Two Day Magazine

By: Mia Bencivenga

Every year, no matter how hard I try to avoid the gaping pop-cultural black hole that is the Miss Universe pageant, I am sucked into its world of fake tans, sequins, and thinly gilded narcissism.

It pulls me in with its promises of fantastical evening gowns, and the forlorn hope that I will get to see one of the contestants bite it hard on the runway, resulting in a wardrobe malfunction, which may or may not allow me to see a foreign nip slip.

But as I watch, I can’t help but feel a kind of self-loathing.  As soon as the competition begins, you do one thing; judge the crap out of every single contestant.  Whether it’s idea that Germany looks like she’s been around the block one too many times, or the strange desire to see if Greece’s boobs are real or just freaks of nature, or the sneaking suspicion that Indonesia isn’t actually Asian, you can’t help but systematically pick each and every one of these women apart.  

Naturally, I become very annoyed at myself for doing this.

But of course, that’s what the Miss Universe pageant is all about---critiquing and judging women based off of the way the look. Oh, sure, the announcers tell us that so-and-so is working on her master’s degree in psychology, but no one cares.  What we’re really trying to figure out is whether or not Greece’s tits are real.

Oh yeah, there’s something about the pageant bringing countries and celebrating their differences and yada yada yada, but in reality, the only thing we’re celebrating in the Miss Universe pageant is the power of superficiality in modern society.  We’re reinforcing the idea that beautiful women get ahead because they are beautiful, and no other reason.  

But Mia, you angst ridden fool!  

I hear you cry.  These women have inner beauty as well!  It’s their inner beauty that gets the title of “Miss Universe,” not just looks alone!

Trust me, no competition that judges a woman based off of her ass-waist-tits proportions while sporting a string bikini would ever let a girl who was only “internally beautiful” win the Miss Universe competition.   

There is also the notion that these women are “universally beautiful;” which is also absolutely preposterous.  There is no such thing as a universally beautiful woman.  Each of these ladies are done up in such a way as to make them beautiful exclusively to a western audience.  

To even call her “Miss Universe” is ridiculousness in itself.  Who knows what turns on the aliens from planet X?  For all we know, they judge someone’s attractiveness based on something crazy like toenail length, or how many extraneous pupils someone has, or even personality.

Last time I checked, the United States is the only place in the universe where the delightful skin color known as “Feverish Oompa Loompa” can be passed as attractive.  So when I see Germany sporting a healthy dosage of neon orange, I begin to become a little suspicious that they may or may not be pandering to a more Jersey Shore-esque audience.

If these women were truly representing their cultures, then they would come in gowns found to be unique in every culture, not a sequined Valentino knock-off dress with a slit up to her thigh. 

Each girl would also be distinct, a different hair style, weight, and height for each of the women.  

Instead, they all look vaguely similar.  High cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, tall, thin, large breasts, with cornea-burning white teeth.  

It’s not a surprise that so many young girls have a hard time dealing with body image. In a world where beauty so inherently important, and where the idea of what is beautiful is so limited, it’s easy to feel like you can’t win.  I mean, when you’re an Indonesian girl, and Miss Indonesia herself looks vaguely white, that’s got to be a little confusing.

I mean, come one now, the practice of searching for a beautiful woman as a trophy for your country should be tossed  aside, as it is archaic and demeaning.  The time for searching for a beautiful virgin to marry and produce an heir of her eighty-year-old king is so seventeenth century.

I’m not trying to be a Debbie downer, or even a fun-killing Phyllis. I understand that people find beauty pageants entertaining to watch—but I personally find them dated and pointless.  I’m tired of a women’s role being defined by her beauty.

In the end, being beautiful just doesn’t matter.  Not even Miss Universe is impervious to the sands of time.  Or a botched nose job, for that matter.  

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What do you think of Mia’s assessment that beauty doesn’t matter? Find her on Twitter @miasminirants

Let’s continue this conversation on twoday’s Facebook page: Is Miss Universe obsolete?