Let's talk about Mormon influencers and garments
When even your underwear has a backstory—and a brand.
Social media is an interesting place for voyeurism. We voluntarily display our lives and intimate thoughts for consumption, connection, and in some cases—as a business. Of all the people sharing and creating online, I think Mormon influencers are among the most fascinating. They are often experts in building personal brands that turn their lives into lucrative revenue streams.
There is a certain intrigue and curiosity within society about Mormon culture. We see this in the various shows about sister wives, documentaries about Mormon fringe cults, and the current lineup within the Huluverse replete with Mormon content—“The Secret Wives of Mormon Lives” is a crowd favorite among the practicing, the flex-Mormons, the ex-Mormons, and the never-Mormons alike.
At a recent bachelorette party, the (never-Mormon) ladies were reflecting on their obsession with the show. They inquired, “Do you watch it?” To which I replied, “No, I already lived it.” From my lens, I think the best place to watch the wild and weird world of Mormonism unfold is through following Mormon influencers on social media.
We will observe Emmaleigh as the avatar, which is a solidly made-up Mormon name (another strangely fascinating cultural phenomenon) to provide anonymity for this particular Mormon influencer.
Emmaleigh is a 32-year-old mother of five living in a 15,000 square-foot home in Utah County. Her husband is a handsome beefcake who has at least one truck and can likely mansplain how to make money. Emmaleigh, Beefcake, and their children are all freakishly beautiful (in the conventional Utah beauty standard sense) and have impeccable style. They own an inordinate amount of colored water bottles to coordinate with their sets and hair clip collections. Emmaleigh and Beefcake work out together (probably at VASA) and frequently post make-out selfies. Beefcake often picks out her outfits. He plans surprise trips for Emmaleigh and her children. They go on dreamy vacations and usually have smiles on their faces. They “genuinely” love their lives.
I enjoy seeing Emmaleigh frolic about in her blissful, privileged bubble among the Mormon influencer variety. She seems like a wholesome and genuinely affable person, and a devoted wife, mother, sister, and friend. Her golden doodle personality is lovable and entirely simple—one of those people who does not seem to be bothered by her inability to use proper grammar or spelling, and it somehow makes her more endearing.
Consumption of her content falls firmly into the “aspirational” category. Because in order to have that life you must be: white, genetically favored, and wealthy (either personally inherited, acquired via marriage, created through entrepreneurial pursuits, or all of the above). This is the baseline starter pack of the Mormon influencer elite.
Emmaleigh regularly shares her daily happenings and life on Instagram Stories. A lot of her content shows her in athleisure attire and swimwear that exposes the near-totality of her extremely fit body.
She recently posted about her struggle to alter the sleeves on a dress she ordered for an event she was attending. She did this in an effort to acceptably wear her garments—or “g’s” as she calls them, which is in-group slang to refer to the holy underwear that God commands the temple-worthy to wear. This is because her new sleeveless garment tops had not yet arrived, as they were being rolled out in phases, starting in countries with more hot and humid climates.
As I watched her use some sort of clothing staple gun to fail at making faux-sleeves—which would hardly flutter over her tanned and toned shoulders—it poked on a hot button in my soul: the societal pressure to conform to a standard that controls women’s bodies.
The hypocrisy of the moment felt almost blinding. My internal shame flared up for judging this adult woman who shared her struggles with the paradox of her underwear choices, her religion, and her identity. How was I any different than the chastisers who scan for garment hemlines on the backs, shoulders, and thighs of women?
But this agitation was motivated by my repulsion to an ideology that encourages a tension of conflicting expectations on women. The dissonance of a culture that valorizes excessive vanity, a near-crippling need for external validation, and unrealistic standards of beauty, while simultaneously demanding obedience, modesty, and meekness.
To be clear, this division of identity impacts most women in our society. It’s the basis of the iconic monologue given by America Ferrera in the Barbie movie that, in my opinion, is the thesis of the whole film. However, this expectation goes even deeper within the subculture of Mormonism. And even deeper within the sub-subculture of Mormon influencer.
This conflict isn’t new, but its modern packaging continues to get shinier and more plastic. It's no longer just Relief Society lessons about being a joyful homemaker while your husband magnifies his priesthood. It is now sponsored and affiliate-laden content about homemaking with discount codes for neutral-toned area rugs and collagen supplements.
The doctrine of divine gender roles has evolved into a curated aesthetic: be the modern tradwife with the lashes, filled lips, tight abs, four kids under eight, and a temple selfie. Oh, and make sure that this tradlife is generating at least four-to-five-figures per month (or more). The culture has cannibalized perfectionism in spirit for perfectionism in branding. Which feels disorienting and unsustainable when looking at the mechanics of how it all operates.
Conversely, the upside of the successful Mormon influencer is the financial freedom it provides. Women in heterosexual marriages who depend on their husbands for income (like many Mormon women are taught to do under traditional gender roles) are more likely to stay in relationships that are harmful or unfulfilling. It’s not just about love or faith—it’s about survival. Being financially tethered to someone can make a situation emotionally hard and logistically difficult to leave. The opportunity for these stay-at-home-mothers to earn money through social media and build financial sovereignty is notable, and has led to progress.
However, what complicates this dynamic is that Mormon influencers are both agents and products of the system. They’re monetizing their own domestic lives in ways that elevate them economically and socially—but often in service to the very structures that suppress them.
Emmaleigh might be her own boss on Instagram, but she’s still expected to be deferent to male religious authority and visibly compliant with modesty codes when she wears everyday clothes. Her influence grows in direct proportion to how well she performs femininity within the lines drawn by a patriarchy that refuses to acknowledge the impacts of its power systems.
I don’t write this to mock Emmaleigh and the mold of the Mormon influencer. I say it because I’ve been her—and my current business and career was built from this very template. I absolutely still carry parts of her with me. And I know how seductive it is to try and win at a game you secretly know is rigged but feels nearly impossible to quit… and that you are maybe even strangely addicted to. Because maybe, just maybe, you are hoping to find your self-worth and wholeness somewhere inside the silicone and nylon and views, and you think the prize is attainable if you keep striving.
The problem is:
The game keeps changing.
The rules contradict themselves.
And sooner or later, even the most photogenic lives start to crack under the pressure.
Here is the good news: women are waking up. Some quietly. Some loudly. Some in group chats and therapy sessions. Some on podcasts and Substacks. We are using the very same platforms that created the pressure to now name it. We are noticing the contradiction and not staying quiet about it. We are learning to tell the truth about our bodies, our desires, our beliefs, our ambitions, our exhaustion. And in that truth-telling, something sacred is happening: we are reclaiming ourselves.
You do not have to fit the mold to be worthy. You do not have to hustle for approval in a system that was never designed with your freedom in mind. You do not have to perform obedience in order to belong.
And if you do choose to wear the crop top or the garments or the no garments or the lashes or the sleeves or the tank top? Do it because you want to. Not because someone taught you that is what makes you lovable, pure, or enough.
There is no single right way to be a woman. There never was. The tension you feel is not a personal failure. It is a sign you are alive and paying attention. So keep going. Keep asking hard questions. Keep choosing yourself, again and again and again.
Because the most radical thing we can do is not to escape the system or burn it all down. It is to tell the truth inside of it and live in a way that makes more space for others to breathe, too.