Does This Dress Make Me Look Trad?

The TikTok trend has given puffed sleeves a whole new meaning.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in a troubling internet shopping hole. While scrolling aimlessly in the wee hours of the morning (when dopamine is low and impulsivity is high), a ruffled apron-inspired design caught my eye. This would look so cute over a skirt and tank top, I thought. Drunk on the sartorial possibilities and my own self-delusion, I worked hard to convince myself that a wildly impractical piece was, in fact, a smart and cool purchase I would in no way regret—and I almost succeeded.

The harsh light of morning brought me to my senses. What was I doing? Thinking of buying an apron? Without exaggeration, I haven’t cooked an actual meal since 2020 (unless you count my signature five-minute butter pasta). “Made from scratch” isn’t in my vocabulary, and I certainly don’t bake. I have no business owning adorable kitchen accessories, nor do I know my way around a kitchen. Does this apron obsession signify a latent desire for domesticity? Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Am I secretly trapped in a log cabin and all this living-in-an-apartment and having-a-job nonsense is part of the simulation?

After all, if I’m not a trad wife, why would I want to dress like one?

This recent apron spiral wasn’t my first dalliance with Ballerina Farm–adjacent fashion. Since the Neeleman family put the “trad wife” lifestyle on the map with their Utah estate and eight exuberant children, I’ve noticed an uncomfortable fashion overlap with my personal style. You know that polka-dotted Frankies Bikinis dress that traditional-wife-slash-food-influencer Nara Smith wore while making tomato sauce? I have back-in-stock alerts set for it. The Reformation sundresses (whatever that word means to you) favored by a certain subset of the stay-at-home mom community? My apartment is full of 'em. In fact, a lot of my go-to summer styles—puffed sleeves, below-the-knee cuts, muted florals—have become trad wife-coded since all that raw milk guzzling began on TikTok last summer.

If you’ve found yourself in a similar fashion pickle, just know that you’re not alone. “That dress scares me a little,” said a friend when confronted with a shopping link to a Picnic at Hanging Rock–worthy gown. “It’s giving trad.” Other colleagues, confidants, and fashion lovers admitted to me that they too had wondered: Does this dress make me look trad?

When it comes to trad wife fashion, you know it when you see it. Spend just a few minutes scrolling, and you’ll notice a common aesthetic emerge amongst those who bake barefoot, so to speak. Smith, a recent magazine cover star and the movement’s newly anointed fashion queen, favors mid-century polka dots, retro square necklines, and dresses trimmed in vintage lace. I counted, and she’s only worn pants twice on TikTok since the summer began (and half of those pants were pajamas).

Dresses, puffed sleeves, and sailor collars are a fashion mainstay on Ballerina Farm as well. The mother of “8 littles,” as declared in her TikTok bio, lends a certain Western flair to the trad wife outfit formula. Her ditsy florals come with a side of cowboy boots and gingham, which makes her taste in clothing more Little House on the Prairie than Betty Draper. Still, Neeleson’s style has plenty in common with TikTokers who match '50s housewife skirts to their casseroles: They all look to the past for fashion inspiration.

Femininity and conservatism unite the trad wife movement—sartorially and otherwise. It’s no surprise that those who make a living by eschewing the 9 to 5 girlboss life would favor garments from a bygone era. Victorian design details and postwar silhouettes look right at home in domestically blissed-out TikTok feeds full of seemingly well-behaved kids and freshly baked bread.

Unfortunately, anyone who shares this penchant for historically-inspired garb (like me) now runs the risk of looking more trad than rad when they reach for a floral dress or scalloped collar. You see, the puffed sleeve didn’t just fall out of a coconut tree. Fashion exists in the context of all in which you live and came before you. A dress, which might read as French cabaret star with Tuberculosis à la Moulin Rouge to me, will inevitably evoke "traditional values" and KitchenAid mixers to others with a certain case of TikTok brain rot.

Fashion is a powerful mode of self-expression, and I’m not trying to misrepresent myself as a goat cheese torte-wielding, yes dear-ing trad wife just because I fuck with ruffles. And I'd venture, neither do many people with several vintage nightgowns languishing in their closet. I’m married without children—I clock in and clock out every weekday before going home to a cat I treat more like a temperamental roommate than a baby. I work for The Man, not a man. And the last thing I want is for my outfit to say the opposite of what I believe.

To be clear, I’m not against choosing stay-at-home motherhood over the 9 to 5 grind—it’s a privilege many people toiling towards early retirement could only dream of. And no one would argue that raising several small children at once isn’t work. It’s hard work, important work, and I’d guess often more complex work than writing my silly little articles for the internet (which is no doubt a major reason I have subconsciously chosen this life). But, the trad wife trend is not all baked goods and fresh air despite what the influencers who make it look easy may want you to believe. It requires (quite literally) a fortune to maintain a sprawling property on a single income. And if you’ve never read Laura Ingalls Wilder, spoiler alert: Homesteading doesn’t usually work out.

Touting the trad life online as the only one worth living is disingenuous. Personally, I don’t want to go back to society before feminism. It gives me the ick. I love the life I’ve built for myself. My job, income, and identity are inexorably tied to living in the most densely populated city in the country where the Diet Coke index is off the charts, not some predestined fate comprised of toddlers, chickens, and geographic isolation. I’m beyond thrilled to have a credit card in my own name, the right to vote, and the luxury to decide whether or not I want to raise barnyard animals. Unlike most “traditional” women throughout history, I had (and continue to have) options.

So, if I wear a frilly frock to the Greenpoint farmer’s market, I don't need (or want) the never-ending trad wife discourse giving people the wrong idea. But what's a girl to do? Upcycle all her poplin? Donate her hard-earned vintage? Personally, I refuse to let the internet win.

It’s time to embrace the humor in all of this. Part of what attracted me to so-called “trad” fashion to begin with was the inherent irony—I think it's funny to wear an apron to pick up takeout for the fourth night in a row from my favorite Thai place. Typing away at my sad, undecorated desk in a floor-length Victorian nightgown amidst the corporate murmurs of FiDi tickles my fancy. I like a good joke, and my outfits are no exception.

That sense of mischief is an integral part of my personal style, and the only way to un-trad my vintage dress collection is to lean in. Sometimes, that means wearing the ugliest sneakers I own with handmade lace. Other times, it's enough to layer a pair of dirty, baggy jeans under a flower-covered frock from the ‘70s. A bit of contrast, a touch of the unexpected, and some much-needed masculine energy can make even a long-sleeved, puffed-to-the-heavens, full-skirted, below-the-knees, Salem Witch Trial-esque dress look far off the farm. And when all else fails, maybe it’s time to invest in some Tabis? Nothing says “non-traditional” like a pair of split-toed boots in a freaky color.

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