https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOZulHrmoWQ
The light scatters when it hits the crown. In the final moments, there is only one other with you. The sash lies recumbent against your torso, shining satin with your nation embroidered on its face. You stand tall, dressed to the nines, waiting with bated breath as the host peels back an envelope flap. He utters a word that you almost miss and you are thrust into the light, jeweled crown on your head, watching as an entire nation rises to its feet.
In 2015, Pia Wurtzbach took her confident—albeit delayed—walk as Miss Universe. In the same year, Angelia Ong bagged the Miss Earth crown, while Janicel Lubina and Hillarie Parungao both landed top 10 spots in Miss World and Miss International. Names like Shamcey Supsup and Janine Tugonon were splashed all over headlines and front pages alike, their consistent podium finishes catapulting them—and, by extension, the Philippines—to international acclaim.
The Filipino audience stops at nothing to cheer their representatives on, both on and off social media. Things were no different this time around for newly-crowned Wurtzbach, and just when a first runner-up finish seemed to be her fate, Filipino viewers outdid themselves with the torrential amounts of support after her controversial crowning.
But despite the awe that these pageants instill in many, there are still those who raise their brows at the entire spectacle. Backlash against pageants have been prevalent since its beginnings, and to this day, members of the feminist community continue to express their disapproval. Some are of the opinion that beauty pageants send the wrong message to the youth, while others insist that they empower women. Is the captivation of the Filipino audience suggestive of a mindset that prizes physical beauty above all? Or can this fascination make room for the celebration and empowerment of women?
How the fairest have fared
Beauty contests have been around since the 1800s. However, unlike the ones we are familiar with today, earlier contests scored competitors based on the circumference of their heads or the measurement of their torsos and waists. Deductions were given for features that were considered unflattering, like bruises or blemishes. At this point, physical beauty was the primary focus—women were evaluated depending on how attractive they looked to male judges.
Fortunately, the evolution of the competition traded in the measuring tape for the national costume, swimsuit, and evening gown portions. The 1990s also eventually brought with them the final question portion, adding a more intellectual dimension to the competition and curbing some of the criticism that the competition was focused only on the physical.
According to Anjo Lorenzana, PhD, a lecturer of the Communications Department with specializations in gender and media, the Miss Universe pageant as we know it today came about after the Second World War. “It becomes a sort of legacy of post-World War II social order where you have nations gathering but, at the same time, competing,” says Lorenzana. He also describes pageants as a venue where beauty and competition “intersect to create this form of identification, validation, and a form of sociality.” Many find community in the world of pageantry, both participant and audience alike.
Filipinos have long joined in on the pageant hype: Contests like the ultra-luxe Binibining Pilipinas, to smaller barangay-level affairs, allowed Filipinos to preen more than usual. In Bilbiling Mandaluyong, only women from Mandaluyong who weigh 200 pounds or more are eligible to join and try their hand at the crown. In the Miss Teen Gay competition, the contestants are boys attempting to outdo one another with their lavish makeup and extravagant dress. These contests, along with many others, are anticipated yearly.
The beauty pageant is received differently in various countries and contexts, and in Filipino culture, it is, according to Lorenzana, “one arena where that meaning of what it means to be Filipino is articulated—you are beautiful, you are smart.” With a nation that prizes beauty and those who possess it, the invested Filipino audience sees the contest as a place of validation and of triumph.
The glass (slipper) ceiling
Although high television ratings and social media buzz are indicative of a positive response to beauty pageants, the affair is constantly and continuously lambasted by critics who question its relevance.
It is easy to point out the portions that have created this polarization of opinions: The name itself, “beauty pageants,” suggests a major, if not exclusive, focus on a woman’s outward appearance. Even educational scholarship grants awarded to some contestants have generated heavy criticism—the practice appears to suggest that physical beauty alone can reap rewards.
Understandably, the idea of essentially pitting women against each other does not sit well with many women’s rights groups. “It sends messages to the younger generation who may think that being beautiful is an accomplishment, that being chosen to participate is somehow a special honor to be a part of a contest that parades women as commodities,” said Angelyn Singh of the Fiji Women’s Crisis Centre in a statement made in 2011 regarding why women’s rights organizations should not support pageants.
“It is a contradictory process,” Lorenzana says. “On one hand, you provide symbolic power to the representative. On the other hand, you cannot avoid being objectified. You do not have control over what the audience [thinks].” He qualifies it in the context of the Philippines, however, pointing out how, in the Philippines, “the resonance is different. Because beauty is something that we value and if it is attached to a certain person then it gives them symbolic power.”
Interestingly enough, the argument that feminism and pageantry can coexist is forwarded by many a beauty queen: Miss USA 2015 Olivia Jordan, now a personal trainer and advocate for body positivity, and Miss America 2015 Kira Kazantsev, a survivor of abuse whose platform is geared towards defending women in the military from sexual assault, are among the voices that have spoken for this possibility.
What is also interesting is the inclusion of more globally relevant and advocacy-related questions in the final question portion of the competition. Instead of shallow questions or questions where the contestants were asked to rate themselves over the others (e.g. “What edge do you have over the other competitors?” or “What will you do first if you win tonight?”), they begin to ask timely questions about vital events or situations all around the world—such as in Wurtzbach’s question regarding US bases.
Beyond the glitz and glam
Given the issue, organizers, competitors, and spectators of beauty pageants find themselves in a double bind, because while feminist rhetoric is typically supportive of a woman’s personal prerogatives—including her choice to participate in a beauty pageant—it is also typically against the blatant objectification of women.
Evidently, beauty pageants cannot take the full blame for allowing sexism and gender stereotyping in society to continue. Beauty standards vary from culture to culture, and the noticeably Eurocentric ideal promoted in pageants is not necessarily appealing to everyone.
Additionally, the implication that a woman cannot be feminist if she is conventionally attractive further maintains the misconception that feminists are misandrists. And just like in any movement, supporters of feminism do not necessarily agree with all traditional feminist views.
Beauty pageants are a source of excitement for communities and countries the world over. Criticism aside, there is nothing wrong with wanting to enjoy watching them—media consumption does not always have to carry deep social relevance. Audiences are allowed to become a spectator of events that merely seek to entertain. This does not, however, silence the voices that call to question the various elements, if not the entire concept, of beauty pageants as we know it.
