This morning, I asked my toddlers what they wanted for breakfast, and they said…
I’m sure you can already tell who I’m alluding to. Did you also hear that sentence in a hushed, slow tempo, accompanied by the gentle rhythm of a piano playing in the background? Because I certainly did.
Here’s the thing: it seems like Nara Smith is having a lot of fun playing house. And honestly, I don’t blame her. Over the past year, she’s crafted a striking persona, arguably pioneering a new genre of picturesque lifestyle content on TikTok. At just 23, she’s painted motherhood as something lavish, with a marriage so sweet it might give you a cavity. From her modeling career to her curated wardrobe, everything about her is undeniably idealistic.
But let’s not kid ourselves: Every detail of her digital presence feels meticulously calculated and overwhelmingly performative. Smith doesn’t even scratch the surface of the “trad wife” movement, a trend that has swept across social media. This movement romanticizes and commodifies a rustic, old-fashioned lifestyle, offering a supposed sense of fulfillment that hinges on returning to orthodox gender roles.
What these narratives often omit is the immense economic privilege and hidden labor required to sustain this illusion of perfection. For influencers like Smith, choosing to be a stay-at-home mom isn’t just a personal decision — it’s a highly profitable branding strategy. The pristine homes, perfectly styled outfits and gourmet meals that populate their profiles are often made possible by significant financial resources. Behind the scenes, this lifestyle frequently depends on the invisible labor of others — nannies, cleaners and sometimes personal chefs — or the financial support of a partner.
Moreover, these influencers monetize their domesticity. Sponsored posts, brand deals and merchandise allow them to turn their carefully curated lives into lucrative businesses. Being a “trad wife” isn’t simply a lifestyle; it’s a product they sell to millions of followers. This commodification creates an unattainable standard for many women, presenting a fantasy that few can afford to replicate while profiting from the illusion that anyone could achieve it with enough effort.
The issue goes deeper than the aesthetic. It’s here where we see the limitations of choice feminism come into focus. Choice feminism suggests that any decision made by a woman, as long as it is framed as her personal choice, is inherently feminist. Yet Smith and influencers like her expose the hollowness of this idea. Their curated, hyper-feminine lifestyles are presented as empowering because they are “chosen,” but these choices exist within the narrow framework of privilege, wealth and traditional gender roles.
It raises the question: How empowering is a choice when it’s tethered to performative femininity, societal expectations and economic privilege? By framing their lifestyles as empowering, these influencers sidestep larger critiques of systemic inequities that make such choices unattainable — or even undesirable — for many. Instead of challenging the structures that constrain women, they repackage traditional gender roles as aspirational, further entrenching those very norms under the guise of personal freedom.
This framework also obscures the economic and labor implications of the “trad wife” lifestyle. The romanticization of homemaking and domesticity erases the fact that most women cannot afford to make these “choices” without significant privilege. The unpaid labor of homemaking — cooking, cleaning and childcare — remains undervalued in society, and for many women, these roles are not aspirational but obligatory. By glossing over this reality, influencers perpetuate a harmful narrative that conflates privilege with empowerment.
Ultimately, by glamorizing a lifestyle inherently dependent on wealth and invisible labor, influencers like Smith distort the realities of domesticity, creating an ideal that most women cannot — and should not be expected to — achieve. Their polished presentations elevate a brand of feminism that uplifts the privileged few while reinforcing the very systems that limit true freedom for the rest. True empowerment lies in challenging these structures, not commodifying them as aspirational. Without this deeper interrogation, the curated perfection of influencers remains little more than a façade.
Aima Raza is a sophomore in the School of Industrial and Labor Relations. She can be reached at [email protected].