top of page

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 Mikaela Brewer for The 44 North, Senior Editor


Neist Point Lighthouse on the Isle of Skye, Scotland.
Neist Point Lighthouse on the Isle of Skye, Scotland.

In Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, there’s a twenty-page chapter where the characters disappear from the stage. Time passes in the 1920s, and we witness their summer home on the Isle of Skye, Scotland, begin its return to the Earth.


That same decade, outside the world of novels but a sure-footed setting for one, a small red brick house was built up the hill from Kempenfelt Bay. A century later, it will be forked from the ground—expropriated for a freeway expansion in a small town.


At the marina in Barrie, Ontario, I rest my elbows on a rock large enough to reach my chest. I look up the hill, now Bayfield Street (Hwy 26); I can see the chimney of that red brick house—my great-grandmother’s, now my grandmother’s.


Before I climb to it, likely for the last time, my eyes glaze over with memory film: The gardens of rhubarb, baby spinach, blackberries, mint, chokecherries, strawberries, and milkweed; the blue rope swing; the heartier, yellow rope swing as my limbs lengthened in youth; the tarp sheds with bicycles of every size; going to school smelling of roasts, homemade fries, and soaking sauce pans when we stayed over on weeknights; my grandpa’s floor-to-ceiling toolshop, converted from an electrician’s testing room; my grandma’s dress design studio, like an autumn forest made of fabric and buttons, where my 8th grade graduation dress was sewn by hand.


In Underland: A Deep Time Journey, Robert Macfarlane writes: “Into the underland we have long placed that which we fear and wish to lose, and that which we love and wish to save.”


From Underland by Robert Macfarlane
From Underland by Robert Macfarlane

His words linger: I recall the caves, tunnels, underground rivers, and mycelial-root networks he writes of over 500 pages of travel in the “underland.” Unlike the home ashore the Isle of Skye, my grandma’s house will be torn from the ground with tongs designed to shred and destroy. No one, even outside of our family, will inherit it. The parts that came from the Earth—which are many, given when it was built—will not return home. And I realize, quite suddenly as I’m writing this in my notebook at the marina, that I can’t be the artist this time. Maybe there are moments in our lives where no human can be…  


It’s another who makes us again and again. We seem to remain one of their favourite things to sculpt and paint. They know, though, to flinch from us; monarch butterflies, crows, and red foxes dip back into the woods at the sound of our footfall. They lick their wounds and stitch them with moss, lichen, limestone, and mushrooms. They conceal what’s been taken and gouged from them with water and goldenrod. But they aren’t graceful in their grief or rage—as much as we expect them to be. 


I wonder now: Do humans create environmental disasters, or are they in fact the Earth creating—trying to forge art from ever-violent wounds? As we’re responsible for those wounds, our dis-ease with their art—that erupts, explodes, crashes, or drowns—is inevitable.


My family were Scottish settlers on Anishinaabeg land, first among the Ojibwe on Manitoulin Island. What’s happening now to my family’s home has repeated over, and over, and over again—across the Americas, the Congo, Sudan, Palestine, Iran, Lebanon, and beyond. It’s still happening, and no, white families aren’t safe—no matter their ‘allegiances.’ 



When we ravage a body with the claws of an empire, how can we be surprised that its art is revolutionary, radical, abolitionist? An earthquake, a tsunami, a hurricane blooming inside the rawest flesh. 


Like those of us fighting to live in hope’s lane rather than despair’s, Earth processes the only way they know how: Art. And wounds, we know, will wound—especially the most vulnerable.


How can we not spotlight them as the artist—as only defined by the attempts on their life? 


I trust them, wholeheartedly, to hold and remember the memories I can’t—in their soil alongside the Anishinaabeg peoples’. I trust them with “that which [I] love and wish to save.” Even paved over, I must believe something remains intact. 


And when Earth crafts their art in quakes and floods, the shape of rhubarb gardens and children’s bicycles, to the beat of a rope swing well-broken in, will we see it for what it is? Earth as the only artist to follow into the fray, because if they’re an artist, then so are we.

by Alaina Zhang ​for The 44 North, Newsletter & Reviews Editor


Via Sixth Tone
Via Sixth Tone
“One must have integrity—those without it are not worth knowing.” —Ye ShuRou, From Dear You (2026)

Growing up, I often wondered about my family’s history. The tales of lost generations and ancestors seemed to reside behind a screen of mist. I liked to ask my parents about their youth, what my hometown was like back then, and compare it with the history I’d learned myself. Sometimes the two accounts stand in stark contrast. Other times, they’re a mirror. Either way, these tales always had a mythical quality, as if they belonged in an otherworldly space and time. 


Watching the 2026 Chinese film Dear You with my family made me feel similarly. Dear You follows the journey of a grandson from Chao Shan, China, who ventures to Thailand in search of a grandpa he’s never met. What this journey unveils is a series of buried history between three characters—his grandmother Ye ShuRou, his grandfather Zheng MuSheng, and a mysterious woman named Xie NanZhi.


When the film begins, it has been forty years since Zheng MuSheng’s last letter to Ye ShuRou, in which a single photo of an unfamiliar woman and a group of kids is enclosed. Therefore, throughout the past forty years, Ye ShuRou has held onto the belief that Xie NanZhi, the woman in the photo, is Zheng MuSheng’s second wife in Thailand. From then on, all correspondence has halted between the family in China and Thailand. 



Instead, the truth is that Zheng MuSheng died a few years after arriving in Thailand, and Ye ShuRou had been a great friend of his there, helping him draft letters back home. The film depicted a history I had never known. Due to the Chinese Civil War, many ‘peasants’ decided to cross the ocean to Southeast Asia in search of better opportunities, and Zheng MuSheng, although a fictional character in the film, embodied that experience. 


Having grown up watching many Chinese films, I’ve realized just how entangled the history of a nation is with the personal fates of individuals. The era in which characters reside often determines the trajectory of their lives. Hence, lost relatives, untold family narratives, and misunderstandings are not rare occurrences. Each family has its own secrets and regrets—as China lurches forward, the ghosts of its past don’t simply disappear. 


At the same time, I was drawn to the film’s portrayal of literacy and education in tandem with immigration and family. Because many Chinese immigrants were illiterate, those who could read and write took up the responsibility to not only teach those who couldn’t, but help them draft letters back home. While Zheng MuSheng doesn’t know how to read, he’s the one who encourages Xie NanZhi, someone with Chao Shan heritage who grew up in Thailand, to learn the language and eventually become a teacher. Xie NanXhi then goes on to draft many letters for him to send back home to Ye Shurou. These literate individuals were crucial in leaving a written documentation and archive of just how much loved ones missed each other across the wide ocean that divided them. 



Dear You is a film about family, history, and education. But it’s also a film about two women and a man. What I loved most about it was the director’s intentional decision to steer clear of the idea that Xie NanZhi and Zheng MuSheng harboured romantic feelings for each other, making that Xie NanZhi’s motive for helping Zheng MuSheng write letters home. Instead, I appreciated the fact that while Zheng MuSheng was the thread that tied the characters together, all three protagonists are central to the story. Even after Zheng MuSheng dies, the string remains intact, and the two women meet each other in Thailand in their old age at the end of the film.


This simple narrative depicts an unconventional love story that’s so prevalent yet rarely portrayed in popular media. “Love stories” aren’t always about a couple—they can be about two friends, two families, people of the same origin in a foreign place, or even strangers who have never met. By defying gender norms, this story helped me see through the mysticism of stories from the past and how relationships between strong men and women were not always soap opera romances, but rather examples of incredible strength, mutual aid, and collective care that we can all learn from and lean on today. And even though times have changed, the medium of letter writing throughout Dear You shows how writing and language continue to be a beautiful way for people to connect and to express their love for each other. Sitting next to candlelight and reading the handwritten words from a loved one helps bridge the vast distance and time that stands in between. 

 

Sometimes, there’s no real villain in our past—only a series of unfortunate circumstances, misunderstandings, and lost voices amongst the rushing tide of history.

 

bottom of page