Celina, a 28-year-old licensed church minister, has ignited a heated debate by embracing her identity as a “baddie with a BBL” while defending her cosmetic surgery choices and integrating them into her ministry and business ventures.
Known as Celina Nicole, she proudly declares,
“You can have a BBL and still love Jesus!”
A stance that challenges traditional religious values and highlights tensions with modern body modification practices. Her story raises critical questions about bodily autonomy, spiritual leadership, theological interpretations of physical appearance, and the significant medical risks tied to Brazilian Butt Lifts (BBLs), a procedure experts call
“the deadliest aesthetic procedure ever performed.”
Celina became a licensed minister at 28, describing herself as “black Barbie the baddest.” She insists her path was divinely inspired, stating,
“God called me to become a church Minister.”
This calling followed a history of cosmetic enhancements, including breast implants at 19 and a BBL involving liposuction and fat transfer to enhance her hips and buttocks. Her interest in surgery dates back to age 11, driven by a desire to transform her naturally slim figure.
Despite some regrets about incision placement, Celina remains enthusiastic about her BBL:
“I love my BBL. I do. I love my BBL. I turn my BBL into a business so I love my BBL, no regrets.”
Her ministry diverges from tradition. It operates primarily through her businesses rather than a church setting, and her unconventional approach has reached over 164,000 social media followers.
Celina’s blend of ministry and cosmetic surgery has sparked significant backlash within religious circles. Church members have told her she “couldn’t be a minister because of how she looks” and labeled her a “hypocrite for changing the body that God gave her.”
Critics have escalated their rhetoric, with some asserting,
“God does not call you, you’re called by Satan and you are basically a strong Jezebel,”
invoking biblical imagery to question her authenticity.
Yet, not all reactions are adverse. Celina notes that some find her relatable, saying,
“There are some that actually find that I’m more relatable to the people I’m ministering to.”
Even within her family, opinions split: her aunt Shar, a 25-year dance minister, celebrated Celina’s ministry but expressed discomfort with her plans for further surgeries.
The medical community underscores the dangers of BBLs, which carry risks like blood vessel and nerve damage, fat embolism, and death. Dubbed “the deadliest aesthetic procedure ever performed,” BBLs have seen worsening mortality rates, particularly in South Florida, a hub for such surgeries. Fat embolism—where fat globules block blood vessels, potentially causing respiratory failure—remains a lethal threat, with studies linking it to numerous fatalities despite safety efforts by plastic surgery associations.
These risks amplify ethical concerns about Celina’s promotion of the procedure, especially given her influence as a minister and public figure.
Celina has turned her surgical experience into a thriving enterprise, launching “The Beauty Headquarters,” a recovery house for plastic surgery patients. She claims divine inspiration struck two weeks post-BBL, urging her to “care for other girls who have gone through surgery.” Licensed professionals staff the business and blend faith and recovery—Celina prays with clients, calling her team “surgery besties.”
The venture has flourished, boasting hundreds of thousands of followers, six-figure earnings, and expansions into multiple recovery houses and Airbnbs. She also runs an Instagram community to “coach women online and raise them through faith,” further merging her spiritual and entrepreneurial identities.
Celina’s case fuels theological debates about the body and divine intent. Traditionalists argue that altering one’s natural form defies God’s design, a view underpinning accusations of hypocrisy. Celina counters with a progressive stance, asserting that physical enhancement and spiritual devotion coexist, encapsulated in her question,
“What’s the problem? You can have a BBL and still love Jesus!”
Ethically, her influence raises red flags. Critics contend she’s “seducing the body of church” by normalizing a risky procedure, with one warning,
“The Lord gave me a dream and he said those BBLs will kill so many women.”
Celina’s story mirrors societal struggles over beauty, faith, and authenticity. Her unconventional ministry, rooted in business rather than church pews, challenges norms of religious leadership, blurring sacred and secular lines. It also underscores how beauty standards, faith, and commerce intertwine today, with Celina leveraging all three to build a unique brand.
As religious communities grapple with her choices, the undeniable risks of BBLs demand scrutiny. Her case exemplifies the complex negotiation between old values and new practices, leaving a lasting imprint on contemporary discussions of spirituality and identity.
