The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Opinion
6 — Wednesday, May 18, 2022
BRANDON COWIT
Managing Editor
Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building
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Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.
VANESSA KIEFER
Editor in Chief
T
here is something comforting
about the universality of
soda. Any name-brand cola
in the deep recesses of a gas station
freezer in California will taste nearly
identical to its counterpart at a diner
soda fountain in Kentucky. The
taste profile, meticulously crafted
by chemists and flavor experts, has
withstood the test of time.
In recent decades, the soda
industry
has
seen
a
drop
in
consumption, largely due to health
campaigns encouraging Americans
to opt for low-sugar alternatives.
However, the carbonated beverage
market
remains
a
behemoth
(currently valued at a whopping
$407 billion), its popularity is only
increasing in some parts of the
country.
Carrying the weight of the
soda industry is the American
Mountain West, where soda shops
are as ubiquitous as McDonald’s —
and their popularity is spreading
northward. Western soda shops,
which sell colas mixed with various
dairy creamers and syrups, are
springing up along the “Mormon
Corridor,” a region stretching from
Utah towards Idaho with a highly
concentrated Mormon population.
According
to
The
Book
of
Mormon, consuming alcohol, tea
and coffee are strictly prohibited.
Because of the various drink bans,
members of the Mormon Church
have turned to soda for their caffeine
fix.
Until the advent of short-form
video sharing on social media,
the Mormon Corridor remained
relatively low-profile. Aside from
“Provo’s Most Eligible,” a low-
production spinoff of “The Bachelor,”
the daily lives of Americans in the
Mormon Corridor had little to no
media coverage and were rarely
documented online.
The
Mormon
Corridor’s
anonymity, however, was broken
when dirty soda — a mix of Diet Coke,
half and half, coconut syrup and lime
— took TikTok by storm. Residents of
the Mormon Corridor began sharing
their favorite soda variations, and
the topic began trending. Dirty
soda shops such as Thirst and Swig
began heavily promoting the drink
in conjunction with users’ at-home
soda recipes, which garnered shock,
revulsion and disgust from people
around the world.
In the top video on Thirst’s official
TikTok account, an employee shows
viewers around the soda shop and
douses a carbonated fruit punch in
Coffee mate. The shop’s bright colors
and cheery employees belie the slew
of negative reactions in the comment
section.
“Soda is already super sweet, i
can’t imagine adding syrup,” reads
one comment, whose sentiment is
echoed by almost 2,000 likes. “‘It’s
not gross’ yeah ok,” chimes another
user.
Accompanying
the
thousands
of
negative
comments
flooding
the #dirtysoda tag on TikTok are
reports from mainstream media
outlets criticizing the regional drink.
An article from popular food blog
Food52 notes their surprise that
dirty sodas went viral and pokes
fun at Utah for its negative culinary
reputation. At Vice News, a reporter
visited a Swig location in Utah and
described cringing at “the foamy,
blazing Barbie-pink elixir.”
However, the flurry of angry
TikTok comments and blog posts
criticizing dirty sodas is more than
just a response to breaking culinary
norms. Rather, the internet backlash
shines a spotlight on the insular
Mormon Corridor, inciting a public
debate about Mormon values and
illustrating how Mormonism is
becoming more visible. For those
outside the Mormon community,
dirty soda hatred has become a
conduit for critiquing the Mormon
Church.
The proliferation of Utah soda
shops is accompanied by a spread of
Mormon culture formerly contained
within a thin strip of western land.
By altering the fundamental nature
of something so universal as soda,
Mormonism asserts itself beyond
the narrow social and geographic
boundary in which it has operated
for centuries.
Dirty
soda
directly
reflects
Mormon values insofar as they act
as an alternative to the status quo
and represent Mormonism’s distinct
scripture.
A
uniquely
Mormon
coffee and tea ban inspired the
unique drink, which changes how
soda is conventionally consumed,
just as Mormonism itself acts as
an alternative and reshaping of
mainstream Christianity.
Internet users revile dirty soda
for many of the same reasons they
critique the tenets of Mormonism. A
quick glance at the comment section
on a soda-themed TikTok reveals
that most users are criticizing the
soda’s taste and appearance as a
means of criticizing Mormon culture
itself. Chiefly, comments accuse
Mormons of being out-of-touch,
unhealthy and guilty of perpetuating
outdated values.
Non-Mormon commenters often
highlight how dirty soda’s unique
composition
reflects
how
the
Mormon Corridor is an insular echo
chamber. A top comment on one of
Swig’s soda videos states plainly,
“Utah is a different planet.” A few
comments below, another user adds,
“convinced utah is not a real place
& is just one big inside joke.” These
commenters are responding directly
to both the unusual nature of the
regional drink and the isolation
of Utah, where over half of the
population identify as Mormon.
QUIN ZAPOLI
Editorial Page Editor
Being hot is always a
good thing … right?
AMY EDMUNDS
Opinion Columnist
Read more at michigandaily.com
AVERY CRYSTAL
Opinion Columnist
What Utah’s “Dirty Soda” craze tells
us about regional isolation
H
alfway
through
my
mascara application, one
eye
exaggerated
with
black goop, I stopped. Suddenly it
all felt silly, ridiculous even. I was
going to a job interview, not a date
… so why was I spending time doing
my makeup? My employer’s opinion
about me should be formed based
on my capabilities and skills as an
employee, not on how attractive
I am. It shouldn’t matter if my
eyelashes are sky-high or if they
aren’t even there at all. Why was I
doing this?
I reflected on the times that I
felt admired, heard and seen. When
I was listened to, and when I was
taken seriously. All of these things
had one thing in common — I looked
good. It was then that I realized
an uncomfortable truth: People
only respect me when I’m pretty. I
finished with my mascara and left
resenting it a little bit.
“Pretty privilege” is a term
coined recently to describe the daily
advantage that attractive people
have. It’s why a nice smile can get
you out of a ticket and why the most
gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen in
the Starbucks line gets her drink
twice as fast. It’s the reason we wear
makeup to an interview and why
people might hold the door for you
more when your hair is done.
The narrative that attractive
people have an advantage is not
a new idea and is actually well
documented. You may have heard of
the “Halo Effect,” where someone’s
unrelated traits can cause a bias
in how people perceive them.
The classic example of this is the
“attractiveness stereotype,” where
attractive people are thought of
more highly. People tend to perceive
attractive individuals as being in
better health, more intelligent and
even more moral.
These psychological connections
reflect how important physical
looks are in our society. People value
appearance so much that it actually
shapes how they view others
entirely, even in unrelated aspects,
like their personality or intelligence.
Human nature is to be drawn
towards
individuals
we
find
attractive,
and
there’s
nothing
wrong with that. But how much
is too much? Once appearance
becomes about more than just how
someone looks, it begins to become
a problem. Beauty is only skin deep
and should only be viewed as such.
Advantages and judgments given
based on appearances create untrue
assumptions and unfair benefits,
especially because attractiveness is
subjective.
Think of what a pretty girl
looks like to you. She’s probably
athletically skinny and tall, with
straight white teeth, thick shiny
hair, a straight, tiny nose and killer
sharp cheekbones. She meets the
Western beauty standard. Pretty
privilege
and
the
halo
effect
function using social beauty norms.
In America, Eurocentric features
dominate the beauty standards, so
those with these features are going
to have a real social advantage in
life.
This is great if you fit into this
standard, but creates a disadvantage
if you don’t. People with non-
European features, often people of
color, experience this disadvantage
in a society that gives less value
to the esthetic of other races and
ethnic groups. White privilege is
closely tied to this, as our society
gives an advantage to white people,
who are inherently more likely to
fit the Eurocentric beauty norms.
This advantage can come in the
form of more authority, better pay
and better treatment. Furthermore,
pressure to conform to these norms
can create intense insecurities and
motivate people to go to extreme
measures to fit them. One study
found
that
African
American
women are more likely to “engage
in skin bleaching, excessive hair
care and the willingness to endure
financial debt related to beauty.”
It’s clear that a specific type of
attractiveness is highly valued in our
society. Individuals who are viewed
as attractive might experience small
daily advantages, things that would
be nice but might not be obviously
a pervasive problem. However,
pretty privilege goes well beyond
the “would be nice” level, and allows
for unfair, unequal and sometimes
racist behavior to persist.
By all means, it is normal and
natural to want to feel pretty. It’s
okay to wear mascara and do your
hair. When we look good, we feel
good. But we must remember that
looks are just that — how we look,
and nothing more.
Amy Edmunds is an Opinion
Columnist and can be reached at
amyedmun@umich.edu.