While watching the first spinoff of Hulu's “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives,†which transplants the action from Utah to the sunny beaches of Orange County, one might start to fear they're seeing double. One Orange County castmember, McCall DaPron, is a dead ringer for her sister, flagship star Mayci Neeley. One actual O.G. Mormon wife, Jennifer Affleck, has made the move to warmer climes while her home life is in flux. But mostly, the conflicts and cast dynamics on “Orange County†are nearly identical to those on the original “Mormon Wives,†so much so that what separates the shows is more a matter of geography than substance.
Where the first generation of Mormon wives quickly sorted themselves into so-called “sinners†and “saints,†for example, the Orange County crew divides into similar accounts: the “Molly Mormons†— observant, often blond and in traditional family arrangements — and everyone else. The latter camp includes some women whose ties to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints are truly tenuous, like deadpan podcaster Bobbi Althoff. Althoff's brother converted to Mormonism as an adult, though her casting presumably has more to do with her sizable online following than religious affiliation. The plot beats derived from this internal split are nonetheless eerily familiar, pitting Pinterest-ready traditionalism against forward-looking modernity. Then again, no one on the first “Mormon Wives†is in a relationship as unorthodox as that of O.C. YouTuber Aspyn Ovard, who's in a full-on throuple.
As job descriptions like “podcaster†and “YouTuber†imply, “Mormon Wives†remains a text about internet fame first and religion a distant second. (Althoff isn't even the only professional talker in the ensemble; she's joined by comedy host Avery Woods.) In lieu of “#MomTok,†the existing friend group of synchronized lip-synchers who provided a ready-made subject for a reality show, Orange County assembles a loose constellation of acquaintances. The common denominator is theoretically Affleck, who claims the crew are friends she made while filming “Dancing With the Stars†in Los Angeles. But what unites these women is really their ability to turn their social media profiles into an income source, and the effect that money has on their most intimate relationships.
Former child actor Madison Bontempo, a doe-eyed mother of five whose candid disclosures about her traumatic upbringing instantly earn our sympathy, films sponsored content while her husband Kyler makes questionable investments and complains that she's “emasculating†him. A therapy session between Ovard and her ex to work on their coparenting arrangement descends into a screaming match when she offers to support him financially. Affleck's husband, Zac, who remains mercifully offscreen in a welcome shift from “Mormon Wives†prime, nonetheless makes his presence felt by adding to her financial stress.
It's all depressingly par for the course, making a point “Mormon Wives†has driven home many times before: brand deals can afford power and agency within Mormonism's patriarchal, small-c conservative culture — but only if the women benefiting from them free their minds first. (Breaking the chains within is a prerequisite to ditching the shitty husband without.) Besides the scenery, the main difference is that “Orange County†is free to highlight this paradox without the albatross that is Taylor Frankie Paul, the “Mormon Wives†star whose toxic, potentially abusive relationship has devoured all the oxygen over in Utah. “‘Mormon Wives' minus Taylor†is honestly not a bad value proposition for a show, keeping the addictive drama while removing the element that takes away from the fun. But Paul's situation is merely the most extreme manifestation of a condition it's still dispiriting to witness en masse.
Granted, not all the wives' problems are entirely on their partners. Salomé Andrea, a dark-haired beauty whose family comes from the island territory (and Mormon missionary hotspot!) of Guam, can't stop obsessing over what her husband got up to during their mutual yearlong separation. And some of the cast squabbles have the kind of potentially choreographed pettiness that makes for a satisfying diversion, like Althoff simply refusing to play ball as DaPron insists on a Palm Royale outfit theme for a party on a group trip. Team Althoff: grown-ass adults get to dress how they like!
But while “Orange County†is organically connected to the flagship “Mormon Wives†— an amusing series of flashbacks reveals that several were unidentified extras in previous party scenes — the new wives' connections to one another are more manufactured. There are constant, Housewife-adjacent arguments about how members of “this group†can best “support each other,†like when they attend Althoff's comedy show at the Netflix Is a Joke festival. (Surprisingly, the competing streamer gets some free PR.) Yet this isn't #MomTok, a cohort that already had a name, identity and internal tensions before the cameras started rolling. Part of the reason there's an obvious gap between the Molly Mormons, captained by DaPron, and the Andrea-Woods-Althoff camp is that their common denominator seems to be the casting department.
Until “Orange County†acquires its own center of gravity as the cast starts to hang out and cohere, the spinoff has the feel of a placebo. It's not distinct enough from “Mormon Wives†proper to offer a complementary vibe, like the “Real Housewives of Potomac†vis á vis “New York City.†(The comparison between the two franchises is made even more unavoidable by “Mormon Wives†setting up shop at Housewives Ground Zero, though Vicki Gunvalson is nowhere to be found.) Nor is it quite the same addictive mess. “Orange County†is a close copy of “Mormon Wives†— just not a carbon one.
All eight episodes of “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives: Orange County†are now available to stream on Hulu.
