by Jeff Wright of The Register-Guard
Michelle Girard had just turned 5 when she attended her first beauty pageant for young girls. Watching intently as each contestant was presented a crown, Michelle turned to her mother and announced, “I want to get one of those.”
Three years later, Michelle’s wish has come true. She has her own crown, sash and trophy — the spoils of being named Miniature Miss Oregon in the Oregon State Cinderella Scholarship Pageant.
Now 8, Michelle is a self-possessed but modest Eugene second-grader who wants “to be a ton of things” — whale trainer and waitress, cheerleader and flight attendant — when she grows up.
She looks forward to pageants because they’re fun and make her feel fancy. “I get to be in front of people and perform for them and make them happy and entertained.”
Child psychologists and other professionals disagree on whether pageants — in the news since the murder of 6-year-old pageant veteran Jon Benet Ramsey in Boulder, Colo. — are positive for girls like Michelle.
Some say pageants, if not excessive, can teach self-confidence. But others say they sexualize children and teach them that their self-worth is dependent on beauty and the acclaim of others.
Michelle’s parents, Mike and Elaine Girard, are big believers in pageants. In fact, they’re the Lane County coordinators for the Cinderella pageant program.
But they’re also aware of the harsh views many people hold. They and others say most local pageants have little to do with the heavy makeup, elaborate outfits and come-hither expressions of Jon Benet’s world.
Instead, they say they’ve embraced down-to-earth pageants that build their daughters’ self-confidence while promoting camaraderie and fun.
The Cinderella pageant, Mike Girard says, “is looking for kids who are kids — they are not looking for beauty queens. They constantly say they are looking for the inner beauty, not the outer beauty, and I believe it.”
Pageant organizers’ defensiveness is evident in how they describe their programs. The Cinderella pageant, for example, calls itself a youth development and scholarship program. But the scholarships — usually in the form of savings bonds — barely cover the entry fee. The Girards, meanwhile, are calling an introduction to the Cinderella pageant a modeling workshop.
According to national estimates, as many as 100,000 children ages 12 and under compete in some 500 pageants across the country each year. Pageants at all age levels form a $5 billion industry.
But they’re more prevalent in the Midwest, South and California than in the Northwest. In Oregon, youngsters frequently compete against only a handful of others in their age group.
The Cinderella pageant, one of the more established programs in Oregon, draws about 60 girls in all age divisions to its state competition, says state pageant co-director Debra Pickett of Clackamas. She estimates that Oregon has about two dozen pageants open to young girls — and in some cases, boys.
Among child development professionals, some say pageants can be healthy — within limits.
“Many children are natural performers, and self-esteem and self-confidence can be enhanced by these kinds of activities,” says Carol Lynn Morse, a family counselor who teaches a parent education class at Lane Community College.
“But like so many other things, too much is too much,” Morse adds. “You have to guard against the child living out the parent’s dream.”
Others are much more critical. “It’s child abuse, a form of child pornography,” says Gisela Bergman, a Eugene psychologist who works with young women suffering from eating disorders. “These (pageants) just destroy the self-worth of the female.”
Parents who want to help build their daughters’ confidence should introduce them to painting or soccer, acting or choir, Bergman says. “That’s the way to learn self-esteem and conquer shyness.”
Beverly Fagot, a professor of psychology at the University of Oregon and research scientist at the Oregon Social Learning Center, has researched gender role development. While acknowledging that parents can overemphasize any area of interest — including sports and music — pageants may hold a special risk because of the sexualization, Fagot says.
“Children don’t need eye makeup to help them be cute,” she says. “Children just are cute.”
Pageants are businesses, yet local officials often insist that their profit margins are negligible. Pickett, for example, says she typically collects no pay as co-director of the Cinderella pageant.
Much of the money ends up at pageants’ national headquarters. Pickett says she has to buy all the crowns, trophies, banners, program books and other paraphernalia from the national office.
Entry fees vary, but $200 to $300 is common. The fee typically includes meals, parties, trophies and gifts, though parents pay for lodging, gas and the child’s wardrobe.
Mike Girard, a mortgage broker, says his daughter received a $200 savings bond with her title last year.
“But that doesn’t come close to what we spent,” he says, estimating that it cost $1,000 for his family of four to attend. The Girards’ younger daughter, 4-year-old Katherine, entered her first pageant last year.
Girard and other parents say spending money on pageants is no different than spending it on piano lessons or ski equipment — and easy to justify when a child gains from the experience.
Elaine Girard, a computer systems analyst and the current Mrs. Oregon United States, says pageants are teaching her daughters good grooming and exposing them to wholesome mentors.
“My girls see teen-age girls who are not into drugs and wild things,” she says. “They’re seeing that you don’t have to be in the latest fad to be a popular person, and that’s a good influence.”
Aida Lujan of Springfield has two daughters who are pageant winners: Alyssa, 4, won Miss Oregon Talent in her age division in the Majestic Legends pageant last fall. Her sister, Aleena, was crowned Oregon’s 1996 PeeWee Miss of American before her first birthday — judged on personality, disposition, sportswear and partywear.
Politically incorrect or not, “the truth is, every parent thinks their daughter is the most beautiful,” says Aida Lujan, who sees practical benefits to the pageants. Last year’s pageant, she says, taught her daughter an important lesson when she won in the talent division but not the beauty division.
“She reacted to that, and we were able to explain to her that she can’t always win,” Lujan says. “That was a plus, a situation where she could learn and grow.”
Too often, parents who enroll their children in pageants are stigmatized unfairly, Lujan says. “I would hope people would give me more benefit of the doubt as a parent — I’m not going to have my child involved in something that’s going to hurt her.”
She adds that based on what she saw on TV, she wouldn’t let her daughter compete in the contests like the ones Jon Benet was in.
“The high heels and the amount of makeup and costuming — it was too much for a 6-year-old,” she says. “I want her (Alyssa) to be her age. Kids should be kids.”
Jerrie Antwine of Eugene has 4-year-old daughter, Stefanie Durbin, who is also a state winner in the Majestic Legends pageant. They’ll attend nationals in Sacramento, Calif., this spring.
Antwine says she’d be disappointed if her two daughters decided they weren’t interested in pageantry — “because I feel this is good for them whether they know it or not.”
She also acknowledges parental pride: “It’s enjoyable seeing your kids up there (on stage). I never did anything like that when I was a kid, so I think that’s kind of neat.”
Judy Anderson of Eugene, who helps run the California-based Majestic Legends pageant owned by her sister, defends the premise that pageants and girls go hand in hand.
“What little girl doesn’t want to dress up?” she asks. “They want to look like the pretty girls on TV. That’s just how it is.”
Most children in pageants say they love it. But Fagot, the psychology professor, says that’s no surprise. “What else can they say — especially if this is what makes them feel important?”
In a day care room at Eugene Faith Center, 4-year-old Alyssa Lujan looks as natural and relaxed as any child as she plays tag with playmates. During a break, she tells a reporter that she’s excited but not nervous on stage.
“I put my feet together and do ‘pretty feet,'” she says, showing how she stands with heels together but toes pointing outward at a 45-degree angle. “I try to be straight and not scared.”
Then Alyssa offers an important piece of information: “The winner gets a trophy.”
Reprinted with permission. Copyright 1997, The Register-Guard, www.registerguard.com.