The Jewishness of Classically Abby
How to do Jewish while building a personal brand
Editor’s Note: A version of this appeared on Medium in 2020 before Abby’s very Jewish Vloggukah series and may not reflect her latest content.
I need to preface this by saying that I am totally fascinated by Classically Abby. When I started writing this, I wanted to look at her branding as a self-styled “Conservative Influencer” within the controversial sphere of tradwives, while dissecting how she stands apart from frum influencers who express similar values in their lifestyle and their observance of mitzvot.
When the Alma article came out today, I thought the characterization of Abby as an alt-right or far-right wolf-in-sheep's-clothing was a bit daft. I have a soft spot for Abby because she reminds me of people that I know, even if I don’t agree with everything she says.
The article’s treatment of Abby is mostly divorced from her Jewishness, treating her value system independently from her Modern Orthodox upbringing. To be fair, Abby’s content isn’t particularly Jewish, either. When she uses Jewish concepts and words — kosher for example, shabbos, or shul they almost seem accidental because she’s normally careful to frame Jewish concepts for a primarily non-Jewish audience. For example, Shabbat becomes The Sabbath — “I had some nice dresses for the weekend and Sabbath,” she says in her glow-up video.
Indeed, the video in which she explains her religious beliefs is told around her “faith journey”, language not typically used by Jews, let alone frum folk. But that’s branding. When she discusses modesty, it’s a reaction against Western hypersexualization of the female body rather than a cultural norm rootetd in the mitzvah of tznius — the particulars of which, of course, differ between communities. Her universal take on modesty positions her as one of the many among the nations rather than an ordinary Orthodox Jew.
On makeup: “Internally it also made me feel like I have a creative space…. it’s also a way for me to take control over how people perceive me. That is a classic quality,” she says. “Classic” is a nod to her lifestyle and slogan (Let’s Be CLASSIC!!!!), consciously branding herself away from the tradwives and its associations with white supremacy, and worse, Catholics. “I want to take care of my looks so I have some aspect of control over what someone thinks when they meet me,” she says. Same.
There is something hypnotic about trad influencers — and more generally people who subvert modern, capitalist expectations and second-wave feminist readings of gender in order to “live traditionally”. What this often means is acting out heteronormative gender roles while embodying some kind of traditional religion. These sentiments were expertly laid out in a 2011 Salon article about “Hipster Mormon Mommy Bloggers”, the advertiser-friendly proto-tradwives motivated less by politics and more by the Mormon tendencies towards obsessive respectability and journaling:
To read these lifestyle blogs is to peer into a strange and fascinating world where the most fraught issues of modern living — marriage and child rearing — appear completely unproblematic. This seems practically subversive to someone like me, weaned on an endless media parade of fretful stories about “work-life balance” and soaring divorce rates and the perils of marrying too young/too old/too whatever.
I admittedly sometimes find myself craving the comforts of a softer life. Something pastoral, my own Petit Trianon-cum-kibbutz. Abby’s own orthodox-ish community in middle-America is a fusion of my adult life and my comfortable suburban prairie childhood — could I possibly have both?
Is this about me or is it about Abby?
The Alma article recalls — and was undoubtedly influenced by — a similar piece from Medium which basically boils down to the idea that Abby has dubious political opinions and her channel probably doesn’t generate enough revenue to fund her advertising, so somebody else is probably behind it. Before her aggressive advertising caused her to pop into our collective consciousness, she was merely Ben Shapiro’s sister — the popular subject of antisemitic memes making fun of her boobs. In my opinion, it’s not surprising that she’s working to take control of her image through branding and paid ads— although our current cultural moment is suspicious of conservative women.
Conservative women are treated as a singularity — a very American phenomenon that does not account for the ideological, religious, or even ethnic diversity among conservative voters. In this frame of mind, women are understood on a binary of “good” or “conservative,” then “enlightened” or “religious.” The nuance between a Jewish Orthodox woman and her Christian evangelical counterpart is lost, and the beholder perceives Jews as conspicuously upholding white supremacy for the sake of white supremacy, or misogyny for the sake of misogyny, with no regard for their background, beliefs, or motivations.
Tznius can very well be understood through a feminist lens, but what happens when it isn’t?
I would wager that the majority of people who keep tznius are probably indifferent to how feminists interpret the laws. That doesn’t mean feminist interpretations don’t exist, nor does it mean women cannot find modesty empowering — it’s my belief that most of the women who keep tznius don’t require intrinsic cultural permission to dress how they do.
What happens when we realize we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder with people who actually do prefer traditional conceptions of gender roles? When our only encounter with these ideas is through fear-mongering or memes making fun of Girl Defined, then completely ordinary Jewish conceptions of modesty, gender and prayer become equally as scary — yet they’ve been here the entire time.
Abby commonly receives criticism for cushioning threatening ideas in a pleasant, approachable demeanor (and like, recipes?). This Reddit thread compares her to raw vegan YouTuber Fully Raw Kristina, who keeps to a diet of a fuckton of raw fruit, and kind of makes it sound reasonable because she’s pretty.
Abby has mostly steered away from hot-button issues. (2021 note: This is no longer true!) She seldom, if ever, mentions her brother, and the most topical she’s gotten lately was a commentary on the Netflix film Cuties, criticism of which was either completely warranted or completely ridiculous depending on whether you have a preference between the New Yorker or Bethany Mandel’s Twitter feed.
Videos about dressing modestly, which tend to be far less prescriptive than the Girl Defined content that characterizes the genre, are harder to ridicule. The same Reddit user mentioned above correctly linked her perceptions of modesty to her Orthodox upbringing. She speaks about dressing to flatter your body type, not showing too much skin, and layering. She thinks leggings are fine at the gym but recommends covering up if you’re not comfortable.
If anything, it’s practical, although not particularly inspired — especially in a parallel world of Tznius bloggers who keep the mitzvah to the letter of the law while churning out looks, fashion informed, and armed with discount codes. Abby doesn’t (seem to) cover her hair — one of the most visible markers of married religious Jewish women. If anything, her commentary on dressing modestly is barely a drop in the bucket amongst the myriad other content creators of different, more universally reaching faiths, who wear Hijab or cover their faces entirely.
Her clothing choices — pants and all — are typical for many Modern Orthodox women. Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz writes:
“Whether or not a woman should wear slacks or jeans depends on a variety of factors that are not inherently halakhic. Thus there is no harm in slacks that are made especially for women and not immodestly cut. In fact, in certain circumstances, pants may be more modest than skirts.”
This suggests that while Abby’s conception of modesty might not be what we think of when we talk about tznius, it’s still fundamentally and recognizably Jewish.
When she does talk about religion, I find myself nodding along. She articulates problems that I can completely relate to: “Being part of a community is so important,” she says, “millennials don’t have a natural pull towards community.”
My own Jewish community is obviously extremely important to me. Jewish spaces can feel like an equalizer where everybody is coming together with a common bond. While it’s obviously not that unique to be a political conservative in a religious Jewish setting, I do not tend to gravitate towards people on a political basis at shul or Jewish events. It’s not why I seek out community.
In an interview with Rabbi David Bashevkin, conservative writer Bethany Mandel says, “I don’t think that politics and religion should mix, I think that it’s a recipe for disaster.”
“And I’m saying this as someone who grew up Reform and who was driven away from the Reform movement because of the incestuous relationship that the Reform movement has with progressive and liberal politics. And I’ve heard this from a lot of people who are Reform, they’re driven away from Judaism because of the politics. And I know lots of liberal Orthodox people who feel uncomfortable in a lot of Orthodox settings and that shouldn’t be the case.”
Reflecting on my own religious path rightward, from happy Reformnik to something a little more Orthodox, I see myself in Abby’s saying, “(For millennials) it’s more about my day-to-day experiences than it is about my life as a whole. Being part of a community is something that gives you meaning and value.”
This wasn’t to say Reform Judaism didn’t offer community — it did, but it placed the centre of Jewish life at shul. With the bleeding heart of a zealous BT, I wanted my Judaism to permeate everything. I wanted to be reminded of my Jewishness every time I ate. I wanted to keep Shabbat. I wanted to start being visible. I wanted a more tangible framework to bring up my kids in. In an Orthodox community, Jewishness is (ideally) expressed more holistically. I also love rules.
When Abby discusses the importance of finding like-minded conservatives, detractors assert she’s suggesting that viewers seal themselves into echo chambers. People will do that anyway, whether through algorithmically curated social media feeds or in real life. It’s fair to assume her most vocal critics, nor the writer of the Alma piece are not looking to expand their bubble and engage in a good-faith conversation about modesty or conservatism. “Everything I’m talking about being conservative,” she explains, “is even more amplified in faith-based communities.”
“Being Jewish, knowing that wherever I move I will find a community, that is so comforting and so warm, and it’s something that I feel so lucky to have.”
Did you just tear up?
When Abby speaks of her own small Orthodox community in Nebraska, I’m reminded of the writing of Tova Mirvis, the once-frum writer who penned novels embodying the experience of feeling like an outsider in deeply connected Jewish communities.
In The Ladies’ Auxiliary, the suburban Modern Orthodox community of Memphis is stunned by an eccentric newcomer — Batsheva, a quirky divorced giyores from New York, her child in tow. The narrator speaks in a collective “we,” emphasizing the closeness of the community while coming to terms with Batsheva’s impact on them as individuals. I’m reminded of the small Jewish community that I grew up on the margins of, wondering how my life might be different if I fit in. There’s a quality of nostalgia that speaks to me in particular — the real me, and the Batsheva I see in myself.
Abby’s own community in Middle America is a fusion of my adult life and my comfortable suburban prairie childhood — could I have both? When I find myself wanting to churn butter instead of logging onto Zoom, it’s easy to tune into somebody like Abby, who promises it step-by-step, if you would please just cover your collarbones. Just kidding. Also, I am a man.
I obviously don’t find Abby to be particularly objectionable. I know 40,000 women just like her. I know 40,000 women more conservative than her, whose frum lifestyles need explaining or cushioning for a genteel audience. Because she has opened herself up for wider consumption, trying to be an influencer, she has tried to fashion herself as a true-blue Girl Next Door. The lifestyle is aspirational but relatable — at least for somebody like me. She’s more Cup of Jo than Classy Girls Wear Pearls.
When we talk about Abby, we never talk about the harassment she receives. We never talk about the antisemitic comments under all of her videos and tweets. We never talk about the dozens of anonymous accounts writing about “Khazar milkers,” under her photos.
She is a woman on the internet who has been on the receiving end of the worst of both antisemitism and misogyny. Drawing on that experience alone, in which her meer existence is an opportunity for her to be sexualized by strangers, can you blame her for seeing the value in modesty? In her own words, “It doesn’t matter what your intentions are, you are living in the world and there are other people around you.”
At the end of it, the “toxic world of Classically Abby” has been davening beside you this entire time.
But then again, I haven’t seen you at shul.