Adventures in Tradwifery
Reporting live from the 2025 trad husband application.
Picture this: I’m looking for a sweet trad husband with emotional and financial stability. I’m looking for security.
I have gone, I hath goon, thru the diverse and varied spinny carousel of men as a woman dating in LA.
I love my
AI generated NPC hypebeast cholo bf.
I slept good next to him. Out of all the men I’ve dated in my life, I was most comfortable sleeping next to him. He helped me restore a sense of safety. NPC ai generated boyfriend showing up at my door like I just ordered him. He show up on Friday and leave on Sunday.
I love my
clout chasing wannabe perfume influencer wishes he was kinky Purse Boy. The sneaky slimy situationship fat balding and ugly who left my purse in a bar but that’s a story for a further down the line Cyberhorny gossip news report column.
Picture this. You are with your nepo baby fluffy soyboy cuck bf at a party in one of his family’s houses and moment of surrealism overcomes you at the house in the Hollywood hills with the insane view from above, my head spinning as he says “but we’re not in the 1%” and days later he sits on the edge of the bed “I’m so overwhelmed” when the topic of marriage comes up.
I love my
sweet schizophrenic philosophy major college bf who visits me in my dreams sometimes so I can bail him out of jail. I do, because I really love him. Wellness check at his house tho.
Picture this: he says “I have a strong urge to marry you right now”. You wish your virginity could grow back so he can take it.
Life is all about balance. Tox and Detox and Retox. One thing destroys you so the next thing can repair you. An injury, a surgery, a restorative process, another injury. The booze, and the hangover, next night’s booze. Work, and then weekend, work again. Tired, then sleep, then wake up, then get tired, then sleep. Hungry, eat, hungry again, eat again. Breakfast lunch and dinner. Toilet. K hole.
I’ve never understood balance, try as I might.
This is my first year after the pandemic being single.
2019 Purse boy,
2020 I was really sick and heartbroken,
2021-2022 guy,
2023-2024 boy,
2025 first husband,
2026 just me.
April 2025 I made my husband application, a google form posted to some select socials. It got a lot of applicants so I triaged to choose one. Kevin2. We tried it, it was a wonderful experience but it didn’t work out, I need to be alone for a while and am probably not emotionally romantically available.
Kevin 2: name has been changed to protect the victim.
If you know me well or even tangentially or even heard other ppl gossip and shit talk me you’ve probably heard she is annoying wanna be trad wife , what’s this about trad husband stuff, trad this, trad that, trad this and that. Yes it’s true. My goal and dream and intention was for my husband to wife me up, and once I got wifed up I’d get offline. Off the grid, trad and true. A stay at home mom. Slay at home quirked up artist trophy wife.
Picture this. You’re sitting across from him at yamashiro and he calls you “my wife.”
Picture this. You’re texting each other memes and he calls you “my vaping wife.”
Pardon me while I swoon.
It comes as no surprise the first story in my book Ultimate Fantasy is a fever dream of being a SAHM and submissive breedable fertile trad wife.
Tiktok and youtube “tradwives” aren’t actually trad at all. We all know this.
Picture this. You have a trad-pandering bread-making chirrun-rearing tiktok account with 2.2m followers and your donothing punkass mf of a “man” wants to call himself a provider and you a trad wife. You are still the girl boss sis.
Picture this. If you can. A woman having several many facets to her personality, lives she has lived, things she wants to do, many of which contradict each other. Commit to me. Commit me to the puffy place.
It didn’t start out with the intention of being a social experiment, it was a sincere attempt to find a husband online with a particular screening process. However there was some interesting data. Interesting but not surprising— guys in LA, in California even, did not apply to this form and did not want a tradwife. Midwest, non-NY east coast, even Europe - but no California or LA. No southwest side coastal seamen. Sorry.
The sailors? Sailing. The fish? Cooked. The emotions? Raw.
I was overwhelmed with the responses and some of the men's sincerity and sincereness and earnest wish to find a wife brought me to tears. After guys avoiding marriage like commitment worse than the plague, I had found reprieve. I decided to judge my future husband on the most important factors: appearance/pics, proximity, and income. Stability is CRUCIAL. Richness isn’t as important as intention. As we all well know, billionaires and millionaires can be stingy. But a beautiful consistent six figure paycheck paired with the desire to have a wife and care for her and have her care for him, is the sweet spot. Imo.
I need him to be deployed.
I need to greet him when he returns home.
Picture this: I am smiling. For real real.
Ok so eenie meenie tradhusbandy moe, I skimmed the 200+ applicants and based on my triangulated criteria found a one (1) single solo only one (1) wonderful guy and actually he was the only one (1) 1️⃣ as established of the list of applicants I’d emailed. I did a photo shoot with my friend at this time with a blue dress and seal plush in her red opium den room. I emailed him a few elegant pics of me from the shoot.
We did a zoom, which turned into a facetime lasting several hours.
We then facetimed several times a week and texted almost daily.
He flew me out to visit him in the PNW.
He visited me in LA.
Then I had to think.
I FTd him like, idk about this. On paper everything is perfect but long distance is difficult and I don’t know if I can do this. I just couldn't. I apologized profusely.
He then sent me a message: Nastya, collaborate on this iphone note. My initial thought was ...never seen that before lol... but ok. Like it could have just been a pdf or long message, waat ?. But I respected it. Because I respect him.
At the end of the day, it didn’t work out. Still, I forever adore and respect my trad first husband. Kevin baby you changed my life!!!
There is the adage ‘when you know you know’ and I didn’t know and I didn’t want to disrespect him by stringing him along. How cruel that is. I've been on the receiving end od that and it's worse than CIA water torture. Waffling. Kevin2 didn’t waffle so I wouldn’t either.
Truly tho he did change my mind about men like that not existing. I thought for the longest time that men were evil bums. And maybe in LA they are. But LA is not the whole world. Realistically I will probably have to relocate but I am not ready for that yet. Cyberhorny and my art will continue as well domestically or internationally (if my japanese salaryman finds me well) because my trad salaryhusband will also give me freedom as I give him respect. And after all, I had to remind myself of the company slogan:
Cyberhorny: a safe space for men.
Ultimate Fantasy was churned out ragefully typing on my laptop after a breakup and channeling my tradwife dreams onto the page.
Traditions in adultèry require the tender tightrope of respect vs disrespect. I respect my husband so I will not leave him or sleep with others. I will bravely and courageously file for divorce. Some soyboy shouldvestayedasneakylink situationship? Bitch cheat on him already. Men should not be stingy nor idle. Commit felonious adultery and leave him. Become an unsafe space for unsafe men. Protect the safe ones. The 1% of the 0.01% isn’t billionaires – it’s kindness and understanding and compassion within men.
When I find my japanese salaryman who wants to marry a traditional russian beauty.
O.O
I do want to be wifed up. One day. What is this lack of desire for love in the present moment? I have not felt the urge to be romantic. Right now, the love of my life, is my life.
Picture this: stingy sugardaddy Jobe brings over the coconut oil and it smells so disgusting you can't do this anymore even for the 6k$ a month for brief weekly dates in which the negotiation was reminiscent of the stingy heir who wanted to "litigate and relitigate" the arguments of the relationship like yall know big words but are dumb as bricks. SHUT UP.
The economics of romance is sometimes kindness and generosity feels like 10 million dollars and a man throwing a wad of cash you feels like every balance in every psychic deposit box has just been overdrawn. So no, rich men and heirs are not where it's at. Kind, stable, quiet, chillin in their own lane, generous men are where it's at. They are very rare, and at this point I would rather be alone. I want to be alone. Oh but I want so much more than that. I am a demanding, materialistic, obsessive, compulsive, bitchy, diva. And I am also not that at all.
I want the Lush Snow Fairy gift set
I want to go the the versace mansion miami
I want to go to the Madonna inn
I WANT TO GO TO JAPAN
I want to go blonde pastel hair again
Who wants to make my dreams come true 💕
It has been established that I don’t grind hustle strive lock in. My artistic output moves at its own pace when it needs to. Sometimes slowly, sometimes at hyperspeed. It would be disingenuous to churn out rot for the algorithm – which just makes me want to do it more!!!!!!! The cyberhorny datacenter is now open.
I won the lottery
When you win the lottery to buy tickets...
MCR
Animal Collective
Bright Eyes
Dj shadow
Radiohead
A cornucopia of white dangerous
So why do I want this tradwife and salaryhusband life so badly. Growing up poor in one of the most expensive cities in the world felt like crawling on the outside of the glass box or the bell jar of sorts or a calculus I can’t solve cracking the code with my fingernails breaking against the glass looking at everyone on the inside with a desperation to join a club the intheglassbox club that by design keeps people like me out, even when I crack a pane with millions of nail breakings and manage to squirm inside it’s still painfully obvious I do not belong.
Parking in the wrong parking lot.
Being taken care of, has always been my dream, just oh so out of reach, and never my reality (but it will be). As a child, teen, young adult lady, I parented my manic single immigrant mother and rawed the cliff of poverty, desperately trying not to fall into the ravine of desolation. We made it. Somehow. Still, growing up lower class is a trauma. Caregiving for a sick mother with no family around is a subtrauma. Working 6-7 days a week since as long as I can remember, the stress on my body and mind, is a subsubtrauma and physical inability. Going into the content mines and striking gold in the onlyfans well - being able to more adequately provide for my mother and take care of my medical bills - should have been a nontrauma, but yet resulted in more and more anger towards ?????? undirected prob at myself idk ?????
That-
Once again-
I.
HAD.
TO do this.
I want no I need someone else to help out.
I don’t even know how to express how horrible it feels doing it all on my own. I write in circles and circles and it still doesn’t convey a shadow of my pain and suffering. At the end of the day, I really am a simple girl. I just want to be happy. I just want to be taken care of. Being famously a fatherless treasure is a charming funny haha hehe but it’s too cute of a term to describe a male parental figure’s abandonment. Being a girlboss independent woman isn't a flex it's necrotic organ failure and severe damage.
To have to take on that role, as a woman. It’s just wrong. In the Russian tradition I should have been married with three kids by now lol. I used to rebel against this thought, but as time goes on, you know what, I like it. Having had the time to think it over and make my own decision.
Because that’s what feminism is, truly. The ability to make a choice. I want to make the choice to be a true and trad trophy wife. With a man who will truly really help.
Because I worry. There are days when it’s so difficult psychologically to even be here in the world anymore so I create things reasons loved ones to tether me to this earth kitties long gowns and dresses plans schemes mommy had to create a psychic megastructure oh god don’t cry not now wtf stop it
I just wanna have a good time.
I crashed my Tesla at the intersection of art and technology trying to get to the tradsalaryman parking lot driving 200km in the wrong lane
Life's been too serious and severe. A man who will make it chill, so that I can truly relax, is the dream. Maybe if I am lucky, one day. Til then- yup, you guessed it,
neurosis.
I’m taking it one day at a time sunrise to sunset to moonrise to twilight. Yesterday I was anxious about doing things. I made a list and did not think I could get them done. But I did. Three things crowning in the shadow of productivity. Anxiety resolved. In this cyber ICU I have to be patient with myself like I would be with a newborn, a bambi teetering a big, vivid with life, body on tiny little flimsy clumsy legs that are not so vivid with life.
This is the first day of my wife.
I can get my life back. Just a few things at a time. Little baby newborn fragile delicate steps at a time. I got disassembled and deconstructed and am now piecing myself back together.
Depression doesn’t always look like what you think it looks like until you’re looking back at it and you go damn damn shitfuck fuck
Fucking shit and shutting fuck
People who have privilege and deny it like… are you fucking stupid? We can see you lol. I for one would like to see privileged ppl say “yeah idk how the reality for most ppl is” and just own it with authenticity. I would have so much more respected if someonw as just like “yea I’m loaded lol I’m elite wassup”. What is this indignant proto-grovelling? We don’t get to choose our upbringing and the class we’re born in, but we can accept it.
And in some cases.
Escape it.
I used to think of my embarrassing upbringing as the most shameful curse and now I see it as just… a fact. It is what it is. I fucking can’t stand when privileged motherfuckers view struggle or poverty as a blessing, which they wouldn’t had they experienced it in the real way not the cosplaying of being broke way - that I’m so strong and brave, that I’ve built character, and yeah maybe I have a different kind of resilience and integrity but the wound is deep. Fuck that shit.
Do you understand why I want a trad husband and discourse this shit so deeply and severely, first in several chapters (10, 14) of Cyberhorny, then in a whole ass book. Or do I have to write Ultimate Fantasy again???
Lobotomy please
Elective neurosurgery please
Wealth grafting surgery please
I woke up this morning at 5AM lethargic and nauseous. Jet lag feeling and broken bones feeling. The fantasy of tradwifelife fades as I am reminded of the reality my mind and body live in. Anxiety and chronic illness require a truly stable (emotionally, financially) and understanding husband. He may have to get us a surrogate. Even though my skinnylicious body is fertile, I am terrified of pain. For now..... kitti4s.
Yes they are my childrens.
I feel better when I put on lipstick.
Picture this. I want to. The year is 2027 and a man is showing not telling me I never have to worry or stress or burden or struggle or go it alone ever again. While I put my adventures in tradwifery on hold to recuperate my health properly in 2026, I may revisit this. The husband application. Because I want to.
Picture this: he comes home from a long day at the salary factory and you are home in the kitchen not a phone in sight making him a salad and both of you are happy.
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