Monday, February 13, 2006

Beauty Queen

I was at the Mall this weekend. Not one of those nice malls with a Nordstrom's and a Banana Republic but the kind that has booths that sell gold chains by the foot. After browsing though the Foot Locker, I saw an obese little girl 11-year old girl wearing a shirt that said, "You Can Call Me Your Majesty." I thought to myself, 'Ugh. Could America's youth get any worse." My question was quickly answered in the affirmative.

The mall was holding a beauty pageant! There was a stage set up and everything. I decided to stick around to see which fresh faced teen would win a $500 dollar college scholarship (that should pay for about 2 books). Then I saw some of the contestants. They were 5 year olds! Hair done. Make-up on. Little Ballroom Gowns. The works.

I actually know someone who reluctantly lets his wife enter his daughter into these things. When explaining it he said, "You know, like Jon Benet Ramsey." How disturbing! As the years pass how else will he describe his daughter's accomplishments? "She's taking a senior trip after high school. You know, like Natalee Holloway," or "She just got an internship in Washington. You know, like Chandra Levy."

The sad part is that referencing Jon Benet Ramsey may be the most tasteful option available. What else is he supposed to say? "My wife and I dress our 5 year old up in pumps, stocking, makeup, and gowns with cleavage. We then parade her in front of complete strangers while telling her "big smiles" or "pout your lips." It should be clear we really wanted a championship show dog."

While drawn to the social phenomenon/car wreck that kiddie beauty pageants are, I decided to leave before I became someone who has actually seen one. Before I left, I saw an image that could have been a post-modern Norman Rockwell: A little girl in her gown and get up, her fried blonde 30 year old mom trailing behind her, the 50 year old weather-beaten grandma carrying all the pageant implements in a bin following the blonde mom. I looked at this sad trio and thought to myself, "There goes three generations of Denny's Waitresses."