Beauty and the Bounce

After decades on this planet, we all have memories that can still make us blush. In her From Our Readers memories of entering Miss Stockton World beauty pageant, Diane Dean-Epps recalls such embarrassment – told with grace and humor.

Back in the ’70s, I was an energetic, carefree, and bouncy lass with loads of ideas – some of which might qualify as bright ideas.

Here’s one that wasn’t. I decided to participate in an activity popular in Small Town America.

I entered a beauty pageant.

At that time, Miss America pageants were major televised events, and beauty queens were the precursors to influencers. And, boy, were we influenced. Winners became role models overnight, and young women everywhere wanted to emulate them.

Lest you feel as though I’ve just kicked you in the tiara, I need you to know I mean no disrespect. There’s nothing wrong with beauty pageants, if they’re your jam. They aren’t mine due to early cultural influences and, ultimately, The Mortification Factor. We’ll get to the latter in two shakes of a scepter.

You see, I’m from the generation that was impacted greatly by songs like Helen’s Reddy’s 1972 anthem to female empowerment, I am Woman, with that iconic line, “Hear me roar.” This was my pre-roar period, but I was becoming aware of not feeling super comfy being judged on my looks.

I’d learned this because I was doing some modeling. In fact, it was my agent who encouraged me to enter the Miss Stockton World beauty contest. She felt it would be an excellent poise- and confidence-builder. No one she would ever work with would prove her as wrong as I did.

Initially, I was a smidge conflicted, but I shrugged off my misgivings. What did I have to lose? In fact, I stood to gain because there was a $200 cash prize – nothing to sneer at – plus this was going to be a fun new experience. I would soon find out that “fun” does not always play nicely with “new.”

It all started out like other not-so-hot situations in my life. An opportunity presents itself, and I say, “Yes!” before thinking about what it might entail. For instance, preparation, pageant knowledge, and fortitude come to mind.

Miss Stockton World was the speed dating version of a pageant because it was pared down to three scored areas of competition – swimsuit, interview, and evening gown. The talent portion of the whole shebang was a final choreographed dance performed by all contestants.

We opened with an all-hands-on-deck production number – less production and more number, as in “we logged in a large number of steps,” repeatedly circling the stage as though we were mall walking seniors.

We then scurried backstage for the costume change that would launch us into our first scored segment of the contest: the swimsuit competition. When it was my turn, I strutted down that runway confidently, knowing gravity, age, and my metabolism were all working in my favor.

This was followed lickety-split by an interview session. In the early pageant days, judges asked softball questions leading to iconic cultural references like, “If you could have one wish, what would it be?” to which the reply was always, “World peace,” followed by a full 30-second round of clapping and “Awww’s” from the audience. Being an extrovert by nature, I felt like I had a fighting chance here. If anything, I may have to be “played off” the stage, I enjoyed the gift of gab so much.

Next up was the evening gown competition when I showcased my choreographed tour around the stage, retaining eye contact with the audience and judges as I executed a dance-inspired swoop and spin during my jaunt.

Early on, I got caught up in the competition and I felt I had a real chance at this thing. Always a big fan of theme, I had even come up with a color strategy to distinguish myself: all my outfits in the scored categories were green. That was the extent of my “how to become a stand-out” strategy. Not the strongest approach but, as it turned out, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

In terms of completing the toughest parts of the competition, I thought I had it made when we landed on the final, unscored beauty pageant closing number. Even though we weren’t judged officially, we knew this was our last chance to make an impression.

And, boy, did I ever.

There I was in all my teenaged glory, wearing the 1-2-3 fashion knockout punch of the era: a tube top, French jeans, and very high platform shoes. Ironically, I was most concerned the shoes might prove to be a tripping hazard. Maybe they were too risky?

Nope. The winner in the high-risk classification was choosing to wear an unattached-to-any-sort-of-reinforcing-apparatus-or-sticking-agent tube top for a dance number.

That night when I heard my cue, I shimmied out stage left and right out of my tube top. The music came up and the tube top went down. Repeatedly. That tiny wedge of fabric became an unplanned prop I was forced to hold firmly in the grip of my tightly clenched hand.

Somehow, I got through the dance without a misstep. The metaphorical missteps were so plentiful, and my mortification so complete, that it’s a strong testimony to muscle memory.

I don’t know who felt worse for me. The audience or me. (It was me.)

The whole extravaganza wrapped up when we returned to the stage dressed to the nines – if not all scoring the 10s needed to lay claim to the Miss Stockton World title. At least now my bodacious form was firmly ensconced in a gown that was sure to hold my body, if not my formerly confident attitude.

Sadly, though I survived my bandeau dipping more frequently than my bank account, there were no sympathy votes. I didn’t win, I wasn’t named as a runner-up, nor was I recognized for a specific trait leading to recognition like Miss Congeniality or Best Effort in Remaining Fully Clothed.

When it was over, before I had the chance to turn tail and run backstage, one of the judges called me over. She hugged me very tightly as she said not unkindly, “We all really loved you, but I have some advice. If you’re going to keep entering pageants, you need to be less bouncy.”

I shuddered to think which part of me she was referring to as being bouncy.

As the creative mind behind her “sit-down standup” style of humor writing, Diane Dean-Epps has proven that comedy is just as effective from a chair – preferably one with lumbar support and a cup holder – as it is from a standing position. Her humor has found a home in multiple essays, columns, and books, and her most recent book, BANGS ’N’ BOTOX: My Aging Journey Near, Through, and Out of Denial and Botox, Fillers, & Human Preservatives, is essential reading for anyone who’s ever looked in the mirror, gasping at what time hath wrought. She also hosts her humor-fueled podcast BANGS ’N’ BOTOX: Women Who Wear Aging Well.

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