Disciples of…Dollar Signs?

Jesus taught in synagogues and preached in fields. He said, “go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19), sending His followers to lead sacrificial, charitable lives, with many paying the ultimate cost of martyrdom. But now, in the age of online Christendom, there’s a new kind of preacher on the scene: the Catholic social media influencer.

Boasting tens of thousands of followers online, Catholic influencers not only preach the Faith, they sell it too. “It’s rare to find an influencer not seeking profit. Everything they promote seems to cost money,” laments Christy Winn, a Catholic young adult from Kentucky. As thousands of Millennial and Gen-Z women sign up to be “followers,” they also end up paying a cost, but not one that will turn them into instant saints.

Most of the women I spoke to for this article asked to remain anonymous, with one even expressing her fear of the influencers’ “power.” I reached out to each influencer mentioned, but none responded. This article isn’t meant to critique any influencers’ intentions, but rather to explore how influencer culture affects us, the followers, in the digital age.

Meet Mari Wagner (@mari.c.wagner), a Catholic influencer who seamlessly weaves theological insights with product placement. With over 140,000 followers, Mari often showcases her flawless skin while promoting Crunchi, a “clean” skincare multi-level-marketing (MLM) brand. The term “clean” is controversial, as there’s no industry-wide standard for what it means, but the implication is that using such products helps reduce exposure to toxins and endocrine disruptors.

As she films her skincare routine, Mari claims that “avoiding as many toxins as you can” and “embracing a natural way of living” helps you “live more in line with God’s design.” This echoes Scripture’s message that “your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:19). Despite Scripture being true, Bridget Wilson, a 34-year-old ministry director, observes, “I’ll see things about ‘natural’ lifestyles that are over-spiritualized. [Influencers use] a lot of scare tactics.”

The blending of Catholic spirituality, “clean” beauty, and MLM marketing raises questions: Is Mari crossing the line between evangelization and promoting her personal brand for profit? By sharing her Crunchi affiliate link, Mari earns a commission when followers shop with her. Crunchi Advocates like Mari must purchase or sell at least $400 worth of products every six months and pay an annual $60 renewal fee. They are also encouraged to recruit new clients in order to earn bonuses, creating a pyramid-like scheme in practice.

Heather Yarrington (@holyhotmessmom), a former MLM sales rep, reflects on how MLMs target those craving connections, like stay-at-home moms and military wives. Instead of fostering genuine relationships, these MLMs can encourage Catholic influencers to exploit their followers, all under the guise of building an “authentic community” or “making a positive impact.”

Check any Catholic influencer’s Instagram and if you don’t find MLM products, you may find something else for sale: their advice. Take Megan Wells (@megs__wells), a mother of three, who claims to have an “experiential toolkit” from her various birthing experiences. For $97, followers can access her 1:1 Birth Mentorship program, which covers topics from birth mentality to medical interventions. A disclaimer notes it’s “not medical advice, therapy, or counseling,” crucial since Megan seems to lack formal training in those areas. Originally, her mentorship program was $137. To put it in perspective, $137/hour is close to an OB/GYN’s rate. Check any Catholic influencer’s Instagram and if you don’t find MLM products, you may find something else for sale: their advice.Tweet This

Nikayla Bautista, a Catholic photographer and mother of two, likes the program’s natural, prayer-guided approach to childbirth. I asked Nikayla if she’d think otherwise, given that $137 is what an OB/GYN might charge, but she didn’t respond. On the other hand, Claire H., a 31-year-old media consultant, warns that “when Catholic influencers say natural birth is always best without medical intervention, it can be harmful to those with health issues.”

In December 2021, influencer—and close friend of Megan’s—Cecilia Jean Brennan (@ceciliajeanblog) promoted a fertility awareness class called “Chart the Basics” Workshop, taught by FEMM instructor Mairead Suthoff (@luminahealthservices). Marketed as a class “for the girl who wants to know what to chart and how to chart correctly,” it cost $30 per person and had over 60 attendees, including Claire H.

“I don’t remember learning anything practical. The only takeaway was that your cycle can apparently sync up to the lunar cycle, which I thought was funny,” Claire reflects. I reached out to Mairead to ask if Cecilia’s marketing accurately reflected the workshop’s content, considering Claire’s experience. Mairead responded, “the workshop itself was neither designed nor marketed as full instruction on a method for NFP,” adding that “women with very regular cycles will find, anecdotally, that they often sync up with lunar cycles, but we don’t know how much influence the moon truly has on our cycles.”

Cecilia and Megan are among a handful of Catholic influencers offering paid courses, guides, and mentorships. Sarah B., a 24-year-old clinical mental health counseling graduate student, voices concerns about unqualified influencers offering these kinds of programs: “As someone in a counseling program, I’ve become wary of mentorships and scrutinize the credentials of those offering them.” The rise of influencer-led courses and mentorships seems to reflect the reality that many young Catholic women lack in-person communities where they can find true friends or mentors.

“I know plenty of women who are starving for connection,” says Meghan B., a 29-year-old Catholic singer from Texas. This rings true, as 48 percent of U.S. adults aged 18-29 report being online “almost constantly,” according to Pew Research Center. Sarah B. agrees, saying it’s sometimes easier to seek advice online, though she’s found greater support from her local priest. “We need to encourage others to seek sanctity through their in-person communities,” adds Eleni Silva, a former FOCUS missionary and Catholic mother of two.

For followers who look to influencers as role models, they may find that many hold obstinate opinions on faith and morals. “I encountered many opinions from influencers that suggested there was only one ‘right’ way to approach certain issues. I had to do my own research and ultimately listen to the Church,” says Sarah B. Torre Snell, a recently engaged Catholic, agrees, “I’ve just noticed a general trend of Catholic influencers teaching things as Gospel that are actually just their personal anecdotes, and using their Catholic identity to make it seem like a sin to not agree with them.”

An example of this can be found in the podcast What in the Dang Heck, hosted by previously mentioned influencers Megan and Cecilia. In Episode 192, “For the Girls: Spicy Edition,” a young woman calls in to discuss Natural Family Planning (NFP), wondering if she and her fiancé should avoid sex on their wedding night due to financial concerns.

For some couples, financial challenges may be serious enough to consider postponing pregnancy. In Humanae Vitae, St. Pope Paul VI taught that 

responsible parenthood is exercised by those who prudently and generously decide to have more children, and by those who, for serious reasons and with due respect to moral precepts, decide not to have additional children for either a certain or an indefinite period of time. (HV 10)

In the episode, influencer Cecilia remarks: “Here’s the thing, when you’re getting married, all of the grave reasons [to abstain on your wedding night] you should know about. If there’s a grave reason present, then maybe marriage isn’t the right next step for you guys.”

Emily Frase, co-founder and president of FAbMbase, a nonprofit offering NFP and fertility awareness resources, comments on Cecilia’s proclamation: 

[Cecilia’s] statement is based on the belief that procreation is the primary purpose of marriage, while union is secondary. However, the Church and Sacred Scripture has always upheld the dual primacy of union and procreation in sex and marriage, going back to Genesis: “be fruitful and multiply” (Gen. 1:28) and “the two shall become one flesh” (Gen. 2:24).

Emily adds, 

if a couple has discerned both marriage to each other and the need to avoid pregnancy at the start of marriage, delaying marriage would be, in effect, saying that there are some burdens they’re not willing to bear together. That contradicts the Catholic view of marriage, making it conditional. When a couple exchanges vows, they say to each other, “I take you entirely as you are. I know you. I see you. I see your faults, sins and burdens as well as your strengths and gifts, and they are all mine, as mine are all yours.”

Cecilia’s remarks on marriage and Natural Family Planning reflect her personal views, and while likely well-intended, the concern is that her anecdotes might be mistaken for official Church teaching, possibly causing confusion among listeners. The podcast, which averages 8,500 listens per episode according to its Fall 2024 media kit, mainly targets Catholic and Christian women aged 18-35.

Recently married Catholic Anna D. shared that she stopped listening to What in the Dang Heck during her engagement because Cecilia and Megan’s advice blew her scrupulosity “through the roof.” In contrast, Emma P., a Catholic young adult from Indiana, says she “generally agrees with [Cecilia and Megan’s] opinions” but listens with the understanding that they are not all-knowing.

Anna D. confesses,

Personal accountability on behalf of the social media consumer is important, but at the same time, accountability and discernment is all the more necessary for the influencer with thousands of followers. For the last 6-8 months, I’ve been avoiding [influencer] social media accounts that focus on a “lifestyle,” and I plan on deleting my social media accounts soon…at best, the influencers try to persuade you into supporting their MLM or clicking their affiliate links. At worst, you end up anxious and questioning your own relationship with God.

It’s clear no one can fully know the influencers’ intentions. In giving them the benefit of the doubt, I’d say their mentorship programs and courses could truly be life-changing for some, and their paid services might benefit the young Church, which is more online than ever. Their collective love for “clean” beauty MLMs might also be genuine, with any profits being simply an afterthought. In general, Catholic influencers on Instagram have built strong online communities, making faith the heart of their following. They use their gifts and talents to create spaces where like-minded women can find a sort of fellowship. 

But if we keep drifting away from incarnational communities, the lure of building lives within a pixelated society becomes all the more tempting. 

Meghan B. shares, 

A few years ago, I wanted to become an influencer. I feel like the pull was so strong. It would be a way for me to be recognized and have a sort of celebrity status. It really messed me up trying to come up with a platform. I’m over it for now, but I really have to guard my heart on Instagram.

Many of the women I spoke with echoed similar feelings—like Lo Schubilske (@hellofromlo), a self-described Catholic influencer herself: “I’ve unfollowed quite a few influencers, not because they are bad people, but because they weren’t making my life better. My spiritual life was diminishing.” 

Elena Silva adds, “I don’t envy Catholic influencers who try to market sainthood. They’ll be responsible for a lot of souls one day and I don’t think they realize the gravity of what they’re doing.”