Hold the Beauty, Please A Pageant Story

Photo by Andrew Lei l Special to VOX

By Cassie Xie
VOX Staff

Throughout all of February last year, I was worried, bordering on paranoid, about my friends finding out what I was doing every day after school. My life seemed to revolve around making excuses. I told my parents and my friends that I had extracurriculars, study groups and tutoring sessions. I was in the clear until the student council made a surprise announcement, reminding students of the event that night and naming the participants involved. I heard my name and felt my classmates’ eyes fall onto me. My entire face flushed.

“You’re in a pageant?”

This was exactly what I had been avoiding. For the rest of the day, my friends either teased me or attempted to talk me out of it. When they asked me why I had signed up, I assured them I was solely in it for the chance of scoring free prom tickets. In all honesty, I wasn’t really sure why I had joined. I admitted to myself that I was more than a little curious about pageants. I’ve always been eager to try anything at least once. Whatever the reason, it definitely wasn’t because I thought I was pageant material.

I certainly wasn’t cut out for a pageant. When I looked into the dressing room mirror, I didn’t see someone who belonged on stage in frilly tulle and strappy heels. I saw an awkward girl with an equally awkward smile, who couldn’t stand itchy dresses and stumbled on flats. Worst of all, all my friends seemed to share my opinion. They continued questioning me for my real motives behind the pageant. By the end of the day, I even doubted my excuses.

What You Can’t Do
A month earlier, at the preliminary meeting for all interested, I realized with a sinking feeling what I had so blindly signed up for. There were about 10 other students there, all of them older than me. I didn’t really know any of them, so I kept to myself as the teachers talked about the pageant. I didn’t know anything about participating in one, besides the caustic perception that, in layman’s terms, pageant was synonymous with overblown beauty and cheese. I was handed a suspiciously heavy stack of permission forms, which I flipped through while teachers explained the basics of the pageant. According to them, the pageant would showcase star students, raise money for prom and present a fun opportunity for kids to dress up. The more I heard, the more the whole idea started to seem like a cattle auction. Still, there wasn’t an entry fee since extracurricular clubs around the school would be supporting us, so I added my name to the sign-up list. I found myself wondering, How much time could it possibly take for someone to learn how to walk a stage? I was stunned at the amount of after-school time I would have to put in — around 15 to 20 hours, according to one teacher. There was so much more to a pageant than what I initially expected.

As I took notes on everything I would need to accomplish in the coming days, my head reeled. In our pageant, we had rounds for casual wear, talent, formal wear and a live interview. The teachers and students in charge of hosting the pageant hired professional coaches certified by the Miss America Pageant, and we were quickly put to work.

Simple things I had taken for granted, such as walking and introducing myself, were scrutinized and criticized from all angles. I felt clumsy and self-conscious each time something about my uneven gait or bad posture was pointed out. Despite all this, I wanted to wow my coaches. When they asked to see my talent, I performed the piano piece I planned on using. They seemed impressed, which encouraged me. I realized that everything I was learning, from how to give interviews to walking with confidence, no matter how seemingly insignificant, could carry me well beyond the pageant.

My impressions about beauty pageants being full of caked-on makeup and garishly sequined dresses were also wrong. Instead, the coaches taught us to appreciate our natural beauty, emphasizing only the features we already had instead of trying to become somebody we weren’t. To me, this was a big relief. I rarely wore makeup, even going out, so the idea of having to don false eyelashes seemed tacky and foreign to me.

The Perfect Dress
A few weeks before the show, the coaches reminded us that a major portion of our final score dealt with the onstage interview, where contestants answered impromptu questions while dressed in formal wear. Formal attire was absolutely vital in conveying personality and style to the judges. While clothing may seem like a trivial matter, it has a deep real-world connection. In everyday workplaces, the clothes people wear say a lot about them. The judges would be looking for someone who was confident and proud, and the way contestants wore their outfits would make strong impressions.

For previous dances and special occasions, I had always relied on the charity of my relatives and moderately priced consignment shops for dresses. I had no real experience with high-end dress retailers. So when I first stepped into Bravura Fashions, the small Alpharetta boutique recommended by the coaches, I was shocked. It was as though I had entered some ritzy ultra-feminine gallery of glamour. The dresses weren’t the little, shimmy cocktail slips I was used to. These were the full-length evening dresses future pageant queens wore.

It took me a few weekends of work and a lot of budgeting, but I finally left Bravura with a silk, emerald green gown, crested around the middle with elaborate beading and needlework. As for the price, I was greatly helped by the generous donations of teachers who were willing to sponsor me. I realized that being in a pageant was much more than just a solo effort.

With less than a week to go before the pageant, things started getting hectic. I rushed off to rehearsal almost every day after school. I spent hours at home going over potential interview questions and taught myself to remove long pauses and “uhms” from my everyday speech. I practiced my pageant walk in the hallways at school between classes.

Both my friends and my parents warned me not to get my hopes up too high. I’d be lying if I said I never wondered about what it’d be like to be crowned Miss Alpharetta High, but I took their advice to heart and went to practices to have fun, not to compete. I spent the last night before the show making sure I had packed everything. As I ran through my list of essentials (bobby pins, hairspray, safety pins, etc.) I almost laughed at how important the pageant had become. Still, I didn’t feel as though all this fuss was a bad thing. I felt proud of feeling beautiful and sure of myself.

It’s Showtime!
The turnout for the show was impressive. When I peeked from behind the curtains of the school auditorium, I was relieved to see the familiar faces of my friends and family. Despite their initial reluctance to accept my participation in a pageant, I had managed to convince them to attend. I was glad to see that they looked about as excited as I felt. In a way, I was more energized than nervous; I couldn’t wait for the school to witness the outcome of all the hard work that I’d put into the pageant.
The show opened with a brief introduction of the contestants in casual wear. When I heard my name called, I walked onto stage and hit my first pose. It was so strange hearing the announcer read off a short biography about me; I couldn’t help but laugh. Being on stage didn’t seem scary or intimidating in the least. I walked my rounds, making sure to smile at each judge then scrambled backstage to change into my talent wear.

The talent portion of the show passed without mishap. There were dances, songs, monologues and finally me, on the piano. The crowd cheered as I finished, and I remembered to put in a quick bow before running backstage for my formal dress.

Entering the dressing rooms, I couldn’t help but start to pick up a feeling of dread. In all the chaos of people getting changed and practicing their interviews, I realized the pageant was coming to an end. It was time for the last part of the show.

As I stood in the back wings of the stage, I really felt my nervousness start to build. Suddenly, all the possible interview answers I had practiced seemed rehearsed and shallow. With two people left in front of me, I decided to just go ahead and improvise.

I mentally reviewed everything my coach had taught me: head high, eyes focused on the judges, relaxed smile and above all, personal style. Of all the factors, personal style irked me the most. How was I supposed to pull off expressing exactly who I was in my two minutes in the spotlight? I took a deep breath and found the confidence I needed to go on. When I walked onto the stage, I felt ready to face both the judges and my own expectations.

My very first step into the lights told me exactly how far I had come. The heels I had teetered on just a few weeks ago now click-clacked assuredly across the stage. The flutter of my dress train behind me gave the impression that I was floating. I feverishly hoped that my enthusiasm showed on my face. As soon as the first question was asked, “What would you say is the most important aspect of your school?” I relaxed. These were questions I could honestly answer, without resorting to blemished lies and exaggeration. I knew I would be able to finish with confidence.

That night, I didn’t leave with a glittering crown, a superlative award or even the prom tickets I’d said I wanted. However, it didn’t feel like I was leaving empty-handed. I left with irreplaceable memories of new experiences and the assurance of knowing I could present myself the way I wanted, confident and at ease.

One Year Later
A year later, I entered the pageant again, knowing how fun it had been. I brought back my trusty green dress, but I replaced my old talent with a new one, Chinese yo-yo. I didn’t think I would encounter any new surprises — I was wrong. This time, I went home with the winning crown, free prom tickets, a cash prize toward prom goods and most importantly, the title of Miss Alpharetta High School.

It was overwhelming to stand on stage and be crowned, and all I could think about was how much this pageant meant to me. With my tiara perched at a tilt, I surveyed the cheering crowd with honest gratitude, especially when I saw my friends cheering and waving for me.

I had grown to see the pageant as so much more than just a superficial beauty show. All the weeks of training had taught me how to bring out the best in myself. As I stepped off the stage into the sea of congratulations, I realized exactly what it meant to be a true pageant queen — to have confidence and the ability to accept yourself for who you are, in heels or not!

Cassie is a junior at Alpharetta High who enjoys short-notice calamities and little sleep.