They’ve traded in power suits for nap dresses. They’re raising sourdough starters instead of hell. Even Gwyneth Paltrow, once labeled the “Goop Tycoon,” now racks up hundreds of thousands of views making “boyfriend breakfasts” topless in a Tuscan kitchen. The lean-in queens of the 2000s have been replaced (or cleverly rebranded) as softgirl domestic goddesses, the “tradwives” — or traditional housewives — of today. They’re leaning out, or at least that’s what they want you to believe.
When I say tradwife, I’m talking about a wide spectrum. On one end, there’s the ultra-conservative influencer telling you — in a gauzy voiceover while feeding chickens — to submit to your man. On the other, there’s the costumed fantasy of prairie life, the aesthetic lovechild of Laura Ingalls Wilder and a J.Crew catalog. Think: gingham dresses, homemade butter and a supposed commitment to family values with a side of domestic perfection.
But peel back the pastoral filter, and you’ll find something familiar: ambition, strategy and hustle. These women aren’t stepping back. They’re embracing a different kind of power, the kind that comes with followers, affiliate links and six-figure brand deals.
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Take the MomTokers of The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, who were raised to be the quintessential helpmeets but discovered that social media attention was more intoxicating and lucrative than playing second fiddle to their husbands. They aren’t just participating in the economy of influence, they’re running it.
Tradwives are bosses in messy waves and sensible clogs. And in many cases, they’re outearning their husbands. Yet the image they sell is one of gentle submission. Of opting out and laying down. But let’s be clear: These women are working their toned butts off.
As a journalist and the author of Everyone Is Lying to You, I’ve interviewed dozens of tradwives and momfluencers. They might show you a 30-second reel of angelically making homemade Oreos with a chubby baby strapped to their chest, but behind the scenes, that moment was likely part of a coordinated photo shoot with lighting, props and a team of assistants. Some have entire staffs — photographers, editors, childcare providers — working to maintain the illusion of effortless domesticity.
With the Mormon momfluencers, we’re starting to see the paydays. Secret Lives’ Whitney Leavitt revealed that she was paid $20,000 just to promote a sex toy on her social media.
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But we are also seeing the cracks in their relationships and the behind-the-scenes grind. We’re privy to the tension, like when Mormon Wife Jen Affleck — who, like Leavitt, will be competing on season 34 of Dancing With the Stars — is the family breadwinner. The men grow resentful that their wives have become more famous, more powerful and often more financially successful than they are. We see the friction between the fantasy and the very real labor of keeping it alive.
And then there are accounts like Jasmine Darke and Ballerina Farm, arguably the crown jewel of the tradwife internet. Founded by Juilliard-trained ballerina Hannah Neeleman, the Ballerina Farm brand is Instagram catnip: sweeping shots of sourdough, barn births and windswept children running through fields. It’s rustic and aspirational. But most important, it’s a multimillion-dollar business. Neeleman sells everything from kitchen tools to farm-fresh meat subscriptions, all while delivering a message that celebrates simplicity, traditional values and self-sufficiency.
Make no mistake: this is a carefully curated, highly profitable business that’s fueled by the same hustle as any startup. Neeleman’s husband helps run the operation, but the face of the brand is Hannah — not just as a wife and a mom, but a CEO in an egg apron.
So yes, tradwives may claim they’ve opted out of the rat race. But the truth is, they’ve just found a softer, more Instagrammable lane in it, and they’re driving it all the way to the bank.
