"You better sissy that walk, girl!”
The weekend before Halloween, I was one of eight judges of the Universal Royalty Nationals pageant, held in a dingy ballroom in the Holiday Inn in Austin, Texas. On a taped-together, 3-foot-high stage hovering above faded black carpet with colored swirls, in a room with beige paneled walls, were about 60 girls (and two boys), ranging from infants to adults. Their goal, in the words of a brassy tenor that rang out from the audience behind me:
“Sparkle, baby! Sparkle!”
I came to appreciate the captivating, heartbreaking and hilarious entertainment value of child pageantry via Shari Cookson’s documentary “Living Dolls: The Making of a Child Beauty Queen.” “Living Dolls” paved the way for TLC’s endlessly shocking and trending “Toddlers & Tiaras.”
For a previous job at TV Guide, I had interviewed Annette Hill, whose Universal Royalty pageant circuit is regularly featured on “Toddlers.” She told me she had a big nationals pageant coming up in October and asked if I’d be interested in judging it. “OK,” I said, practically fawning over this key to Bizarro World that had been placed in my lap. “Think about it,” Annette implored. “I don’t have to. I’m there,” I insisted. “I’mma hold you to it!” she said.
On Saturday morning, Oct. 29, I woke up and changed into my rented tuxedo. Marie, a pageant employee, offered us judges a few more helpful pointers. For example, a child doesn’t need to have what’s known as a “flipper” — a dental appliance used to fill in missing teeth. Marie let us know that this was a high-glitz pageant — full-on, painted-baby, giant-ruffles-and-hair-curls-to-match, formal pageantry, as opposed to a more “natural” scene — but she added, “Just ’cause you’re glitz doesn’t mean you’re orange.”
“You still got it, girl!”
I scribbled furiously, trying to generate positive comments that didn’t betray me as a generic hack. (“Gorgeous beyond her years.” “A younger, more beautiful Laura Dern.” “ ‘Grace’ is a wonderful name for this serene child.”) I got through the first few age groups fine — and then, at around age 3, they start looking at you. If you have never been stared down by eight expectant, spray-tanned children in liquid eyeliner and ornate hairpieces, you have not seen the things that I have seen.
After that, they start flirting. This was more disarming than being asked to judge a child’s facial beauty. On one hand, I understood that the 7-year-old coyly locking eyes with me and winking with an adult assuredness is just doing what she’s been trained to do. I assume that it is as meaningless to her as the widespread pageant practice of tracing the perimeter of one’s face with an index finger running down each side, meeting them at the mouth, kissing the fingertips and then pushing them out, as if to kiss the entire room. Just a pleasantry, a thing that you do when you are in places like this.
For one child with a particularly sly flair, I wrote objectively on her sheet: “A fantastic winker.” In my notes I wrote: “Eye contact is nauseating.”
Our score sheets for each contestant were collected diligently by a Universal Royalty employee after every age division presented, and then, at the beginning of each event, we were given stacks back. These were a mixed batch containing not necessarily our score sheets, which meant that my somewhat glib but effort-filled comments were exposed to my fellow judges.
“ ‘This kid’s got swagger’?” Kylie, another judge, read out loud with her nose scrunched.
“No!” said Heather, on my right. “Someone wrote that?”
“You better work that pink ribbon, girl!”
A contestant in the 4-5 age group named Rayne mumbling the entirety of Beyoncé’s “I Was Here” did not strike me as particularly accomplished, but it did strike me as hysterical: 10+ for that one.
A 10+ also went to another 4-5er, Kali, who was almost entirely unsmiling (I read this as “fierce”). She was dressed in a karate uniform fastened with a pink belt. Sequined pink stripes ran down each side of her pants, and pink ribbons sat on both sides of her chest. She performed to a dubstep soundtrack in front of a poster reading, “LET’S FIGHT BREAST CANCER” that wasn’t further explained. Her routine consisted of a screechy series of punches and kicks, ending with her breaking wooden planks with both her hands and her feet.
“Shake your boom boom boom!”
The weirdest thing about the day was how not-weird it was. The overall vibe reminded me of the recitals my sisters would dance in when they were young, in the ’80s. I understand the revulsion that people feel when they see kids trotted out like pigs at a fair, but it’s also illustrative of our societal values, namely the premium we put on looks. The cynic in me wonders whether introducing children to the notion that they will be judged based in part on what they look like isn’t in fact giving them a head start on a harsh reality of the world. At worst, I think, pageants are a symptom and rarely a cause.
“It’s on!”
It hardly matters who won what, because I could barely remember the children. Sixty similarly painted faces are a lot to remember, and as a result, I’ve found myself truly puzzled while going back over notes I took down like, “Looks high and also kind of like Amy Sedaris.” I don’t know what child I was talking about, but she sounds like someone I would enjoy hanging out with.
Crowning includes several phases. Age groups were handled individually, and via several divisions like “most beautiful” and “photogenic.” The winners (or queens) in these categories took home 5-foot trophies, teddy bears and crowns. But these are not the divisions one actually aspires to win in; because Universal Royalty doesn’t “double crown,” if one wins queen in her age division, she is not eligible for one of the supreme titles, which yield the cash. The top winner was given a giant fan of $10,000 — yes, bills — to hold. Beautiful people holding money is what it all comes down to.
The day was largely devoid of major revelations. This is a thing that people do, and lacking any scientific proof or a sizable percentage of case studies illustrating the damaging effects of pageantry, who are we to judge? (Except, I guess, the judges.) Nothing makes you more aware of a child’s youth than the contrast that comes from dressing her up years beyond it.
Oh, and the right girl won, I think. She didn’t have to do a talent or anything. I don’t even think she sissied her walk, but I can’t quite be sure.
Click here for the photos
Rich Juzwiak is a features writer for The Daily. He can be reached at Rich.Juzwiak@thedaily.com.
The weekend before Halloween, I was one of eight judges of the Universal Royalty Nationals pageant, held in a dingy ballroom in the Holiday Inn in Austin, Texas. On a taped-together, 3-foot-high stage hovering above faded black carpet with colored swirls, in a room with beige paneled walls, were about 60 girls (and two boys), ranging from infants to adults. Their goal, in the words of a brassy tenor that rang out from the audience behind me:
“Sparkle, baby! Sparkle!”
I came to appreciate the captivating, heartbreaking and hilarious entertainment value of child pageantry via Shari Cookson’s documentary “Living Dolls: The Making of a Child Beauty Queen.” “Living Dolls” paved the way for TLC’s endlessly shocking and trending “Toddlers & Tiaras.”
For a previous job at TV Guide, I had interviewed Annette Hill, whose Universal Royalty pageant circuit is regularly featured on “Toddlers.” She told me she had a big nationals pageant coming up in October and asked if I’d be interested in judging it. “OK,” I said, practically fawning over this key to Bizarro World that had been placed in my lap. “Think about it,” Annette implored. “I don’t have to. I’m there,” I insisted. “I’mma hold you to it!” she said.
On Saturday morning, Oct. 29, I woke up and changed into my rented tuxedo. Marie, a pageant employee, offered us judges a few more helpful pointers. For example, a child doesn’t need to have what’s known as a “flipper” — a dental appliance used to fill in missing teeth. Marie let us know that this was a high-glitz pageant — full-on, painted-baby, giant-ruffles-and-hair-curls-to-match, formal pageantry, as opposed to a more “natural” scene — but she added, “Just ’cause you’re glitz doesn’t mean you’re orange.”
“You still got it, girl!”
I scribbled furiously, trying to generate positive comments that didn’t betray me as a generic hack. (“Gorgeous beyond her years.” “A younger, more beautiful Laura Dern.” “ ‘Grace’ is a wonderful name for this serene child.”) I got through the first few age groups fine — and then, at around age 3, they start looking at you. If you have never been stared down by eight expectant, spray-tanned children in liquid eyeliner and ornate hairpieces, you have not seen the things that I have seen.
After that, they start flirting. This was more disarming than being asked to judge a child’s facial beauty. On one hand, I understood that the 7-year-old coyly locking eyes with me and winking with an adult assuredness is just doing what she’s been trained to do. I assume that it is as meaningless to her as the widespread pageant practice of tracing the perimeter of one’s face with an index finger running down each side, meeting them at the mouth, kissing the fingertips and then pushing them out, as if to kiss the entire room. Just a pleasantry, a thing that you do when you are in places like this.
For one child with a particularly sly flair, I wrote objectively on her sheet: “A fantastic winker.” In my notes I wrote: “Eye contact is nauseating.”
Our score sheets for each contestant were collected diligently by a Universal Royalty employee after every age division presented, and then, at the beginning of each event, we were given stacks back. These were a mixed batch containing not necessarily our score sheets, which meant that my somewhat glib but effort-filled comments were exposed to my fellow judges.
“ ‘This kid’s got swagger’?” Kylie, another judge, read out loud with her nose scrunched.
“No!” said Heather, on my right. “Someone wrote that?”
“You better work that pink ribbon, girl!”
A contestant in the 4-5 age group named Rayne mumbling the entirety of Beyoncé’s “I Was Here” did not strike me as particularly accomplished, but it did strike me as hysterical: 10+ for that one.
A 10+ also went to another 4-5er, Kali, who was almost entirely unsmiling (I read this as “fierce”). She was dressed in a karate uniform fastened with a pink belt. Sequined pink stripes ran down each side of her pants, and pink ribbons sat on both sides of her chest. She performed to a dubstep soundtrack in front of a poster reading, “LET’S FIGHT BREAST CANCER” that wasn’t further explained. Her routine consisted of a screechy series of punches and kicks, ending with her breaking wooden planks with both her hands and her feet.
“Shake your boom boom boom!”
The weirdest thing about the day was how not-weird it was. The overall vibe reminded me of the recitals my sisters would dance in when they were young, in the ’80s. I understand the revulsion that people feel when they see kids trotted out like pigs at a fair, but it’s also illustrative of our societal values, namely the premium we put on looks. The cynic in me wonders whether introducing children to the notion that they will be judged based in part on what they look like isn’t in fact giving them a head start on a harsh reality of the world. At worst, I think, pageants are a symptom and rarely a cause.
“It’s on!”
It hardly matters who won what, because I could barely remember the children. Sixty similarly painted faces are a lot to remember, and as a result, I’ve found myself truly puzzled while going back over notes I took down like, “Looks high and also kind of like Amy Sedaris.” I don’t know what child I was talking about, but she sounds like someone I would enjoy hanging out with.
Crowning includes several phases. Age groups were handled individually, and via several divisions like “most beautiful” and “photogenic.” The winners (or queens) in these categories took home 5-foot trophies, teddy bears and crowns. But these are not the divisions one actually aspires to win in; because Universal Royalty doesn’t “double crown,” if one wins queen in her age division, she is not eligible for one of the supreme titles, which yield the cash. The top winner was given a giant fan of $10,000 — yes, bills — to hold. Beautiful people holding money is what it all comes down to.
The day was largely devoid of major revelations. This is a thing that people do, and lacking any scientific proof or a sizable percentage of case studies illustrating the damaging effects of pageantry, who are we to judge? (Except, I guess, the judges.) Nothing makes you more aware of a child’s youth than the contrast that comes from dressing her up years beyond it.
Oh, and the right girl won, I think. She didn’t have to do a talent or anything. I don’t even think she sissied her walk, but I can’t quite be sure.
Click here for the photos
Rich Juzwiak is a features writer for The Daily. He can be reached at Rich.Juzwiak@thedaily.com.
