Commentary: I can’t wait for ‘Mormon Wives’ star Whitney Leavitt to have a real job

Whitney Leavitt, of “Secret Lives of Mormon Wives” fame, is about to make her Broadway debut. Since the announcement, I’ve followed her online even more avidly than usual. I’ve watched every reel set backstage, liked Christmas morning posts from her New York apartment, and felt genuine joy for her over the fact she now can afford a personal chef.

But the thing I’m most thrilled about? Whitney is finally going to have a job with a human resources department.

On the most recent season of “Secret Lives,” the bulk of Whitney’s drama centers on whether MomTok is about business or friendship. After spending all of Season 2 trying to persuade six adult women to vote her back into their clique, Whitney decided to give up and leave the show, only to return once she found out that if she came back, she could audition for “Dancing With the Stars.”

The women of MomTok and most of the internet reacted to this decision as though Whitney had done something bad. Whitney’s response? It’s just business.

This tension between friendship and business is the crux of “Secret Lives” — and influencer culture in general. I was surprised that out of everything the show has depicted, it’s what I related to most. I am not an influencer, or a swinger, and I wasn’t a young mom. But as a Latter-day Saint working woman, I’ve long been exhausted by the question of what my personality is supposed to look like at work.

I started my career outside Utah and from the beginning, my religion felt outsized. I spent a large chunk of my professional energy trying to figure out how to appear “less Mormon,” by which I mean less nice, less smiley, less sorry. Those qualities were not productive to my work. They came off as unconfident and made people not take me seriously. I spent a lot of time trying to parse out what my working persona should be as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I’m not sure I ever found the balance. It mostly felt like I was explaining temple garments far too frequently or unsuccessfully trying out Bible swears as an attempt at disguise.

Working women in Utah

Imagine my shock when, in my first job living back in Utah, it became apparent I was the most abrasive woman in the office. The realization made me wither. I figured I should resoften my edges and remember how I used to be, but I felt exhausted by the facade of it all. After so much time trying to learn how to clearly express thoughts and ideas, the expectation that I should coat them all in sweetness was frustrating.

Utah women are clearly bright and hardworking and an absolute force on the internet. But as I watched Whitney’s struggle, I began to wonder if, as a whole, we might be professionally hamstrung by the fact that so many of us grew up not knowing what it looked like for a woman to work. We watched our dads and bishops and stake presidents communicate in leadership positions with the ease of those who understand corporate culture and relationships. To watch “Secret Lives” is, in a way, to witness the mess that is made when an entire community of women largely go without that training.

The women of MomTok have big personalities, savvy business minds, and are raising young children — the hardest job in the world. Many of them grew up in the church that taught them sisterhood and service and the art of putting on a creative event. But they never experienced the professional rites of passage that are business casual, and staff meetings, and learning to use phrases like “circle back.” They were not trained in that singular co-worker relationship in which sure, you like each other, but you would never get together for a party where everyone is required to wear pajamas.

I would guess most working women feel the pull between being likable at work and being efficient. But the struggle feels crystallized in “Secret Lives,” and it’s one of the reasons people outside our community are so fascinated by the show, and Latter-day Saint influencer culture.

The line between friendship and business

And they should be, because it’s juicy. Years ago, a story floated around my circles — the kind you can’t help but hear when you live and work in Utah and are somehow friends of friends of the internet’s biggest influencers. The story goes like this: a regular civilian woman bakes some cookies for an influencer friend. She drops off the cookies and chats with her friend in what she thinks is a normal friend interaction. Later, as she scrolls her feed, she sees the cookies she baked on her friend’s feed, staged as though the influencer had baked them in a sweet homemakerly interaction with her daughter.

Did your heart shrink two sizes? Mine, too, and yet the story has been stuck in my brain for probably a decade, because frankly it’s great television.

This story is a clear exploitation of friendship for profit, but really — where is the line between friendship and business for an influencer? And where would women learn it if they had never experienced a traditional career environment?

Here we come to a point I frequently reach: I don’t know what’s a “me” thing, what’s “the church,” what’s “the doctrine,” and what’s “Utah.” Maybe all women struggle with being friendly versus professional at work. Maybe all members of the church feel it – maybe every man working in the Church Office Building trembles before deciding how many smiley faces to conclude his email. I am fascinated to think what will happen as work culture shifts away from the corporate trappings of old; as summer fridays and remote work and content creation as viable professions become the norm. Will the co-worker relationship go away? And will work be more or less productive because of it?

By the end of Season 3, Whitney has appointed herself MomTok’s unofficial HR department, hosting an intervention so the women can hash out their issues. This event was straight out of a Latter-day Saint Young Women activity, complete with a Barbie doll that functioned as a talking stick, and each woman wearing a glow stick around her neck that she broke open after standing and sharing her truth. The women cried and hugged, but they never really said what they meant. By the next episode, they were back to hating one another. To watch it was to understand the mess of a group of colleagues who do not have HR.

I’m aware my excitement for Whitney’s first real career position is absurd, because a stint on Broadway is the most unserious job a grown-up could get. (I say this with jealousy and respect). But for all its glamor, I am sure there is paperwork. And for that I heave a giant sigh of relief for Whitney. May she become close with her castmates, or not. May she text them frequently, or only be connected on LinkedIn. May Whitney have a job where it can just be a job, and no pajama sleepovers are required.

Note to readers • Rebbie Brassfield is a writer and creative director in the advertising industry. In real life, she’s a mom of two boys living in the suburbs. Online, you can find her overanalyzing media representations of Latter-day Saints on her Instagram account or podcast, “Mormons in Media,” and as co-host of a monthly “Mormon Land” bonus podcast on Latter-day Saints in media.