I feel pretty.

-Maria, Westside Story

In Search of My Crown: Miss Universe Part I

I’ve been waiting all day and finally, it is time. I sit down with a blank sheet of paper and pen, tune into channel 3, and get really cozy on my corner of the couch. It is showtime: the 51st annual Miss Universe Pageant, LIVE from Panama City. The music swells. I put on my glasses to see better.

As each of the 72 delegates parades down the stage, she states her name and the country she is representing to camera one. Then she does a little dip-twirl-smile move for her close-up on camera two. Each contestant has about 3 seconds of airtime during this initial phase, and I have to be super quick to jot down my choices. Some of the countries I’ve never heard of. When the 72 girls are narrowed down to 15 (in random order), I am thrilled to see that 6 of my choices make the cut. I’ve got a pretty good eye.

***

I remember watching beauty pageants on TV in the 1960s with my mom. We lived in Columbia Villa, at the time, an integrated housing project in north Portland. She worked for a janitorial service and I didn’t get to see her that much. It was so fun when she would let me stay up late and watch a special show with her. It was thrilling to see the glamorous girls wearing fancy clothes, and answering questions, and being crowned at the end. They all looked like Barbies to me, but there was a certain beauty ideal my mother always rooted for. She liked the dark brunette contestants with long hair and beautiful faces, like Bobbie Gentry or Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island or the lead singer from the 5th Dimension. My mother herself had dark brunette hair and when she was a teenager people called her the poor man’s Elizabeth Taylor. I drew the conclusion that she picked the winners based on hair color. Hers.

***

After the 15 semi-semi-finalists make the cut, the losers go back stage to get ready for the big group dance number. They get to serve as decorative back drop as the 15 chosen ones get to glide down the runway in their formal attire. The highlights are Miss South Africa in a pale water blue silk (she almost trips), Miss Trinidad/Tobago stunning in a white gown with tropical vinelike trim, Miss Venezuela in knock ‘em dead red, Miss Namibia in purest form fitting white against ebony skin, and Miss Serbia/Montenegro in a moss green number with leafy fringy stuff that looks as though she just arose from a swamp. Miss Japan stuns the crowd in a shocking, midriff-baring, silver glitter ensemble.

***

In 1^st grade my favorite thing was playing Barbies across the street at my friend Dana’s house. We loved dressing and redressing the dolls in their fancy clothes. One day her mom brought home several swanky dance dresses from the Goodwill for us to play with. These were old time prom dresses from the 50s, with lots of stiff netting and pre-formed wire bosoms. Me, Dana, and her little sister Anna Mae each picked one to put on. I remember the feel of the scratchy red one I selected. We stuffed the wireform tops with every pair of knee socks we could find in the dresser drawers. Dana’s mom then rubbed magenta lipstick onto her daughters’ cheeks and lips, and topped their eyes with Revlon Fabu-liner in jet black, extending the tails well beyond the corners for extra allure. She wouldn’t put the make up on me, though, saying that my own mother needed to handle the task.

I raced across the street and caught my mom before she left for work. She dug around in her handbag, and lipsticked me, but did not own any liquid eyeliner, the key to the kingdom of beauty in my mind. A few swipes at my eyes with a red Maybelline eyebrow pencil was the best she could do. The hard waxy pencil was not meant to line the eye, however, and it tore at the skin around my eyelids as she griped about how she was going to be late for work. I ran to look in the mirror and was not happy with my clowny face, but it would have to do. Dana and Anna Mae were at the door and it was time for our parade.

We tripped up and down the sidewalks, single file, waving at nobody, and hoisting the big skirts up a bit as we sashayed around, hoping desperately that someone would notice us. Finally, we went calling on several of the neighboring houses, knocking randomly on doors and saying “hi” and just standing there in our gowns when people opened their doors.