Yes, I Really Am in This Beauty Pageant

By KELSEY CAINEOCT. 28, 2017

Credit Aisha Franz

My parents raised me to believe I could do and be anything. They say they don’t regret it. I grew up alongside four brothers, watching movies where the hilarious lovable underdog wins in the end.

This is how I wound up onstage competing in the Miss New York USA pageant. Also, I like costumes. Not only, or even especially, at Halloween. I wore them every day. As a kid, I dressed like a tomboy, wanting to be treated tough like my brothers. In my teens, I wore what girls wore to fit in, because I was told I could pull it off if I “tried.” I was trying to find a costume that got me closer to being comfortable in my own skin — the right costume to fit in. But sometimes the wrong costume is the key to feeling like myself.

Two years ago, I found a ruffled blue 1970s prom dress at the Salvation Army. It had a huge yellowish stain on the front from sources unknown. My mom begged me not to touch it. I bought it for $5. That is the dress I wore in the pageant. The back was filled with patches I’d made for my sponsors — the people and organizations who helped supply the nearly $1,500 I needed to compete, like Nascar.

I am not a pageant person. But I saw a Facebook ad about being considered for the competition. All I had to do was put in my name and age, and send a photo of myself. It was as easy as setting up Tinder. I was contacted the next day for a phone interview. I told the pageant consultant that I was a graduate student and a stand-up comedian living in New York. She said that I was the “most diverse” candidate who had ever applied. As a white brunette who dyes her hair blond, I was highly skeptical, but honored to be the most diverse.

The ostensible purpose of the pageant is to win scholarship money, but the details of the scholarship were vague. When I asked the other contestants why they were competing, not one of them said for the chance to win a scholarship. Most saw the pageant as a low-level modeling opportunity. Two competitors, a doctor and a plus-size woman, told me they wanted to fight stereotypes. This almost seemed admirable at the time, but looking back I’ve realized that they were, by participating in a beauty contest, actually reinforcing the notion that a woman’s value is tied to her appearance.

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As an underdog in a beauty pageant with no talent portion, I knew I would have to work hard to stand out. Each contestant prepares in her own way. Some get pageant coaches. One contestant told me she had given up sugar, carbs and alcohol for six months — a saint. My plan was to try to gain weight. I put on only about seven pounds, but I think it really showed.

A month before the pageant, an orientation was held at a hotel in upstate New York. High heels, full makeup, cocktail dresses and pageant moms filled the hotel ballroom.

I zoned out and missed what time we should arrive at the pageant, so I asked the girl sitting next to me. She responded, “You’re competing?” She was genuinely surprised.

In the dressing room before the first day of competition, several contestants also didn’t realize I was in the pageant. I confronted the most makeup I’ve ever seen in one place, and I’ve been to a Sephora. I must have been doing a great job setting myself apart: Before lunch, I had been asked by five girls whether I worked at the hotel.

We were asked to dress in an outfit we would wear for a job interview. Most of the contestants wore skintight cocktail dresses. I wore my favorite red sequined jacket, which I bought at a yard sale for $3. I looked great. Just before I went in, I asked the monitor jokingly, “Have any of the contestants cried yet?” She replied, “Of course.”

At the end of the night, we gathered to listen to inspirational speeches and general warnings given by the pageant staff and previous contestants. Here are some of the things that were said:

“If you don’t know how to use butt glue, don’t use it. Last year we had to peel a girl off of the furniture.”

“If you have ‘something’ out there on the internet and you think you might win, come down with the stomach flu now.”

During the swimsuit portion, most of the contestants wore sparkly bikinis paired with high heels, the way everyone swims. I wore a purple Nike one-piece paired with Chaco sandals that were made for hiking.

Standing in my one-piece made for competitive swimming, being compared with models, I’ve never felt more confident. That was because, while I was adhering to my long tradition of wearing costumes, mine reflected exactly who I was: the lovable underdog who wins in the end. Or at least hopes to.

The next morning, we were given feedback to help us prepare for the last day of the pageant: “Ladies, you have to wear underwear. Two of the male judges said they felt like gynecologists.” I took that piece of advice to heart.

I did not come close to winning. But I did receive a wonderful message from a pageant staff member, who told me he believed in my career and thought one day I’d get my break on late-night TV. “Please wear underwear on those shows too,” he said.

Kelsey Caine is a comedian.

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/28/opinion/sunday/beauty-pageant-competition.html