Let's be real. If you spent any time on TikTok in 2022, you remember exactly where you were when the "Soft Swinging" scandal broke. It wasn't just a local Utah drama. It was an absolute cultural earthquake that shattered the carefully curated, beige-aesthetic glass ceiling of Mormon influencer culture. At the center of it all stood Taylor Frankie Paul, a woman who—depending on who you ask—is either a villain, a victim of a repressive culture, or just a really honest person who got caught in a messy situation.
The Hulu series The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives didn't just appear out of thin air. It’s the direct result of a specific brand of "Momtok" fame that relied on high-waisted leggings, giant Stanley cups, and a very specific version of the LDS faith. But when the veneer cracked, it didn't just leak a little; it burst.
We need to talk about what actually happened versus the TikTok rumors. People love to simplify this into a "cheating scandal," but it’s way more nuanced than that. It’s about the intersection of modern social media fame and traditional religious expectations. It's about a group of women who were basically performing "perfection" for a living while their private lives were falling into total chaos.
The Taylor Frankie Paul Catalyst
Taylor was the ringleader. That's not an insult; it's just the reality of the Momtok hierarchy. She had the following, the look, and the bold personality that made her the "Main Character" of the Utah influencer scene. When she posted that infamous TikTok announcing her divorce and mentioning "soft swinging," she didn't just end her marriage. She effectively ended the careers of some of her friends while skyrocketing others into mainstream reality TV territory.
So, what is "soft swinging"?
Basically, as Taylor explained it, the group had an agreement. They would swap partners for everything except full intercourse. It’s a distinction that sounds wild to outsiders but made perfect sense in their specific social bubble. They were trying to push boundaries without "technically" breaking certain religious or personal rules, at least in their own minds. But Taylor admitted she crossed the line. She developed feelings and had a physical relationship that went beyond the "soft" rules.
The fallout was instant.
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The "inner circle" fractured. People like Miranda McKeon and Camille Munday were suddenly under the microscope. Fans started playing detective, analyzing every old video for "clues" of who was involved. It was a digital witch hunt, frankly. And while some women moved away from the drama, Taylor leaned into the mess. She stayed public. She stayed loud.
Why The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives Works (And Why It Doesn't)
When Hulu greenlit the show, critics thought it would be a "Real Housewives" clone. It’s not. Not exactly. It’s more of a study on cognitive dissonance. You’re watching women who are genuinely terrified of being "excommunicated" or judged by their bishops, yet they are filming themselves drinking "dirty sodas" and discussing elective cosmetic surgeries and partner swapping.
The show centers on the "Momtok" group post-scandal. We see Taylor navigating a new relationship with Dakota Mortensen, a pregnancy, and the legal aftershifts of a domestic violence arrest that happened in early 2023. This is where the "entertainment" gets heavy. It’s hard to watch someone struggle with mental health and legal issues while also trying to maintain a "brand."
The "Mormon-ish" Factor
One of the biggest misconceptions is that these women represent the average member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They don't. Most LDS women aren't out here filming reality shows about swinging. However, they do represent a very specific subculture: the Utah County Influencer.
This subculture values:
- Hyper-productivity
- Early marriage and large families
- Physical perfection (Botox, fillers, hair extensions)
- Financial success through social media
The tension in the show comes from the fact that they want to keep the "Mormon" label because it’s their niche, but they don't want to follow the "Mormon" rules. They are "Mormon-ish." It’s a fascinating, albeit messy, evolution of religious identity in the digital age. They are redefining what it means to be a "faithful" member while openly defying the Church’s stance on modesty and chastity.
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The Impact on the LDS Church
The Church hasn't officially issued a "Taylor Frankie Paul" statement, obviously. They don't do that. But the cultural ripples are there. For years, the LDS Church has tried to project a very specific image of family life. These women blew that image up.
Interestingly, many viewers who have left the LDS faith (often called "Ex-Mormons") have found the show cathartic. They see the same pressures they felt—the pressure to be perfect, the gossip, the "shame" culture—just played out with higher production values. It’s a mirror. A distorted, glittery mirror, but a mirror nonetheless.
Legal Troubles and Real-World Consequences
We can't ignore the February 2023 incident. Taylor was arrested following a domestic dispute. It wasn't just "drama" for the cameras; it involved her children and a chair being thrown. She eventually pleaded guilty to a refined set of charges and took a plea deal that involved domestic violence treatment.
This is where the "fun" of reality TV stops.
When you watch The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, you have to remember these aren't just characters. There are kids involved. There are real custody battles and real trauma. Taylor has been surprisingly transparent about her struggle with depression and the "dark cloud" she felt under during that period. It doesn't excuse the behavior, but it provides a context that the 60-second TikTok clips usually skip.
The "Villain" Edit vs. Reality
In the show, there’s a clear divide. You have the "sinners" (led by Taylor) and the "saints" (or at least those trying to look like them). Whitney Leavitt often finds herself in the crosshairs. Whitney’s journey on the show is a masterclass in how not to handle a PR crisis. From the "dancing while my baby is in the hospital" video to her awkward interactions with the rest of the group, she’s become the person fans love to deconstruct.
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But is anyone actually "good" here?
Probably not in the way the Church wants them to be. But they are human. They are navigating fame that came way too fast. Most of these women were married at 19 or 20. They had kids by 21. By 25, they were millionaires with millions of followers. They skipped the "finding yourself" phase of young adulthood and went straight into "building a brand." Now, they’re having their rebellious teenage years in front of a global audience.
Key Takeaways and What’s Next
The saga isn't over. Not by a long shot. As of 2026, the landscape of Utah influencers has permanently changed. The "secret" is out. The beige curtain is pulled back.
If you're following this story, stop looking for a "hero." There isn't one. Instead, look at it as a case study on the "Influencer Industrial Complex." Taylor Frankie Paul didn't just happen; she was created by an audience that demanded perfection and then salivated when that perfection crumbled.
Practical Steps for Navigating the Momtok Rabbit Hole:
- Check the Timeline: Don't conflate the 2022 swinging scandal with the 2023 legal issues. They are separate events that informed one another.
- Look for Primary Sources: If you want the truth, watch Taylor’s long-form YouTube videos or podcast appearances (like The Viall Files). The TikTok edits are usually designed to make her look as crazy as possible.
- Understand the Geography: Most of this drama is centered in "Silicon Slopes" (Lehi/Draper/Provo, Utah). The culture there is a pressure cooker of wealth and religion that doesn't exist anywhere else in the world.
- Separate Faith from Culture: Remember that what you see on the show is "Utah Mormonism," which is a very different beast than how the religion is practiced in, say, Brazil or even California.
- Follow the Money: These women are businesses. Every "scandal" post usually precedes a brand deal or a show launch. They know exactly what they are doing with the "hooks."
The "Secret Lives" aren't really secret anymore. They are a commodity. And as long as we keep watching, they'll keep sharing. Just don't expect a clean ending. In the world of Taylor Frankie Paul, the mess is the point.