The Moms Who Sponcon Their Daughters' First Periods
Journalist Fortesa Latifi's new book exposes the troubling realities of child influencers—from Mormon momfluencer culture to parents who boost engagement by posting partially clothed kids.
The world of momfluencers is fraught territory.
The rise of trad wives like beauty queen rancher Hannah Neeleman (Ballerina Farm) and 24-year-old model and mother of four Nara Smith has intensified pressure on mothers to project a pristine, idealized vision of motherhood online.
But mothers who post their children on social media face relentless judgment and expose their kids to potential predators.
What drives our obsession with internet moms—and what toll does public parenting take on these women and their children? Fortesa Latifi's new book Like, Follow, Subscribe: Influencers and the Cost of a Childhood Online investigates the complicated world of trad wives, family vloggers, and child content creators.
Latifi, an investigative journalist, examines serious ethical questions about parents broadcasting their children online, particularly when kids are too young to consent. Some examples she documents—like parents creating sponsored content around a daughter's first period—are disturbing.
"Parents are aware of the risks" of posting their kids on social media, Latifi says, citing a mother who noticed her 7-year-old's posts performed best when the child wasn't fully clothed—yet continued posting her daughter in dance costumes. "But in the end, it doesn't change their behavior."
Still, in an era where content dominates and 57 percent of Gen Zers in 2023 said they aspire to become professional influencers, Latifi argues the question of exploitation isn't straightforward. She also examines why many momfluencers choose this path: for women raised to believe their place is in the home, it's often one of few viable career options.
This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
WIRED: What surprised you most during your research for this book?
Fortesa Latifi: Two revelations stood out. First, I discovered the Mormon Church actively funds certain Mormon influencers—something I hadn't anticipated. Second, multiple family vloggers and parent influencers openly acknowledged that their highest-performing content features children who are sick, injured, or upset. They admitted without hesitation that videos showing kids bleeding or crying consistently generate the most engagement.
What's the most disturbing example of child exploitation you encountered? The menstrual pad sponsorship tied to a daughter's first period particularly struck me.
That's shockingly common, actually. First periods and other puberty milestones frequently become content opportunities. For these families, the camera essentially becomes another family member—its presence feels normal to them. I've watched videos of children shaving their legs for the first time rack up millions of views, and I've seen kids saying goodbye at their grandparents' caskets reach similar numbers. These are profoundly intimate moments that feel uncomfortable to witness as an outsider.
What made you think, as a parent yourself, "I can't comprehend this choice"?
I dedicated a chapter to the documented risk of predators consuming this content—a threat substantiated by The New York Times' deeply troubling investigation. Parents told me they'd received inappropriate messages about their children, expressing concern about it. Yet this awareness rarely altered how they presented their kids online—in diapers, swimsuits, eating popsicles, or in other contexts that attracted disturbing attention. I can't understand receiving those messages and not fundamentally changing your approach to sharing your child's image.
Let's discuss the Mormon and tradwife dimensions. How much of today's popular family content reflects religious or political ideology? How much deliberately promotes right-wing conservative values?
Most of it embodies right-wing conservative ideals, though rarely explicitly. Consider Ballerina Farm—the enormously popular lifestyle influencer Hannah Neeleman. She doesn't declare her politics outright, but she's raising nine children and prepares everything from scratch. The majority of this content is heavily conservative-coded.
Why does this pattern exist, and how does it express itself subtly?
Conservative families are structurally better positioned for family blogging and mom influencing. They typically have larger families and start having children younger. Often the mother stays home, creating the time and circumstances to build this type of career.
You explored what makes Mormons particularly effective influencers. Have they actually succeeded at recruitment? Church membership has actually been declining.
Some Mormon vloggers claim 30 or 40 families have joined the church because of their content. One Mormon mommy blogger explained why the church paid her to post about distributing rotisserie chickens to unhoused people: "I had a million monthly website visitors—that's more effective than two missionaries going door-to-door." Whether they're literally converting people is unclear, but they've penetrated the cultural conversation in unprecedented ways.
How have shows like The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives and Taylor Frankie Paul's story reshaped perceptions of Mormon motherhood?
They've expanded the narrative, though not in ways the church likely appreciates. The church would prefer the Ballerina Farm representation of Mormon life. Taylor Frankie Paul doesn't fit the mold the church wants to promote. A few years ago, the Mormon mom archetype meant a perfect, stay-at-home mother with many children who was beautiful and submissive to her husband. Now we have figures like Taylor Frankie Paul—divorced, with a child born outside marriage, involved in publicized domestic disputes, yet serving as her family's primary earner. There's a scene in Secret Lives of Mormon Wives where someone asks how many women are breadwinners, and every hand goes up. That's not traditional Mormon culture. It complicates how people understand Mormon women.
You argue momfluencers aren't necessarily feminist. But does momfluencer criticism contain misogynistic elements—resentment that these women monetize something society considers unmonetizable?
Absolutely. Society expects maternal labor to remain invisible and unpaid. There's a misogynistic reflex: "She's just a mom—why is she making so much money from just being a mom?" Part of the backlash stems from these women finding ways to monetize motherhood when motherhood is almost definitionally unmonetizable. They've circumvented that expectation, and people react like someone resenting a lottery winner.
What have the children told you about the consequences? Have any cut contact with their parents over being featured online?
Yes, some have. The first former family vlog kid I interviewed has severed contact with her parents because she feels her entire childhood was spent working, which proved damaging. But others say, "I have my own YouTube channel with 630,000 subscribers." That's the crucial point: we can't flatten this narrative and claim every child influencer hates their experience. That simply isn't true.
