This is a true story, with some minor details changed to protect identities.1
The second day of the festival was really fun! In the morning I went to an active listening workshop.
The workshop had started well. Ten of us were sat in a circle in a bell tent. We took it in turns to talk about how eager we were to better support and connect with the people in our lives. The facilitator, a man in his early 40s, seemed kind and wise. We talked through how to go about creating space for vulnerability and validating the other person’s feelings. Half way through the session, a new guy joined the circle.
Soon after joining and listening to the facilitator for a few minutes, new guy took up some space. He launched into an explanation of his knowledge of the academic literature on empathy. This took a few minutes, and seemed like a bid to be the new teacher of the group. The facilitator seemed a little frustrated, his zen composure faltering. After new guy had finished, he attempted to reassert his authority over the group… by demonstrating his superior knowledge of the academic literature on empathy. This went back and forth a few more times. Eventually the debate ended and we made it into some active listening practice.
After the session I recounted my interpretation of what had happened to my friend. I talked about what I perceived to be a testosterone-driven fight for dominance. I laughed about how that was ironic given that it was a workshop on empathy. I felt good that morning.
Later in the day I headed down to the lake for a swim with my partner. It was hot, and there were already a handful of bathers in the cool water. Several small groups were relaxing on the lakeside, drinking tea and enjoying the sun. Before we slipped into the water, my partner looked over at one of the groups on the bank. They were a group of five men in their 50s or 60s, handing out cake to the sunbathers. “That group of guys is always down here” she said, “I think they mostly just like to watch the young women swimming”. I glanced over and caught one of their eyes. He smiled, and I quickly looked away. Despite the heat, I shivered.
In the evening, a large group of us were huddled around the campfire, drinking wine and talking softly. As I gazed into flames, I couldn’t help but overhear a camp-mate talking to a woman that I knew he was attracted to. They were having an intimate conversation about past relationships. He was carefully listening, and validating her experience of past male partners. She talked of their insecurities, their difficulty with vulnerability and their controlling jealousy. My friend went on to talk about his own relationship history. In these stories, he was not-so-subtly implying that he had none of these shortcomings. I rolled my eyes and went to get a drink.
Just before bed someone had offered me a cup of green tea. Despite my sensitivity to caffeine, I said yes. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I mostly lay awake thinking about the events of the day; the toxic displays of masculinity in particular.
The next day, me, my partner and a friend of her’s were lazily eating lunch in a meadow. I was holding court about virtue signalling, and emphasizing just how much of human behaviour it might be able to explain.
“It’s hard to even know if you’re doing it”, I explained to the women, “it’s often too shameful to admit, even to yourself, that you are saying something clever or doing something virtuous for the approval of others, or to seem attractive”. I went on to list all the examples from the previous day. “Those guys were doing and saying one thing, when clearly they were mostly just trying to appear a certain way!”.
Another friend had seen us and he came over to say hello! “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Toby was just explaining masculine virtue signalling to us” my partner’s friend explained. I repeated my points.
He was unconvinced, “Maybe people just intrinsically like the things that they were doing” he interjected. “Maybe it’s not all ‘signalling’”. My heart rate raised, and my muscles tensed. I felt frustrated about being contradicted, but I was pretty sure I was right. So I continued to argue that signalling was really important. He argued back, saying that it wasn’t. We talked past each other on this issue for a while. We both seemed pretty sure that the other guy was wrong. We eventually gave up and the conversation moved on.
We walked back to camp after lunch. I was still a little annoyed by the conversation about signalling. For the next hour or so, I busily tried to recall the arguments and evidence in favour of signalling theory. I was sure that I was right, it was just that I hadn't been prepared for a debate. Next time I’d have a more decisive victory…
and add a little bit more drama