The evolution of my femininity is complicated. When I began entering pageants in my teens, I was trying to showcase my talents and earn money for college. I was a vocalist and thought of pageants as singing contests. Plus, my mother was Venezuelan, and I spent years of my childhood in the beauty-saturated culture of Caracas. Venezuela is known for amassing great numbers of Miss Universe titles—why shouldn’t I aspire to join the ranks? After all, it was in my blood.
I was a relative latecomer to pageant “systems” and soon found I had a lot to learn. These systems were worlds of their own. They were rife with political and economic undercurrents. Other girls had coaches and thousands of dollars for gowns; I had neither. Still, I capitalized on the good will of others, got sponsors and moved forward. Pageant judges looked for beauty and poise, as well as an impressive interview. While some girls made a mockery of any one of the three, I was determined to succeed. I started as a naive and apathetic teen and transformed myself into someone who articulated informed opinions about current events.
I learned how to speak in a formal interview, walk with grace and project confidence. I met some girls who were so cutthroat in their pursuit of crowns that they’d eat you alive just to taste the rhinestones. I found false smiles and fake enthusiasm. I encountered insecurity and girls who’d been doing this since the age of 3, following a path set forth by their mothers. Behind the smiles, I found some true unhappiness manifesting itself in destructive behavior, including eating disorders. I myself once dieted on oranges and water for so many weeks that the inside of my mouth was filled with canker sores. All my friends told me I looked great, and we loved the misery of dieting.
Despite all that, I found camaraderie and made some genuine friends. There were late nights full of giggles and shared anxiety. We bonded through the varying verbal attacks or adoration of the crowd. I developed a thick skin and reeled off a quick response when I was asked on a radio show how I could “parade myself around like a piece of meat.” I was a staunch supporter of pageants and I defended myself at every turn. After all, I was saving money for my education.
Then I got to college and my world went topsy-turvy. I was hearing all sorts of new ideas, and I began to second-guess myself and my motives. In political-science and sociology courses, I saw the error of my ways. How could I have demeaned myself and my entire gender? I became a feminist and was ashamed of my past. The truth of the matter included the fact that some of my pageant earnings paid a portion of my college tuition.
In the end, I found a way to balance both perspectives. When I graduated and joined the real world, it was both my college education and the skills I’d acquired in pageants that helped me become successful. I had interview experience. I knew how to handle people who were fake, ambitious and out to win. I could deflect negativity and work as part of a team. I loved people and learning about new things. I continued my educational pursuits and eventually earned a doctoral degree. I still list “Miss America Scholar” on my résumé and wonder if it will draw snickers in my academic world. But like any life lesson, I see both the positive and negative aspects of the experience. Looking back, I feel no disdain. The experience taught me a lot.
Today, like so many other women, I balance a career and motherhood. I think back to what that lady said at the rummage sale. She was right. I now have two little girls who love to play dress-up, and I wish I had not sold those crowns. They are a part of my past and they symbolize who I became.
