It is Miss Universe season again, so I can’t help but look back to my “beauty queen” era — if one could really consider it as such.
I was so fond of watching all beauty pageants growing up: Bb. Pilipinas, Miss Universe, Little Miss Philippines, Super Sireyna. I don’t know what exactly made me hooked on them. Perhaps it was the outfits and costumes, the different “talents” candidates would showcase, or the Q&A portion.
Although people at home had always made it clear to me that I wasn’t “beauty queen material” (they said I was a “quiz bee girl” instead), of course, I still had dreams of trying my luck in the world of pageantry, regardless of how small the contest would be.
And so while watching a Miss Universe telecast, usually after having to try to rotate our TV antenna multiple times just to get a signal, I fantasized about having the chance to compete in a pageant.
My dream eventually came true when I was a junior in high school.
It all began when my social studies teacher announced that we needed to select our class representatives for that year’s run of our school’s United Nations pageant, G. at Bb. Daigdig, which translates to Mr. and Ms. World in English.
As she did this, she also reminded everyone in our section that we should select people who weren’t just pretty and handsome but were also talented and smart enough to excel during the Q&A portion, which she said was crucial in determining final placements in the pageant.
And then she looked at me and asked, “What if we send you?”
I thought she was joking, so I laughed at her. But then her face became serious and she said, “Okay, we are sending you.” My classmates also liked the idea.
I was shocked, but I agreed. It may be outside my comfort zone as a top student and editor-in-chief of our Filipino publication, but I thought I should give it a go. Moreover, it would allow me to turn my beauty queen dreams into reality.
My classmate K, who was also smart and very talented, was chosen as my partner. Representing Bhutan, we made a great team.
From the very start, we had so many amazing ideas on how we would slay in the pageant, from the design of our national costumes to our talent. Plus, we both worked so hard alongside our families to excel in the fundraising portion of the competition.
Of course, we did so well in the Q&A portion, proving that being smart is, indeed, an advantage in a competition like that. By the time we were named the winners, people were no longer surprised.
I know this is just a silly school pageant, and to be honest, I often forget that it actually happened. But still, it made for a great story.
Also, I won’t deny that it meant so much to me at the time. As someone who had been bullied for not being conventionally pretty, being able to partake in such a contest and strut on the stage as a beauty queen gave me so much confidence.
Moreover, it gave me the chance to prove that I was not just a nerd and that all I could do was excel in academics and other nerdy extra-curricular activities. It was indeed a breath of fresh air.
As a feminist, I am aware that the relevance and value of pageants have been under scrutiny for many years. Competitions as such are always criticized for their tendency to objectify women and promote unrealistic beauty standards, and I agree that pageants are not at all innocent of these things.
However, I also know for a fact that for some people, these events can be very empowering because of so many things. It did the same thing to me.
Being crowned Bb. Daigdig in 2006 gave me a certain kind of high that sustained me for months. Whenever someone tried to bring me down after that for not being conventionally beautiful, I simply shrugged it off. I was queen of the world, after all. Never mind if the title was only honored on our campus.
Even when I look back to that memory now, it still gives me a lot of confidence boost—something I appreciate because when things get tough and it becomes so much easier to hate oneself, it is so nice to be reminded of past wins, no matter how small or silly they may be in the eyes of others.
