the mouth already, take note that I use words like “passing phase,” “primarily” and “reluctantly” only to highlight that this certainly isn’t the view of 100 per cent men out there, but there is no doubt at all people that the vast majority (all genders included) still veers to the view that a woman’s interest in F1 can be nothing but “performative.”
The origins lie in prejudices about women’s driving skills (or the utter lack of it) to begin with. Haven’t we all scrolled reel upon reel upon reel on how girls ride/drive? They’re seriously funny. No doubt. One of my favourites is the one where girls stop their scooties with their feet.
I am mega guilty of that during my Honda Activa-college days. Then there are those about our utter lack of direction and traffic discipline. Memes on women backing up their four-wheeler into the parking spaces take our driving (non)-skills to the next level.
Just like “Baby On Board,” might as well have car stickers warning other drivers “Woman At The Wheel” in bold red right next to a permanent “L” – learner, loser potato, potato! You choose! It’s starting to sound a little harsh, so let’s try and agree on this one thing, then: that women still have many miles to go before they claim entitlement to the driver’s seat. The meaning here is deeper. More rhetoric. Think about it.
Till that happens, the newly labelled “performative female” — very different from the traditional “performative female” who is curated in plushy pink hyper femininity – will have to fight a lonely battle of her own. About her life choices, her decisions that cut a swath, her intention to change things. Starting with the vocab, let’s overturn the narrative itself.
What’s performative? Simply put – “Something done or expressed insincerely, with the intention of impressing others.” Who’s a performative female? She who – “acts out of gendered, expected behaviours to fit into social norms rather than to showcase her real self.
Ironically, very ironically in fact, a woman’s relationship with F1 qualifies both ways. If she’s not into F1 – well, that’s classic woman anyway. Perfect. On track. Expected!
If she’s an F1 stan – Fake. No way. Trying hard. Pretense.
Performative either way. So tricky, you think you hit the wall. The gap of misconception is huge! Decades of dirty air isn’t easy to negotiate.
Reminds me of this Feminist Leadership workshop I attended in Mumbai. The opening remark spoke of what an oxymoron the very concept of “Feminist Leadership” was. In a similar vein, a Reddit comment hit hard when it claimed that “to be a woman is performative already.”
But that’s where the iconic Ayrton Senna comes in. “If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you’re no longer a racing driver.” As drivers of our own destiny, are we ready to rev into such gaps of perceptions using the DRS of our convictions singing,
Out of the city, now we’re switchin’ four lanes
Got our eyes on a fresh start
The world as we knew it, that was caught up in flames
Get ready for the next part…
Authored by Gunjan Pant Pande, freelance writer. Views expressed by the author are their own.
