Content warning: This article mentions a misogynistic slur.

An impeccably dressed woman glides through her spotless, Pinterest-like kitchen — you’ve seen the video. In a raspy, composed voice, she paints a picture of domestic bliss and details how she fulfills her family’s every wish with a perfect smile.

The internet is enthralled with the thin, beautiful woman who dedicates her life to cooking from scratch for her husband and children. Is it as debilitatingly clichéd as a hallmark movie, or is it mildly horrifying like watching a slow-motion train wreck? Either way, you can’t look away.

In the era of the pantsuit’s victory over the pin-up girl, how did we end up here? Are we merely longing for a simpler time, or are we aggressively chipping away at the scabs of the hard-won freedoms we’ve fought for?

An old idea in a new shape

At first glance, the tradwife’s wants and needs don’t stray too far from those of her husband and children. After all, the allure of domesticity is not relegated to its duties — it’s about the fantasy of a simpler life, free from the pressures of modernity — and who wouldn’t trade in their existential dread for the simple worry of serving perfectly timed and organic dinners every night? 

Let’s take TikTok star Nara Smith as an example. In her impeccably styled home, with her uniquely-named children, supermodel husband, and egregiously expensive fashion tastes, she insists on making everything for her family “from scratch.” When her husband wants a glass of Coca-Cola or a piece of gum, she whips it right up in a bespoke Chanel outfit. This work has even led Smith to a brand deal with Marc Jacobs, in which she carefully and demurely “bakes” their tote from scratch. 

Pretty good for a “simple” housewife, right?

This isn’t the case for Smith. While she portrays herself as a housewife only, perched in a home as immaculately composed and gentle as her own demeanour, one would never guess that Smith has been a top model since age 14. She is a working mom like any other, and says her culinary excursions are simply for her enjoyment and not the mark of brutal subservience to her husband, which a significant swathe of her critics seem to want to believe. “It’s really not that deep,” she said in response.

So, maybe the tradwife has some dimension, some hopes and dreams sprinkled throughout. Maybe, she dresses up to play house for fun. But, in this age of social loafing and globalization, no one can really make anything “from scratch” — in fact, it’s somewhat foolish to even try.

Here lies a far more interesting truth for this tradwife: far from being a victim of her domestic duties and outdated interests, she is a strategic operator — a master manipulator carefully leveraging her wifely role and our unsanctioned pity for her as part of a calculated marketing strategy, with the same calculated finesse that top business executives use to navigate the domestic economy.

The art of domestic manipulation 

Smith knows she is being extra and inaccessible when she hand-slices, juices, and individually packs her children’s homemade Kool-Aid pouches instead of just reaching for the store-bought option. She knows that, at her level of fame and influence, there is no reason she couldn’t pay for organic dupes of anything her family might wish to consume. 

She knows that feeding and tending to her children is labour — unpaid, stereotypically ‘womanly,’ and thankless labour, but work nonetheless. And that’s why she gets paid for it. She’s tapped into a profitable niche, with her viewers comprising those who champion her as a model of traditional femininity and those who criticize her as a throwback to anti-feminist ideals. Every outraged podcaster, glowing endorsement, and brand deal contributes to her bottom line, allowing her to profit directly from the nostalgic allure of femininity, even as debates rage around her image.

As the cultural pendulum swings from wild hedonism to wistful domesticity, Smith profits from men’s fantasy of the ‘perfect’ wife and mother, à la Paris Hilton, who famously navigated her public “dumb” and “bimbo” persona between the realm of glamour and the image of domestic bliss, through her later ventures in cooking and home lifestyle branding. 

Fooled by a pretty smile

The tradwife ideal is not just an isolated or humorous trend, but reflects broader cultural conversations about gender, power, and identity. In one view, she is a puppet of societal expectations, a victim of subliminal brainwashing, while in another, her perhaps outdated love of domesticity is a harmless expression of free will. A third, more nuanced view, however, puts the tradwife in a new light: she is the puppet master herself, profiting from the men’s fantasy she plays into.

Whether mired in controversy or wired for success, the tradwife is the output of an increasingly globalized world reflected in the tiny microcosm of the internet, and our fascination with her is an opportunity to explore the myriad paradoxes of femininity in the twenty-first century. As we peel back the layers of this specific phenomenon and its roots in female oppression, we get to explore whether and how beauty, simplicity, and domesticity can be harnessed and cultivated in today’s culture.