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by Wardah Malik for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics


Artwork by Logan Brewer
Artwork by Logan Brewer

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. 

Via Europeana
Via Europeana

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.”


Via the New York Public Library
Via the New York Public Library

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.


by Catherine Mwitta for The 44 North, Contributing Writer - Politics


OSAP changes have been implemented, and they're hurting Canadians in more ways than one. 


This article is the first in a series addressing four key challenges the next generation of Ontarians will face: Climate catastrophe, education reform, the housing crisis, and career opportunities.


Students protesting the Ford government's OSAP changes. Via Evan Mitsui/CBC.
Students protesting the Ford government's OSAP changes. Via Evan Mitsui/CBC.

Editor's Note:


The following article reflects the views & analysis of the author. As with all opinion and essay submissions, the piece has been edited for clarity and reviewed carefully for factual accuracy, but the interpretations & arguments are the author’s own. The 44 North publishes an array of perspectives & voices to encourage and ensure thoughtful engagement with complex social, political, historical, and cultural issues.


Doug Ford’s changes to the Ontario Student Assistance Program (OSAP) came into effect on Aug. 1: The maximum portion of provincial funding provided as non-repayable grants dropped from 85 percent to 25 percent. The remaining 75 percent (or more) is now distributed as repayable loans. But there hasn’t just been a change to OSAP; the seven-year tuition freeze for publicly assisted colleges and universities has also ended. Schools are permitted to raise tuition rates by up to two per cent annually over a three-year period. 


The direct impact of these changes


Via CSA
Via CSA

Students are not only navigating a higher loans-to-grants ratio—they’re also receiving less OSAP funding for 2026/2027. This often means taking on side jobs to pay for the rest of their tuition, let alone other cost-of-living expenses. In addition to tuition fees, students must pay out-of-pocket for ancillary, technology, lab, exam, and administrative fees, which can add up to hundreds of dollars each year. The list of costs grows to include course materials such as textbooks, kits, required software, phone plans, transit fares, and housing and food if students aren’t living with parents/guardians. 


The cost of higher education is increasing in more ways than one, and those most affected are private college students, middle-class families and returning adult students. Students attending private colleges will receive all of their provincial funding as loans. While the OSAP grant was specifically designed to help middle-class families, changing the grant-to-loan ratio will profoundly affect students who don’t quite meet the threshold for social assistance but also lack sufficient funds to support their postsecondary education without government support. Lower-income students can still benefit from Ontario's enhanced Student Access Guarantee (SAG), a bursary designed to help cover the gap between OSAP and direct program costs (tuition, books, and mandatory fees). If lower-income students receive SAG, they don't need to repay the grant.


Via CSA
Via CSA

How students and the government are responding  


Shortly after the announcement of these changes to OSAP in February 2026, many Canadians protested the policy change at Queen's Park. However, unlike when the Ford government faced harsh backlash for introducing Bill 60—a proposal that would have replaced evergreen month-to-month leases with fixed-term alternatives—which ultimately led them to withdraw it, the OSAP changes have remained in place.


The Ontario Undergraduate Student Alliance (OUSA) and College Student Alliance (CSA) surveyed students about the new OSAP changes. “Surveyed students reported that 43 percent of those pursuing an undergraduate degree rely on OSAP funding to cover more than half of the costs of completing their education. [...] 63 percent of university students stated that they were concerned about the accumulation of debt and being burdened with long-term debt after graduation.”


Ford stands by his decision, citing in an early August conference,“[T]he auditor said what we [were] giving [in grants] before was unacceptable, unsustainable.”



What does this mean for Canadian youth? 


In North American culture, education has long been recognized as the safest path to upward economic mobility, yet today, the price of a degree seems to be lifelong debt. Furthermore, while postsecondary tuition rises, entry-level roles are disappearing due to the current job shortage and companies' increased use of AI to automate tasks like data entry. Statistics Canada found that the average rate of unemployment in Canada was at 10 percent for those with Bachelor’s degrees, and nine percent for those with graduate or doctorate degrees. 


Education has also always been an avenue of opportunity for first-generation immigrants like me. My father didn't earn his engineering degree until his late 50s. My mother became a personal support worker in her early 40s. Both were in different industries before their career transitions, and those transitions wouldn’t have been possible without government support. As someone considering returning to college to complete a Master's in Fine Arts, the change in the distribution of OSAP funds would balloon my existing undergraduate loans. I don’t know if I’ll ever pay them off. 



Higher education was once seen as the solution for Canadians to gain economic stability. The Ford government’s divestment from postsecondary tuition funding sends a clear message to those living in Ontario that a cultural shift has occurred. If access to education is slowly becoming a privilege available only to the wealthy, what does that mean for young Canadians from lower-income backgrounds who want to improve their living circumstances? 


When barriers to postsecondary schools—which offer networking, training and internships—are created, this affects not just disenfranchised Canadians. Our education system needs reform, but I fear this won’t happen without a change in government and its priorities. I can only hope that the effects of this policy won’t be irreversible by the time we see these changes.


Stay tuned for the second part of this article series, which will dive into the current state of the job market and how young Canadians are finding their footing in the workforce as the U.S.-Canada trade war continues and AI replaces entry-level jobs.


Catherine Mwitta has a bachelor’s in creative writing from Kwantlen Polytechnic University and a certification in Journalism from Langara College. She is an editor at Augur Magazine and INKspire. Likewise, bylines at Stir Vancouver, SAD Mag, This Magazine, C Magazine and Bluffs Monitor.


by Mikaela Brewer ​for The 44 North, Senior Editor



after Natalie Diaz’s “Of Course She Looked Back”


In a small middle school classroom in Red Lake, Ontario, Rilla Fable was called upon to answer a question in English class. 


Cocking his head to the side, so that his ear became a funnel for her voice, Mr. Wilcox nodded as Rilla spoke. But it was clear he hadn’t heard her, for he paraphrased his own question following a kind smile. 


Rilla wasn’t one for speaking, really, at all. But Jack, who sat behind her and had turned thirteen first, said that she better be careful: Her vocal cords would surely dry out if she didn’t use them enough, catching fire like sticks rubbed together when she ever did need to speak. 


Despite what everyone else thought, her inner world wasn’t, likewise, silent. It was anything but. 


Rilla glanced out the window. The smoke was so dense that the teachers’ parking lot was no longer visible. She closed her eyes for a moment and listened: The brush fires couldn’t be seen. Nor could the snapping and cracking be heard. 


***


Rilla’s N95 mask strings were too tight, folding her ears down as she walked home from school. Her dad’s cycling sunglasses, with wraparound wind protection, didn’t block the ash from slipping behind her contact lenses. The fires weren’t far now, and the sky was thick with an orange haze that bled the sun’s light. Surely, the evacuation order would come soon. 


Rilla stopped, knelt, and thumbed a brown-singed red lily growing from the boulevard. She looked across the dry grass as she stood; the wildlife was scorched along the sidewalks. Summer gardens had scattered into crumbs across front yards. Tree leaves had withered to lace. Rilla swept a finger along her bare forearm: No sweat. The air itself seemed dead, parched in the 35-degree heat.


Taking a shortcut through a paved ravine without sidewalks, Rilla had to avoid the bluffs this time—closed to the public to delay the fire spreading. There wasn’t much foot or car traffic here, given the steep, uneven asphalt, but there was usually a wide river bisecting the road, continuing beneath it. Rilla could always hear it rushing a few hundred metres away, comforted: It always seemed to know which direction to run. But there was no sound, now. For weeks it had been nothing but a small stream, hardly even a ‘burn’ as Rilla’s Scottish grandfather would’ve called it. But nestled among it were the friendly faces she’d hoped to see—the real reason she took this shortcut.


Rilla stopped on the metal-plated bridge overlooking the river, smiling as she watched pots being filled in the stream, soon to soak and soften dried ramen noodles. The coloured tents looked like a carnival, and perhaps that wasn’t an entirely dismissive observation. Each person she’d met in the encampment had a skill to offer the group: Cooking, sewing, medicine, geography, and knowledge of safe injection sites. The difference was, no one lined up to see the brilliance they had to offer the world. Locals seemed to see them as glitches in their life: Stains, filth, and impurity. They didn’t see Tomah’s large brown hands whittling wooden brushes and spoons from fallen trees, or Mag’s knowledge of nettle, witch hazel, and willow bark, or the fact that she could make absorbent diapers. There was Jern’s dexterity with a knife and needle, crafting bandages and clothes from scraps. Arnold seemed to have a complete territorial map of the area in his head, all the way to Thunder Bay. And then there was fourteen-year-old Fariq, who made Rilla blush, and tracked the moon while he carried buckets of toothpaste water to be discarded away from the stream. Just now, he looked up from mending a shoe with thread and needle alongside Jern. His serious, dark brows unfurrowed as he smiled and nodded. Rilla nodded back, lifting her elbows from the bridge that overlooked the encampment to wave. Would they ever be seen past houselessness, or struggling with heroin, psychosis, schizophrenia, HIV, and more that Rilla hadn’t yet seen the impact of? She admired their togetherness and their skills, but quickly caught herself: They were worthy of care, belonging, food, shelter, and dignity—unconditionally.


Fariq waved to her, but it seemed sad, as if ‘goodbye’ in code. She had to go home, now. The sky was reddening. 


***


No one was home, which wasn’t unusual. As Rilla sat at the island on a bar stool, shelling pistachios, the kitchen saturated with orange light streaming in the windows. But Rilla stood to close the curtains as she did every evening: With her eyes closed, clearing shell residue from her teeth with her tongue. She didn’t want to see the sign across the street, today or any day, but just as she thought of it, the curtain clips clattered over the tension rod, and an alarming sound reverberated through the small townhouse. The evacuation order.


Rilla clamped her eyes shut and accidentally swallowed a sharp bit of shell. Her phone continued to siren, and the curtain clips seemed to reverberate their clanging in her teeth. She opened her eyes, just a crack, no wider than what was left of the burn in the ravine, and her gaze fell on the sign. One of those black and white, “Safer Ontario” signs filled with straight-faced, armed police officers in flapjackets. As the screen changed every day, it read abbreviated versions of, “Protecting Ontario neighbourhoods: Ontario is working to protect our neighbourhoods by tackling auto theft, clearing encampments, shutting down drug injection sites near schools and daycares, building more jails and strengthening the bail system, so criminals stay behind bars.”


Rilla winced, shook her head until dizziness blurred the image, and turned away.


“What do you think this means about remaining human, or finding the human spirit, in difficult times?” Mr. Wilcox had asked about Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower. 


“To grieve, prepare, and breathe,” Rilla had replied, recalling the fascinating etymology of that word ‘spirit’: The breath of life, or of God. 


There was only fire to breathe, now. Breathing would be hard—speech even harder. But Rilla’s voice had never been loud, and maybe it wasn’t a speaking voice she needed, but a quiet, generative one to disrupt the silence she longed for. One that says: Witness.


In the distance, flames cast ghostly shadows on the underbelly of the clouds. They flickered through the curtains like the sun through closed eyelids. 


What if they didn’t receive the evacuation order? Rilla wracked her brain for a memory of anyone in the encampment with a phone. 


Her rage churned from grief in her stomach, like cheese from milk. She knew her dads would be texting her that they were coming, driving towards the meeting spot they’d chosen that morning: Under the sign. It stood on two thick concrete poles above the seesaw, a sentinel on two immovable legs. 


Parallel burns streamed down Rilla’s face as she grabbed her evacuation-ready bag and walked outside, grateful, now, for the tightness of the mask.


Do they have masks?


Out the front door, Rilla could see the flames licking the treetops in the hills. Fire isn’t survivable. Rilla knew that much. It can’t be breathed, digested, or burned inside the body. But she was sure that’s what her grief felt like. Only when she was safe would she cough up the ash of all that had burned behind her. 


The anticipatory grief, it seemed, wouldn’t burn into anything but a stream in a ravine. Rilla scanned the county road her house sat on. Across the street, to the left, was the playground and the sign. To the right was the lip of the ravine. Rilla closed her eyes so tight, they squeezed out ash and salt. Hardening is human, whether into the charred bone of death, or alive into the salty-sting of regret.


Of course, when Rilla opened her eyes, she ran back.



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