by Wardah Malik for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics
As part of a college women’s studies seminar, a quote from The Robber Bride was frequently discussed. In it, Margaret Atwood addresses the concept of the male gaze, writing: “You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” For many of us in the class, the idea of constantly surveilling ourselves to meet men’s expectations was unsettling. It forced us to reflect on whether our desires were truly our own, or rather, an extension of what was expected from us by not only men, but culture and society more broadly.
At that time, this desire was largely centred on the “girlboss” figure: A woman who doesn’t rely on men to achieve success, yet still seeks validation within their systems and rules—an obviously hollow symbol of empowerment built within a fundamentally unequal environment.
Now, nearly a decade later and perhaps in recognition of its hollowness, the “girlboss” has disappeared. In its place, the “tradwife” has emerged as the new ideal for young women.
The overwhelming message of the tradwife subculture is that “submissive wives live happy lives.” Free from the stress of corporate careers and the pressure to carve out spaces for themselves in conventional workplaces, these women showcase seemingly idyllic lifestyles on social media. On TikTok alone, videos promoting traditional values—featuring perfectly styled women tending to babies and making food from scratch—have accumulated over 300 million views. Their popularity has become a key debate point in the current culture war; many conservative commentators insist that women naturally want to be homemakers and that men pursue and choose women who embody traditional values such as motherhood and domestic housework. Unsurprisingly, most of these commentators are men claiming to speak for women, arguing that feminism has failed modern women.
While the “girlboss” and “tradwife” archetypes appear to be opposites, the rapid cultural shifting between these two lifestyles highlights larger societal forces that push women toward certain narratives and choices beyond their direct control. For instance, most millennial women accepted the “girlboss” figure and strove for financial independence as a strategic escape from the trauma of the financial crisis they witnessed in their youth. Similarly, the rise of the tradwife movement can be viewed as a response to escape the engine of late-stage capitalism, exploitative corporate jobs, and contemporary economic instability, marked by high inflation and widespread unemployment. Ultimately, it is no coincidence that these lifestyle ideals, as promoted through cultural conversations and media, align with larger economic shifts, quietly dictating how women navigate labor, autonomy, and security.
To understand why young women are drawn to the tradwife movement, we have to look back at its predecessor: The suburban housewife. Today’s trend conveniently ignores the realities of that role—the social isolation, complete financial dependence, and systemic domestic abuse and vulnerability—to focus entirely on what it symbolizes: The pure luxury of not working. Online, this fantasy manifests as total scheduling freedom, flawless homes, and nourishing meals. But this domestic bliss is actually a business, and top influencers earn millions selling it. By aggressively commercializing motherhood, they spark envy, shame, and sense of failure in everyday viewers who cannot match an unattainable, algorithms-driven ideal.
“How do they have time to do all of that?” my friend asked me one day, expressing her own shame about not making homemade meals every night.
“You’re only seeing a portion of her day,” I responded. “The part she uses to make money—this is her job.”
That is the crucial distinction. Despite praising the traditional housewife, the modern, online tradwife is financially independent. She enjoys the privilege of writing a new narrative that affords her personal wealth, all while upholding traditional, conservative gender norms and causing others to feel insufficient. This contradiction is exactly what keeps the content engaging and profitable.
“Domesticity here becomes a consumable product, which is circulated and repackaged in ways that ultimately feed the same conditions of neoliberal capital accumulation the [tradwife] movement claims in many ways to reject,” Imogen Richards, a criminologist at Deakin University, writes. In order to sell that product, the online tradwife relies on a curated, aesthetic performance of domesticity that appeals to a wide range of young women. However, while the content is popular, it’s not relatable, and not everyone has the privilege to perform this version of romanticized domestic labour. In fact, in a recent article for The Atlantic, writer Faith Hill outlines a “precarity-to-tradwife pipeline” that proves many stay-at-home moms have become so out of financial necessity, limited social support services, and the soaring cost of childcare in America.
Beyond the online career tradwives and low-income mothers, a 2025 poll found that young women are drawn to tradwife content not for the male-breadwinner female-caregiver model, but for the aesthetic of simplicity, leisure, and an escape from increasingly demanding yet unstable work. In other words, the tradwife figure is desirable or enviable because of her autonomy and relationship to labour: She has the freedom to choose her own work-life balance and has escaped the “ideal worker” mould. This also means that enjoying tradwife content or wanting a balanced family life does not necessarily translate to the adoption of conservative values or anti-feminist worldviews. Instead, it signals widespread frustration with the current job market and the conditions that have forced so many women to tolerate intense burnout and economic stress.
Although some version of the tradwife figure is ever-present in cultural discourse, the current online trend would arguably not exist if economic conditions were better. Because her popularity is a reflection of the current fractured cultural and political space, her mainstream staying power is weak. Maybe that’s for the best. As an aspirational figure, the movement’s attempt to frame “submission as an empowering personal choice,” alongside other conservative points, presents a dangerous path for young women. More than anything, the rise of the tradwife is a warning sign, revealing the desperation of a generation struggling to find stability in an increasingly tense economic climate.
Wardah Malik is a Toronto-based researcher, editor, and historian. She is the founder of Historyless Magazine, an independent publication covering global affairs and underreported political narratives. Her work spans media, human rights, and community-based research, including projects on press freedom, public health, and gender-based violence. Her research interests include governance, decolonizing language, and the preservation of underrepresented histories. Wardah holds an MPhil in World History from the University of Cambridge.
