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In the sinister annals of the men's rights activist internet back in 2017, an alt-right personality called Matt Forney popularized the term, or depending on your outlook, slur, “tradthot.” According to Forney, a “tradthot” (a portmanteau of “tradwife” and “thot”) was a woman who entered the alt-right pretending to believe in traditional gender roles but, in reality, wanted to exploit a male-dominated audience by catering to their fantasies.  Forney, although not well-known for his charitable views about women at the time — he's since repented, naturally — may have been onto something.

“Dear White Staffers”, an Instagram account that blew up just a couple of years ago for reporting alleged mistreatment of staff on Capitol Hill, is now under fire from some members of the progressive left for allegedly engaging in performative activism. The account joined Instagram in 2020 and quickly built a reputation for being a place where congressional staffers could anonymously share horror stories about their offices and dissuade others from joining toxic work environments. The account has more than 100,000 followers and is closely watched by members of Congress — and now the Biden administration, as White House employees have started making their own submissions to the “Dear White Staffers” DMs.

T​​he hottest new influencer isn't the gym bro or food guru. It’s the affiliate marketing mom of two working from her pool deck. If you’ve stumbled upon her Instagram, she’s most likely bragging about her two-hour workday and the new house she just bought with her six-figure income stream. And you know she's got a link in her bio directing you to the class she took to learn it all.   These new "entrepreneurs" are flooding social media. Some have just a dozen followers, others hundreds of thousands. But they are all part of a new scheme that promises to make you millions working from home as a freelance marketer. The catch — the course they're selling is how they're making their money; they're not actually using it to build a business. And their advice for you?

In a spacious, eighth floor apartment on Pennsylvania Avenue, just a few blocks from Capitol Hill, you will find a consultant. Of course you will; Washington, DC is a town filled with and built for consultants. This particular one, in a checked shirt and tweed jacket and charged with a genuine enthusiasm for life rarely seen among people in their twenties, is named Anthony Polcari. A Bostonian that loves his mother and makes a mean salmon dish would usually slip under the radar. But Anthony, better known as Tony P thanks to his Instagram handle @_tonypindc, has been in the capital for just under twelve months and is already the talk of the town. When I walked around downtown DC with him, we were periodically stopped for selfies by adoring fans.

As I was on FaceTime with Caroline Calloway, the Washington Post published a review of her memoir, Scammer, alongside one of a book written by her archnemesis, ex-best friend and former love interest, Natalie Beach. From her squealing — and the way her phone was blowing up with calls from friends who’d read the piece — I could make an educated guess about its contents. “Beach is a talented essayist with a promising career ahead of her. Calloway is a lunatic who has already written a masterpiece,” Calloway read, with an emphasis on “lunatic” and a twinkle in her eye. “At one point they call Natalie quote unquote, good enough. And honestly, that is so brutal in its own fucking way,” she told me. The Post was right.

A woman behind a popular Instagram meme account, @manicpixie.transgirl, with 34,900 followers, this week admitted that she had been “transfishing.” In other words: she was a cis woman who had been lying the whole time about being trans. Welcome to the other side of the coin of the very similar, controversial “transtrending”: when people pretend to be transgender without altering their appearance. For example, a gender-conforming man who claims he is a transgender woman for attention or pity may be a “transtrender,” where a natal woman who purposefully dresses or speaks in a particular way and claims she is trans is a “transfisher.

If you ask anybody under twenty about their life plan, social media will likely play some part in the answer. A friend’s nine-year-old son has just launched his own YouTube channel. My prepubescent cousins are telling their parents that TikTok is “the key to financial freedom.” When I was their age, my entrepreneurial skills went as far as selling single cigarettes to my classmates for loose change. The appeal of the influencer life isn’t hard to understand. Over the last decade, it’s been touted as the sexy, well-paid, democratic career of the future. A 2019 Morning Consult survey found that one in ten young people consider themselves “influencers.” But now these micro-celebrities are trading in their tripods and ring-lights for real jobs.

Estee Williams was studying meteorology at college when she dropped out to follow her dream: being a stay-at-home housewife. Now, while spending her days packing her husband’s lunchbox and scrubbing the skirting boards, she films videos for TikTok in flowy dresses where she promotes a return to "traditional" values. Think Betty Draper minus the melancholy. She is the figurehead of the #tradwife movement. If you’re not familiar, the online tradwives are the product of a marriage between Instagram models and Fifties TV moms. They reject however many waves of feminism there are now and long for a return of the traditional nuclear family that once existed in America (for maybe forty years).