Breaking Utah’s Plastic Ceiling
Running
This morning, I ran the furthest I’ve ever run. While I’m not a runner, I’m starting to like it, probably for the first time in my life.
I woke up earlier than I usually do on Saturdays, pulled on my gear, and headed out the door. The run was long and difficult, but I did it. That was the resounding feeling when I pushed across my driveway finish line. My body, mind, and spirit worked together to do something that I haven’t ever done before.
My body. It’s so imperfect, and I’ve always been acutely aware of that. But today, my loudly imperfect body did something that it’s never done before, and for a second, all the cliches about being good enough felt true.
Perfection
As LDS women, we often repeat these cliches without believing them about ourselves. After all, we are taught to place great emphasis on perfection. We experience this in different ways, but all of us feel it. Some seek perfection in our spirituality and faith. Others attempt to find it in their families and homes. Still others place great emphasis on perfection in outward achievements, whether they be academic, athletic, or work-life balance.
Most, however, seem to be engaged in a constant battle to achieve perfection in their bodies.
Why do we do this? Why does this seem to be such a prevalent by-product of our faith? I’m not sure, but some theorize that it’s a result of a few specific things, like the homogeneity of our Utah culture, the emphasis on “becoming perfect like Christ” in the Church’s doctrine, and the need to fill our lives with things that we think may bring us fulfillment and joy.
As LDS women, we want full lives but often struggle in creating them due to our rather confining view of womanhood. In Utah, a state with a uniquely large LDS population, there are record rates of opioid abuse, suicide, gender-pay gaps, and is consistently rated as one of the most sexist of all fifty states, and evidence suggests this is linked to our culture. We are in a place filled with people who share a faith which has, however unintentionally, created a culture of competitive emptiness, especially among women.
Another thing Utah is consistently competitive in? Plastic surgery. Salt Lake City’s plastic surgery rates are comparable to places like Los Angeles and Miami. Breast augmentations are the number one sought-after procedure here. Google “plastic surgery in Utah” and you’ll find dozens of centers and offices dedicated to this particular medical practice. Utah women pursue plastic surgery in droves, paying thousands of dollars for euphemistic “mommy makeovers” or bigger bra sizes. Apparently, the quest for bodily perfection does not begin or end with low carb diets or gym memberships. Going under the knife is just one more step along our path to perfection, which ultimately leads us back to God. Or so they try to sell it.
This connection — the one between religion and bodily “perfection” — has always been just beneath the surface of the lived experience of many LDS women. Many of us, myself included, feel the pressure to be perfect but don’t fully align because we’re able to see it as a cultural distinction rather than a doctrinal foundation. I do not believe that my worth to God is predicated on my cup size or how well I fit into a pair of pants. While I have insecurities and vanities (the same thing, if you think about it) as much as the next woman, deep down I know that God loves me the same if I’m a size 2 or 32. I’m His daughter and my body is a tool to do good, not an ornament.
However, I know that society does base my worth on how I look, and that has been the cause of several tearful outbursts after stepping on my bathroom scale. It’s in me — this desire to be outwardly perfect, to be good enough, to be beautiful — even though I don’t believe it’s from God.
*That* Billboard
So you can imagine my reaction when, after a long day of work in Orem, I saw *that* billboard. You know the one. It was from Howland Plastic Surgery, which I learned later is a cosmetic surgery center in Draper, Utah, run by Dr. Nicholas Howland. The billboard was placed on a highly trafficked stretch of highway at the point of the mountain, where thousands of people would see it every day. It was a picture of the Salt Lake Temple, which is currently undergoing renovations. A crane protruded out of the picture of the sacred building, next to the superimposed text, “God is remodeling His temple. Isn’t it time to remodel yours?”
Suddenly, the connection between God and the way my body looked was no longer beneath the surface of my life. It was there, upfront and personal, screaming at me as I drove by. The boldness of it took my breath away. In an instant, I remembered my “imperfect” body. I had just spent the day running and working hard in a career that I enjoy. I felt accomplished. I was with my friends. Despite all of this, I felt, for a split second, disgusted with my own body.
It was awful, and it was brief. Luckily, I’m an adult. I have spent years with myself at this point, and I know how to temper my insecurities. After a few seconds, I was able to talk again. And then I got mad.
The next day, I found the billboard on social media, and I posted it to my story. I asked people to tell me how the billboard’s message made them feel, and why. I have a following that consists of my close friends and family, so I know each person that responded to my story. I respect and admire each of them.
Outrage
As it turns out, my friends felt similarly about the billboard. Their responses follow:
“[I felt] like somehow the temple was a little sexualized or something,” wrote one of my more devout friends. Another wrote, “[It was] super disrespectful to members of the Church and something we hold so sacred.”
A friend from grad school replied, saying, “[I feel] shock, hurt disappointment. How could they capitalize on something sacred and prey on Utah women?”
“Honestly, it’s appalling.”
“It just felt like they [were] using people’s faith to manipulate them. It just felt so gross.”
“GROSS. It totally attacked people’s insecurities.”
“Are you shitting me?” a friend from Texas wrote.
“It bothers me so much that they used the TEMPLE, a sacred place, to try and get me to feel bad about myself. Something that the temple DOES NOT promote. Feels sooo tacky.”
“No!! En serio?” was the response from my friend in Argentina.
“[It made me feel] icky. Buildings need maintenance, [which is] normal. My body does not need ‘reconstruction’.”
“Mainly disrespect for our beliefs. I don’t know if the doctor is a member or not.”
“[I feel] for sure weird. I’m a huge believer in anyone doing whatever they want with their body, including but not limited to cosmetic surgery. That being said, I felt it definitely wandered into the territory of extremely harmful marketing. I know from personal interactions that SO MANY people who grew up in the Church have dealt with EDs and body dysmorphia because of harmful standards, so his “tongue in cheek joke” (his own words) is pretty off base.”
“Can’t believe someone would try to make someone feel like God is telling them they aren’t good enough the way they are and should change their BODIES. Made me so angry. We couldn’t believe someone actually had the balls to say something like that and use the temple as a reference to plastic surgery.”
“Wow… that is NOT okay… It’s people like him who are the reason other people stereotype LDS members and think all members of the LDS Church are the same, in a negative way. I love being a member but people definitely take advantage and create reasons for other people to form their bad opinion of ‘Mormons.’”
“It made me livid! It was disrespectful to the message but I’m so sick of women being degraded. And sadly by some of the comments [on the doctor’s post], they had no idea they were being degraded. When will women ever be enough??”
“My first reaction, to be honest, was shame. Not sure why? But then I was outraged!”
A few men also responded, with varying themes:
“Here’s my take: they did it to get a reaction. I’ve read some of his responses to the people who commented on his post and he said that he has respect for the Latter-Day Saint community and people. He said that the thing he hates most about this post is that it makes people think that they NEED plastic surgery. Which he doesn’t believe in. That is my issue, why support something if you don’t believe in it?”
“[I felt that] something so shallow and worldly being compared with the sacred was disrespectful.”
“I found it humorous, but I understand why it wouldn’t be for some church members.”
(A note on that last one — I responded and explained that I was more offended as a woman than as a member of the Church. He was graceful and understood where I was coming from.)
Like I said, my following is small, but it is ideologically diverse. I have Republicans and Democrats, members of the Church and nonmembers, men and women, stay-at-home moms and career-women, all mixed in a wonderful group that I call my friends. From what I can see, we disagree on a lot of things, but for one, shining moment, we were all on the same page.
What’s True is True; What’s Wrong is Wrong
To sum up:
- Objectifying women’s bodies is wrong.
- Sexualizing women’s bodies is wrong.
- Using religious iconography to suggest to women that God does not think they are enough until they “remodel” themselves is wrong.
- A profession that profits off of women believing that their bodies aren’t enough and then paying out the mouth to line the pockets of the men that tell them so is wrong.
- Plastic surgery is a choice that women have the right to make, but if they are doing it because they feel coerced, manipulated, bullied, or belittled into doing it, by a person or a culture, then it is wrong.
Dr. Howland attempted to explain himself several times, on both his social media page and the news. He took the billboard down after a few days of trying to explain himself and somewhat apologized. His main points were that his joke was misunderstood and/or badly worded and that he was trying to poke fun at the idea of an LDS theme that our bodies are temples. “I intended to destigmatize plastic surgery,” he said, “It’s equally damaging to be told that you can’t get plastic surgery as it is to be told that you need to get plastic surgery.”
Right.
This is either a case of bad copywriting or being so desensitized by your profession that you can’t tell down from up anymore. It’s probably both.
I’m a Young Women’s leader in my ward, which means that I work with the girls between the ages of 11–18 in my neighborhood. They are incredible. I don’t say that lightly. They are curious, intelligent, outgoing, friendly, courageous, strong girls. I love my time with them because I learn so much from them.
As I’ve been thinking about this billboard situation, their faces keep popping up in my mind. While I was hurt by the billboard, that hurt went away quickly. As an adult, I’m used to the world trying to make me feel worse about myself. The nagging thought remains — would it have gone away as quickly for them, or would they have internalized this false message that God cares what they look like?
I hope they didn’t see it, but I’m not naive. This particular billboard aside, I know that they will see garbage like this for the rest of their lives. All women do. They will be bombarded with belittling billboards. They will be degraded by damaging directives. They will be told, over and over again, that they are not good enough. It’s a terrible part of growing up, and yet it seems unavoidable.
But those of us who care are trying to do something about it. If I had my own billboard for thousands of women to see, it would say this:
You are divine. You are good enough. Your Heavenly Parents created you, not to be remodeled, but to put your unique brand of goodness out into the world.
Most women know this about themselves already. Many, like me, are in the constant process of relearning it. For a few, this idea is new. Many men also know this about the women in their lives, while many desperately need to relearn it. This knowledge that we all need to have about ourselves and the people around us is the only thing that will bring the change we need.
If, in the state of Utah, we all knew that we were divine and powerful and good enough, would we have such a devastating problem with opioid abuse? Would our elective plastic surgery rates be as high as they are? Would suicide rates be so staggering and the pay gap so discouraging? I don’t believe they would be. These are complex and multi-faceted issues, but believing ourselves to be good enough is the first step in stemming their destructive tide.
It’s radical to believe that we are powerful and strong; that we should focus less on changing our own bodies and focus more on the good that we put out into the world. It’s a dangerous thought for those who make money off of our insecurities. It’s potent and life-giving and bright. And not only is it all of these things; it’s also true.
So women and girls, let’s celebrate ourselves and others. Let’s love our bodies for the good they can do, whether it’s running or writing or playing or breaking glass ceilings. Focus on the love that you can feel for yourself, even when it’s tough. Believe that you can do hard things and good things, and fill your life with that.
You are good enough. You have good to offer.
Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise, even if it’s on a billboard.