The recent resurgence in male loneliness discourse is probably due to the performative male trend, which was so popular that even Zephyrus published an article about it. Performative males and the similarly veined “male manipulators” are both versions of the lonely male who is trying to be less lonely. I wanted to add to that discourse with a reflective piece from my own angle, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find any specific writers to discuss, so I consulted Fernando Pessoa.

Fernando Pessoa is sort of a catch-all for prose. Feeling like a warm, salty Lisbon breeze that wafts coffee aroma into your nostrils? Pessoa wrote of this. Feeling existentially limited yet beautiful in your universal handicaps? Pessoa wrote of this too. Thinking of something else? He probably mentioned something pretty close. He has many works, each written using a very interesting writer phenomenon.

Pessoa made uniquely curated “heteronyms,” a term he coined to describe pen names with personalities that he would use to influence his writing voice. This is why his voice is staggeringly different in each of his individual works, and why the title of this article is named after someone I still haven’t talked about yet. Bernardo Soares is the same person as Fernando Pessoa, but their heteronymical difference shines through their writings.

“The Book of Disquiet” is Pessoa’s largest piece of work. Originally a wooden chest of journals found posthumously with over 50% unpublished, most of that transcribed work ended up in this book. The first part is credited to Vicente Guedes, another heteronym of Pessoa’s, and the second half to our titular Bernardo Soares.

Soares’s half is formatted in diary entries, which paint Soares as a lonely male. Soares, however, did loneliness differently than what you’re imagining. Instead of wobbling about failed romance, Soares attached his loneliness to the mundanity of his life, and in turn ascribed everyday phenomena with personal meaning. His word choice and tone are described by the Portuguese word “saudade,” which is not a longing for someone, but something—a feeling of nostalgic humdrum.

“Humdrum” could be a great English word to describe how lonely males feel themselves, which might be why they take on illegitimate and blasphemous personality traits like drinking matcha in an attempt to gain a relationship. But instead of assigning value to these relationships, maybe instead they should assign value to the humdrum like Soares does, and see what they can find in relationships they already have with everything else around them.

This piece was originally published in Zephyrus’ print edition on April 9, 2026