Spiritual Spanx and Freemason Symbols: My Mormon Underwear Story
A snarky deep dive into garments, Freemason symbols, underwear policing, and what happens when your entire sense of worthiness was sewn into cotton blend spiritual Spanx.
Sit down, cuz I’m bout to spill the tea on all things Mormon garments: what they are, why Mormons wear them, how you get them, the rules, a bit of their history, and finally, my journey learning how to buy regular underwear at 38 years old. Buckle up….
So what are these “sacred” underwear Mormons wear?
Basically, garments are Mormon temple underwear that you’re supposed to wear every day for the rest of your life—and most likely for all of eternity—to prove your devotion to God.
You get them during initiatory, the first part of the temple endowment. That’s when they wash you, anoint you with oil, and dress you in these garments while talking about Aaron—Moses’ brother. Because apparently, if Aaron wore special clothes back in Exodus, we need to as well. Makes perfect sense!
Fun Fact #1:
Garments have markings sewn into them—a square over your right boob, a compass over your left, plus little slits at your navel and knee. These symbols come straight out of Freemasonry because Joseph Smith thought Masonic rituals were cool and decided Mormonism needed its own secret club undies too.
There are different fabrics and a few fits to choose from…but honestly, your input is minimal. Complaining about them? Basically like spitting in God’s face. Or at least, that’s how my family handled garment talk.
Imagine wearing a thin shirt tucked into long, spandex shorts—every single day. That’s Mormon garments. The tops peek out of every shirt you own, and the bottoms are like high-waisted bike shorts with zero compression, style, or dignity.
Fun Fact #2:When you size up in garments, everything gets bigger:
Chest and bust expand
Torso lengthens
Sleeves get longer (cap sleeves can become half sleeves)
Bottoms get wider and longer (shorts can nearly hit your knees)
If you have a small bust but a long torso? Too bad. Garments aren’t designed to fit like lingerie—they’re designed to cover as much skin as possible. Women complain that:
Sleeves are too long or loose
Bottoms become baggy and unflattering
Cuts don’t account for different body shapes (apple, pear, hourglass)
And maternity garments? Even thicker, with extra panels for belly expansion—perfect for sweating to death while pregnant in Arizona.
Why do Mormons wear garments?
Because God apparently really cares about your underwear choices.
Officially, garments are supposed to remind you of your temple covenants—a daily “I promised to be good” token, except it covers your entire torso and thighs. I mean, maybe the wedgie was supposed to remind you of God, but honestly, I never thought about God while wearing them.
They’re also described as spiritual protection. Growing up, I heard all the stories: people in car accidents whose garments burned everywhere except where they covered—because apparently God’s magic force field stops at your knees and shoulders. Someone once told me about a woman who got stabbed and the garment sealed around her wound and saved her…so yeah, they kinda take it literally…
But really, it comes down to compliance. Wearing garments proves your loyalty to God and the church, ensuring you never forget your place. Plus, it conveniently polices modesty at the same time. Two birds, one cotton-blend stone. Another point for Mormons and misogyny.
How do you get garments?
Easy. Just dedicate your entire life to the church, prove your worthiness, and go through a secret temple ceremony where they dress you in them for the first time. Super chill.
Technically, you get garments during initiatory. But before that, you need a temple recommend, which means:
Paying tithing (10% of your income)
Following all the church’s rules
Passing a worthiness interview with your bishop and stake president—aka your neighbors.
Because nothing says “God’s unconditional love” quite like a worthiness checklist before you’re allowed to buy underwear from the church distribution center.
And yes, that’s where you buy them. You walk in, flash your temple recommend, and hope you get a chill sales associate because most won’t let you size down—modest really is hottest, remember. You choose your size from a paper chart taped to the counter, guessing which fit will ruin your outfit the least. My gal made me stand back to look at my figure to see if I really was a XS. Not trying them on. No returns. Just you, your spiritual worthiness, and underwear that will probably give you a yeast infection.
I guess you can buy them online now, which is a huge win for people who want some autonomy over their underwear.
What are the rules for wearing garments?
If you don’t follow these rules, trust me—the Mormon community will judge you. How do I know? Because I used to sit there judging other women for breaking them. I didn’t invent it—I learned it from the best: a culture that treats your testimony as dependent on how well you police your holy underwear.
Don’t believe me? Ask any Mormon woman who’s worn workout clothes outside a gym if someone’s side-eyed her. Ask those who leave their garments home on vacation if anyone made a snarky comment. Ask the ones who’ve done fitness competitions in bikinis if people whispered behind their backs. Spoiler: they have. Every single one has the same sad, embarrassing story—and yeah, I used to help write it.
It’s wild how the church convinces everyone that obsessing over someone else’s underwear is not only okay, but righteous judgment.
Some members like to talk about how much “progress” the church has made with garments. But here’s the thing—until a group of old men aren’t the ones thinking about or deciding anything related to women’s underwear, it’s not enough.
Until the church apologizes to every woman who’s dealt with chronic yeast infections, to everyone who’s suffered swamp ass for Jesus, to all the women who’ve cried in dressing rooms because nothing covered everything, to every mom and daughter who’ve fought over tank tops and bikinis, to all the people who spent decades wearing these garments only to realize it was never about holiness—it was always about control—there is no real progress.
Until they admit that?
It’s all just cotton-blend bullshit wrapped up in priesthood approval.
Holy underwear, unholy intentions.
The garment rules:
👮🏼♂️ Wear them day and night.
Sleeping naked? Nope. Working out in just a sports bra and shorts? Also nope.
One time, I was eight months pregnant in the middle of summer in Mesa, Arizona, absolutely roasting alive in maternity garments. I asked my mom if I could just wear regular underwear to my brother’s football game. She said, “No way.” So there I was, wearing an extra shirt under my shirt, sweating for Jesus. Great religion.
When Mormons started influencing on Instagram, the comment sections were feral. People would dissect every outfit, asking if she could possibly be wearing her garments with that. They’d chastise her for only wearing them when she felt like it. Can you imagine?
Oh wait—I can. I spent years doing the exact same judgmental shit.
👮🏼♂️Don’t alter them.
No cropping, hemming, or tailoring allowed. God wants you in saggy grandma undies forever.
👮🏼♂️ Keep them covered.
Your outer clothing must fully cover them. Growing up, I watched my mom sort through mountains of clothes trying to find something that hid her garments. I once asked why she didn’t just pull them up, and she bore her testimony that “this is what God wants.”
When Mormon bloggers started getting big, the comment sections were savage. People were chucking word tomatoes like, “Your religion is showing!!!” and “That’s not covering your garments!” It was wild—grown adults foaming at the mouth over someone else’s underwear coverage.
Honestly, this is peak cult energy. Imagine caring more about another woman’s cap sleeve than your own mental health. Actually, I don’t have to imagine—I did it for decades.
👮🏼♂️ Treat them with respect.
Don’t toss them on the floor or wash them with “unclean” items like period-stained clothes. Cultural or doctrinal, the judgment’s the same.
👮🏼♂️ Dispose of them properly.
When garments wear out, cut out the markings before throwing them away —because God’s magic symbols can’t rot in a landfill like common trash. My mom used to burn the markings in our kitchen sink so no one could find them and mock us. Totally normal stuff.
The History of Mormon Garments (abridged and savage)
1840s: Joseph Smith introduces garments right after becoming a Master Mason. Coincidence? Doubt it. Full-body onesies with Masonic symbols.
19th century: Pioneers sweat and freeze in them. God’s love language was chafing.
Early 1900s: Minor changes, like removing collars. ( I know, I had no idea they had collars in the beginning ) Members panic about angering God.
1970s: Two-piece garments finally approved. Women celebrate peeing without stripping naked.
2000s: Fabrics diversify. Sewn symbols replaced by heat-pressed ones.
2018-2019: Updates for “comfort,” like softer waistbands and tagless designs. Tank top garments approved for hot climates, causing Mormon meltdown.
2020s: Church pivots PR: “They’re sacred, not secret,” while still demanding secrecy. New videos instruct members on care and disposal. Because of course.
My hot take on leaving garments behind
Even sharing these facts makes me squirm—indoctrination runs deep, kids.
I never questioned any of it. Every adult I knew wore garments. It was just normal. It wasn’t until my religious shelf came crashing down that I thought, “Wait, why the hell are we all so obsessed with underwear?”
Taking them off is basically the Mormon scarlet letter that screams, “I don’t believe anymore.” And while I had stopped believing, let’s not forget: I had only ever worn garments for twenty years. In my young adult life, when everyone else was experimenting, I was just out here getting my holy undies—because blessings, obviously.
I didn’t even know where adults bought underwear. Target? Victoria’s Secret? A shady alley booth selling freedom by the three-pack? No clue. I’m autistic, and changing underwear routines felt like an impossible sensory betrayal. So I kept wearing the bottoms for a while because apparently ditching God is easier than picking out new underwear.
I mentioned this to someone, and they were like, “Um, why would you disrespect the Gs like that?”
And in my head I thought, “Maybe because this organization stole my underwear autonomy for 20 years. The least they could do is give me a break and remember what actually matters in the end… people. Not rules.”
Of course, I didn’t say that. I just shrunk down and held my tongue. But the sentiment was clear: appearances matter more than people.
As with all things deconstruction, garments have been confusing and destabilizing. I’m still figuring out what underwear I even want to wear. It’s wild how picking out underwear feels like a massive act of rebellion. And it pisses me off thinking about how I spent decades believing my worthiness, safety, and goodness all hinged on a piece of fabric sewn with Freemason symbols.
So yeah. Garments are a big fucking deal. It’s weird and creepy when men decide what underwear women can buy and even weirder when they police whether or not they’re wearing them.
I hate that I used to judge people for not following the rules. I hate that I still notice. But my new faith? With enough therapy, that will go away.
So here I am, just a grown ass woman trying to buy underwear for the first time, reclaiming a tiny part of myself that religion took away. And if that isn’t the world’s saddest and sassiest coming-of-age arc, I don’t know what is.
Wear whatever underwear you want. Or don’t. Whatever.
Haha. I swung the pendulum to the other side and can’t seem to wear any underwear at all!!!
Amen to this!! It’s all SO wild 🤪