Social media has transformed feminism into a set of contrasting lifestyle trends: The ambitious, career-driven “girlboss” and the traditionally submissive “tradwife.” The girlboss celebrates financial independence and corporate success, while the tradwife aesthetic romanticizes domesticity and submission to male authority. At first glance, these figures seem to be in direct opposition, yet they share a fundamental similarity—they both commodify womanhood, reducing it to a rigid performance that aligns with broader political and economic ideologies. Although these aesthetics promise empowerment, they are mere illusions of autonomy within a system that dictates the boundaries of female agency. The rise of the girlboss and tradwife archetypes creates a false choice: either reinforce neoliberal capitalism or promote reactionary conservatism. Both choices shape young women’s political identities and distance feminism from its core goal of collective liberation.
The girlboss archetype emerged in the 2010s as a cultural phenomenon that framed financial success and corporate ambition as the ultimate expressions of female empowerment. Coined by entrepreneur Sophia Amoruso in her 2014 book, #Girlboss, the term celebrated women who sought leadership roles, launched businesses, and broke barriers in traditionally male-dominated industries. The movement aligned closely with neoliberal feminism, which prioritizes individual freedom and achievement over collective action, suggesting that gender equality could be attained through personal effort rather than systemic reform. This ideology fit seamlessly into the logic of late-stage capitalism, encouraging women to embrace hustle culture and professional ambition as their primary means of empowerment.
However, the girlboss narrative began to unravel by the late 2010s, as critics pointed out that corporate feminism does not necessarily lead to meaningful social progress. While the movement encouraged women to “lean in” and push for leadership positions, it did little to challenge systemic sexism. Women still earn 84 cents for every dollar a man makes, and although the overall gender pay gap has slightly reduced, it has widened for women of color compared to white men. The success stories that the girlboss narrative exalts are those of already privileged, predominantly white women—individuals who had access to resources, networks, and opportunities not available to most. Climbing the corporate ladder may offer individual women more power and independence, but it does not dismantle the broader systemic barriers that keep most women economically disadvantaged. Many prominent girlboss figures instead perpetuated the same workplace inequalities they claimed to fight against.
A more transformative framework should center collective liberation over personal advancement. While the girlboss movement has helped normalize female leadership and encouraged women to enter male-dominated fields, these gains remain superficial if power structures remain unchanged. The girlboss may break the glass ceiling for a select few, but she does not dismantle the walls of oppression that keep most women excluded. As bell hooks reminds us, feminism must be a collective struggle aimed at reshaping society, not just a pathway for individual success. True empowerment comes from dismantling oppressive systems, not simply navigating them more efficiently.
The political climate of the late 2010s and early 2020s played a significant role in the decline of the girlboss. Girlboss arose at a time when neoliberal ideals were dominant, emphasizing individual empowerment, free-market capitalism, and personal responsibility as paths to success. The post-Covid-19 rise of leftist critiques of capitalism, particularly among younger generations, fueled skepticism toward neoliberal feminism. Additionally, the 2016 presidential election, in which Hillary Clinton became the first woman to run for president as a major party candidate, revealed deep-seated misogyny in the political landscape. Clinton’s defeat served as a stark reminder that the structures of power were still resistant to gender equality, undermining the idea that women could simply “lean in” and succeed within the existing political and economic system.
The pandemic further exposed the flaws in the girlboss ideology, as millions of women bore the brunt of unemployment and increased domestic responsibilities. Research from the National Women’s Law Center found that women, particularly women of color, were disproportionately affected by job losses, exacerbating wage gaps. The Covid-19 pandemic and its resulting economic downturn further heightened awareness of burnout, leading to a broader rejection of hustle-driven mentalities. As younger generations grew disillusioned with capitalism’s demands, the girlboss lost her appeal, giving way to alternative narratives about work, success, and feminism. This shift illustrates how political and economic instability shape feminist discourse, reinforcing the idea that gender empowerment cannot be separated from the material conditions in which women live.
In contrast to the girlboss, the tradwife (traditional wife) movement has gained popularity in recent years, romanticizing 1950s-style domesticity. Wealthy influencers on platforms such as TikTok and Instagram present homemaking, raising children, and submission to male authority as aspirational lifestyles. The pandemic exacerbated job insecurity, and many women found themselves overwhelmed by the demands of work and childcare. As a result, some women began to reject the idea of working outside the home, while others were forced to leave the workforce to take on full-time homemaking responsibilities. However, the tradwife movement is not just an economic response: It is deeply embedded in broader conservative political shifts. The rise of populist leaders like Donald Trump, alongside the resurgence of far-right movements, has fueled the idealization of rigid gender roles and traditional nuclear family structures. Online tradwife communities often overlap with conservative reactionary ideologies that oppose feminism, LGBTQ+ rights, and reproductive justice movements, positioning traditional gender roles as a solution to perceived social decline.
By selling conservatism as an aesthetic rather than an ideology, the tradwife movement makes regressive gender politics feel personal, beautiful, and aspirational. Many women discover the tradwife aesthetic through visually appealing content—soft-focus videos of baking, vintage dresses, and slow living. This seemingly harmless escapism can lead viewers toward deeper engagement with conservative talking points. Algorithmic reinforcement then exposes the audience to content criticizing feminism, supporting traditional family policies, and endorsing far-right political figures. Once someone starts desiring this lifestyle, they may gradually absorb the belief that traditional gender roles are not just preferable, but necessary for social stability, drawing them further into conservative worldviews.
The tradwife movement’s emphasis on financial dependence on men is not only unrealistic but also threatens women’s economic stability and personal autonomy. Built on white, upper-middle-class values, this vision perpetuates the false notion that a return to single-income households is achievable for all. In reality, many families live paycheck to paycheck, and over 75 percent of millennials are part of a dual-career couple just to make ends meet. Encouraging women to rely entirely on their partner for financial security creates power imbalances within relationships. If a woman is entirely financially dependent on her partner, she may find herself without the means to leave or support herself in the event of divorce, loss of a partner’s income, or other unforeseen circumstances. Moreover, many of these tradwife influencers actually monetize their content, selling homemaking courses and books, promoting products, and partnering with brands, all while presenting themselves as existing outside the corporate system. This contradiction highlights the movement’s performative nature: While tradwives advocate for a return to “simpler times,” they engage in digital entrepreneurship that depends on the very market forces they seem to oppose. Just as the girlboss commodifies feminism, the tradwife commodifies anti-feminism, turning traditional gender roles into a profitable online brand.
While some may argue that homemaking is a personal choice and part of women’s empowerment, this narrative often overlooks the systemic inequalities that shape these choices. Women’s unpaid domestic labor has historically been undervalued, and by ignoring how economic privilege allows some women to stay home while others must work out of necessity, the tradwife narrative reinforces these inequalities. The issue is not with individual women choosing homemaking, but with the way the tradwife movement presents this choice as universally attainable and inherently superior, while profiting from an idealized version of traditional womanhood. Like the girlboss movement, the tradwife ideal commodifies women’s labor and identity. By treating gender roles as a lifestyle brand rather than addressing the structural issues that create them, the tradwife movement encourages women to disengage from broader political struggles, reinforcing a pattern where systemic oppression is overlooked when it doesn’t directly affect one’s privileged position.
The girlboss and tradwife archetypes serve as cultural reflections of their respective political climates, each responding to economic and social anxieties in different ways. The girlboss flourished in an era of neoliberal optimism, while the tradwife gained traction amid rising conservative backlash. Though they appear to offer women opposing visions of empowerment, both reinforce ideological systems that maintain existing hierarchies. They offer illusions of choice—one packaged in capitalist ambition, the other in nostalgic domesticity—while in reality both represent idealized, privileged lifestyles that are not universally attainable. Their obsession with individual success and aesthetics distances feminism from its foundational goal of collective transformation. True liberation comes not from choosing between two narrow models of womanhood, but from dismantling the systems that perpetuate inequality, prioritizing solidarity and mutual support in the pursuit of social, economic, and political change.