When Identity Becomes Costume: The Masked Politics of Belonging

When Identity Becomes Costume: The Masked Politics of Belonging

Two viral stories—one about a lesbian bar's mask policy and another about a white teacher who falsely claimed Palestinian heritage—reveal how political identity can become performative. What happens when our deepest convictions become merely visible accessories?

It's a question that haunts us in the wake of two seemingly disparate but eerily similar incidents. On one side is Last Ditch Bar and Arts Venue, a queer-owned space in Greenfield, Massachusetts, grappling with financial strain and the decision to relax its KN-95 mask mandate on Saturdays. On the other is Hannah Gann, a Philadelphia teacher who recently admitted to spending years presenting herself as Palestinian American—without any actual Palestinian or Tunisian ancestry.

"If identity becomes performative, then belief can become costume," I said while reviewing both stories for this piece.

The parallels between these narratives are unsettling. Both involve the use of a visible symbol—masks and ethnicity—as shorthand for deeper political commitments. In both cases, that symbolic gesture is not simply about health or authenticity but becomes a badge of loyalty to an ideology.

Politics You Can Put On

I've been reporting on the intersection of identity and politics for years, and I've seen how it can shift from principle to performance. At Last Ditch Bar, the KN-95 mask had become far more than a health measure—it was a political statement. It communicated commitment to protecting vulnerable populations, especially those with compromised immune systems or disabilities.

But when the bar tried to ease its mask rules for one evening a week due to financial hardship, it sparked outrage. One commenter suggested that the venue should be firebombed—an extreme reaction that underscores how quickly moral conviction can turn into mob mentality online. This isn't just about masks anymore. It's about control, visibility, and power.

This is where earnestness crosses into theater: the accessory acquires moral content and wearing it demonstrates that one understands the suffering of others. Declining to wear amounts to evidence that one does not.

Hannah Gann's case takes this concept even further. She could have supported Palestinians while remaining exactly who she was. Instead, she invented Palestinian relatives. The same impulse that drives someone to adopt a mask to show solidarity with a marginalized group leads her to adopt a fake heritage as well.

There's something profoundly tragic about it all. When political identity becomes performative, when the only way to demonstrate commitment is through costume or spectacle, we lose sight of what genuine advocacy looks like.

The Right Has Its Costumes Too

This behavior is not the exclusive property of progressives, despite what recent examples might suggest. American politics has always offered incentives to embellish one's identity to suit an audience. The 2022 congressional candidate George Santos, for instance, described himself as Jewish and claimed his grandparents fled anti-Semitic persecution in Europe—a story that crumbled under scrutiny when it was revealed they were born in Brazil.

While the details differ, the mechanism remains the same: political identity is commodified, used to gain access or legitimacy. Santos found an identity useful in a district with a substantial Jewish population and Gann assumed one that gave her a more intimate claim on the cause around which she organized. At Last Ditch, identity was communicated through a visible ritual rather than fabricated ancestry.

The common thread? The conversion of belief into costume.

When Status Signals Become Performative

We've long known that political identities can be signals of belonging, but in today's environment, they've become more elaborate and insistent. A slogan shouted ad nauseam at protests, a red hat or flag, even a political statement posted on social media—all of these were once simple displays of alignment.

But now, when political belonging becomes something that must be displayed, the costume has a way of growing more elaborate. Sometimes it means wearing a KN-95 to a lesbian bar in 2026 and treating its removal as a moral betrayal. Sometimes, it means borrowing an ancestry along with the cause.

I've seen this trend play out across multiple contexts: from activists who adopt the dress and speech of their causes to politicians who craft elaborate public personas to appeal to specific demographics. In each case, the line between conviction and costume blurs until they become indistinguishable.

What's at Stake

These stories are not just about individual choices or personal identity—they speak to a larger crisis in how we define ourselves in relation to society. When political identity becomes performative, it can erode the very foundations of trust and community that make civic life possible.

We're witnessing a culture where authenticity is increasingly difficult to verify. Where symbols carry more weight than substance. And where the line between showing solidarity and exploiting others for personal gain grows dangerously thin.

This isn't just about masks or fake genealogies. It's about the integrity of our discourse, our ability to distinguish between genuine commitment and performative gestures. It's a call to question not only what we believe but how we demonstrate it—because when identity becomes costume, truth suffers.