Nara Smith: The Art of Creating with Intention
On a muted kitchen counter, dough is dusted with flour. Nara Smith cuts it into soft, uniform slices for a PB&J sandwich—one that’s made from homemade bread, freshly blended peanut butter, and berry jelly boiled in her own saucepan. The camera lingers as each element comes together, not quickly, but reverently. There’s no rush, no chaos—just focus, softness, and care. For Smith, even a school lunch becomes a ritual.
What looks like a serene cooking video is part of a much larger movement. Smith’s content lives at the intersection of creativity, domesticity, and digital culture—a space heavily influenced by the rise of Cottagecore, a lifestyle aesthetic rooted in pastoral nostalgia, traditional crafts, and slow routines. During the pandemic, #cottagecore, #slowliving, and #homemade surged on TikTok, reflecting a global longing for calm and control. Smith fits easily within this space, but she brings a polished edge—an air of purpose that distinguishes her from more whimsical versions of the genre. She brings a polished edge—an air of purpose that distinguishes her from more whimsical versions of the genre.
Before her cinnamon rolls and whisper-soft narration gained millions of views, Smith worked in fashion. But a diagnosis of eczema and lupus shifted her priorities.
"It forced me to reevaluate how I eat,"
— Nara Smith, People Magazine
Cutting out processed food wasn’t a trend—it was survival. And from that necessity, a creative practice was born—one that gave her structure, peace, and purpose. Cooking became a daily act of intention—first for herself, then for her growing family, and eventually, for the world. Her kitchen became a space not only for healing but for expression.
Her videos are unmistakably aesthetic: gentle music, ASMR chopping, soft lighting, vintage tableware. But rather than detracting from their sincerity, this curation deepens their impact.
“The voice started because my kids were asleep on me or next to me, so I needed to talk very quietly not to wake them up. Then I got a few comments of people loving it, and I was like, ‘Okay, let’s stick with it.’”
— Sunday Times via the Independent.
It’s not about pretending life is perfect—it’s about sharing the kind of calm that’s hard to come by.
Even those closest to her life feel her influence. Stormi Bree, ex-wife of Smith’s husband , Lucky Blue Smith, jokingly praised her in a viral TikTok, writing:
“When your child’s stepmom goes viral on TikTok for cooking yummy food, so you know your child eats really well at her dad’s house,”
Caption: “a win is a win.”
What could have been framed with jealousy or sarcasm came off as warm and knowing—proof that Smith’s work is relational, not just aesthetic. It’s a lighthearted moment, but one that underscores what many admire about Smith is her ability to make homemaking feel like an art, not a chore.
Through her Substack, she shares the thoughts behind her process—like how tomato sandwiches tie her to childhood summers, or why she grinds flour by hand. She uses digital tools not to document perfection, but to preserve slowness. She’s not interested in convincing anyone to live like her. Her words are not prescriptive, but reflective.
"In no way am I saying this is normal or this is something people have to do[...] I just put content out there to inspire people,"
— Nara Smith, GQ
And inspire she does. Her content doesn’t reject modernity—it reframes it by bringing old methods into digital spaces with grace. Smith takes domestic labor—so often undervalued, hidden, or dismissed—and makes it so that food can be art, that care can be visible, and that creativity can be daily. In doing so, she reclaims it as an art form. She shows that creativity doesn’t require a studio or supplies—just space, time, and care.
So, when we return to the PB&J—the bread, the peanut butter, the jelly—it’s no longer just food. It’s a symbol of something much larger: a movement that asks us to slow down, pay attention, and create with care. One slice, one stir, one project at a time.