Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Amber Walter: My Miss Arizona USA Experience..from Butt Glue to ...
Amber Walter: My Miss Arizona USA Experience..from Butt Glue to ...: “And ladies, please, for the love of God, don’t forget to tape your lady bits together.” Huh? I looked up from my doodles on the contestan...
My Miss Arizona USA Experience..from Butt Glue to Bullying
“And ladies, please, for the love of God, don’t forget to tape your lady bits together.”
Huh?
I looked up from my doodles on the contestant package to the fiery haired woman on the college auditorium stage.
“Did she just say..?” I whispered quizzically to the girl on my left.
“Yup. I think she did.” The look of amusement and a stifled giggle on her face mirrored my own astonishment.
My gaze returned to the pageant director, a former “Miss”..something or other, who was surely about two decades away from what was once her prime.
Her disheveled-bag lady appearance and full figure were a far cry from the list of expectations she had for the brand new group of Miss Arizona USA and Miss Arizona Teen USA contestants who sat eagerly in front of her taking down notes and chattering like absentminded fools.
What was I doing here again?
“I don’t care how amazing you look in your swimsuits-if you have camel toe, that is all the judges, AND the audience will see. And it ain’t cute.” She stared impishly at us. She seemed to do that quite often. Say something, then just stare, as if she had to pause and soak up the cleverness of her regurgitated words.
After a few hours of superficial hellos and introductions, and excessive ranting on how “amaze balls” the upcoming pageant was going to be, I had an abundance of notes including where to buy the infamous “butt glue”- stuff to keep your bathing suit bottoms and any other wardrobe in place, and what to use to actually tape your lady bits together- medical tape or even a blister band aid, and a plethora of other beauty pageant preparations scribbled in my own notes.
I left orientation that day connecting briefly with about three girls- two teen contestants, and one miss-these three, including two other miss contestant were the only girls who treated me with kindness and honest, sincere humility during my experience competing in the 2014 Miss Arizona USA pageant.
I will not name names of course, what kind of writer would I be if I did? However, there are no implied rules about naming titles.
Before I continue telling you of the incredibly humiliating, and slightly degrading experience I had with the Miss Arizona USA pageant, I would like to say thank you to Miss Central Phoenix, Miss Glendale, Miss Teen Central Phoenix, Miss Teen Scottsdale, and to my favorite contestants the sweetest, most adorable girl there, Miss Teen Southwest, whom I truly hope wins the crown.
I would also like to say that my roommate, Miss Wildcat was also a sweetheart, and was kind enough to allow me to spend a little time at the gala with her and her family.
In life, there are several ways to broadly describe people, situations, events, and so forth. Since this is a beauty pageant I will stick to what most will already assume; beautiful on the outside does not always portray the morally objectionable interior some of these would be queens possessed.
Let me be the first to say how against preconceived notions I am. I myself have been told that I am pretty, gorgeous, and even beautiful. I have also been called superficial, materialistic, and a dumb blonde, all from people whom have created their own opinion of me based solely on my outer appearance.
Many are shocked to discover that I have written two published novels, or that I have been a key note speaker at several different women’s’ luncheons and expos; speaking openly of the horrendous abuse I was subjected to since I was a four year old little girl.
Clearly, everyone has their own definition of beauty and I realize beautiful is one of those terms used loosely; regardless, I came into this competition with an incredibly open mind, free of prejudice and willing to fully succumb to this competition in an unpretentious manner.
As soon as I paid the full $1200 entrance fee, I became 100% committed to making the most of this new experience, meeting new friends, and pushing myself out of my comfort zone.
Unfortunately what actually transpired the two days I was there, played out to be more of a cheap take on the Michael Patrick Jann, Drop Dead Gorgeous film, only with a far more uninteresting cast.
After the $1200 was paid in full, the niceties’ of both the pageant coordinators, and director quickly soured as well.
Gone were the generic, “Congrats, you have been chosen to participate..blah, blah..we look forward to meeting you, blah blah” emails.-
to highly inappropriate (in my opinion) bitching rants on the private member Facebook Page;
“(putting on my stern face) We have only sold 69 tickets for the Gala. Let’s see….there are 67 of you, you’re each supposed to sell 4 BY TODAY, so that should be (yes, I’m doing MATH after 9pm) 268 tickets sold. 199 short…do you NOT want enough food there for everyone??”
And..
“I sent a very informative email yesterday so please check your junk mail to make sure it’s not there. ALSO, sell your 4 gala tickets. If you don’t sell 4 then you’re just mean and can’t follow rules because this is required.”
Also..
“1. If we say we don’t have something from you, don’t reply “but I turned that in”. You either A- turned it in wrong, B- the mailman ate it, or C- you are lying. So turn it in because we are nice enough to even warn you.”
Those are just a few examples of some of the Facebook rants. The emails they sent were even more embarrassing and unprofessional, unless of course you are a fifteen year old, speaking to your peers.
I received my official contestant welcome email on Halloween afternoon, along with my official title, Miss Fountain Hills USA, of which I was actually pretty happy to have received. I have previously lived in Fountain Hills so the title absolutely fit.
I had less than a full month to find an evening gown, a competition swimsuit, nude heels, accessories, and everything else needed for a successful pageant.
After spending three weeks scouring every store I could think of for the items I needed, I finally found the things I believed would be suitable to compete in.
Little did I know how substantially I underestimated the need for an extremely loud, resplendent, and expensive statement dress.
On Friday, November 30, 2013, I found myself awake at five am preening myself to camera ready perfection.
By nine am I had a full on face of stage makeup, hair teased up to the heavens, and a spray tan so deep I almost appeared as though I was covered in dirt.
All in the name of beauty, right?
As I made my way to The Marriot Hotel in Mesa, the host hotel to the pageant, I went over my mental checklist of all the items I would be needing; opening number dress, gown, swimsuit, nude heels, cocktail attire, accessories for every outfit, rehearsal clothes, tennis shoes, incidentals, hair spray-gel-mousse, shampoo, conditioner, every type of makeup you can think of, eyelashes, hot tools, brushes, teasing combs, paperwork, vitamins, healthy snacks, nail polish, Miss Congeniality gift, money, IDs and about 25 other items I probably didn’t need, but took any way “just in case”.
As I neared my destination, my nerves began to surface through a loud thumping in my chest, and my shallow, unsteady breathing.
Every time I practiced my “winning” smile my cheeks began shaking from the utter unnatural feeling of a constant plastic-like grin.
Instead of turning the car around as the logical part of my mind urged in a loud convincing manner, I adjusted my thinking, practiced some breathing exercises, and arrived to registration with less than three minutes to spare.
It took two separate trips to my car before I had all of my luggage piled in a corner of Ballroom B where the contestants were told to change into their opening number dresses for a photo opt and video intro taping;
“Amber Walter, Miss Fountain Hills USA” was my line in the video.
After a mini photo shoot in the plum colored, “toddlers in tiaras” style Sherri Hill dress, I was given my room key and able to go upstairs and unpack.
The room had two small beds, a miniature fridge, and an even tinier bathroom for my roommate and I to share.
I recorded a small video clip of my thoughts, and then headed down a couple of hours later to shoot the bikini video with the other Miss contestants. All 39 of us were supposed to meet at the pool at the required time, but at least six were excluded from the shoot for being tardy.
The pageant director, the same fiery haired woman from before, took picture after picture of us on her cell phone while the professional photographer was also attempting to photograph us which made for a chaotic shoot with some girls looking at the washed up “former” beauty queen director, and others at the photographer.
An hour later we were released to go about our day until rehearsal time at 2:30.
I arrived with Miss Central Phoenix, the girl I became the closest with, to rehearsal where we went over the opening number dance.
Much to my surprise I was moved from the back “where the lousy dancers would be, no offense girls” was how the director put it, to the very front.
This is where the stare downs truly began to surface.
The leggy brunette to my right, and her blonde friend couldn’t have possibly whispered any louder to each other,
“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Legs asked the blonde girl after I was moved up twice, “she’s an idiot.” Cackle cakle.
I ignored their banter at first, not completely certain it was me who they were referring to.
That night was the charity gala which also to my surprise was a complete bore- the most entertaining thing were the adorable puppies from the charity the gala was held for.
Other than that, it was your typical pile of stuffy folk with spoiled children who couldn’t tell their left foot from their right on the dance floor.
The music was Dj’d by a duo that looked as though they belonged at a quinceniera or in a mariachi band. I ate two pieces of dry cheese, and drank a small plastic cup of surprisingly delicious iced tea before calling it a night and heading back upstairs.
I took a shower in the tiny bathroom, slathered on some face cream, took a Lunesta, and tossed and turned till almost one am.
Much to my annoyance our alarm went off not once, but twice, at both five and five thirty am. Lying restlessly I decided to get up, sneak out of the hotel in search of a Starbucks. Ten miles away from the hotel near the ASU campus I found one, I recorded another short video, then went back to the hotel and threw all my stuff together in preparation for the day.
“Oh I didn’t know if you were in here.” My roommate smiled, eyeing my Starbucks enviously as I came in to our room.
“Ya, I couldn’t sleep anymore so I snuck out for coffee.” I smiled back, “hey, did you set the room alarm?”
“No, I thought you did.”
“Nope. I had my phone set for 6:45.”
“how funny, I had mine set for seven.”
“That’s weird the alarm went off twice. Must have been preset.” I reached behind the tiny dresser separating the two beds and unplugged the sleep killer.
“There, no more alarm.”
We met the other girls downstairs by 8:30 am where we drifted to our mini groups. I spent most of my time there with Miss Central Phoenix and Miss Glendale.
“You feeling better?”
“Huh?” I asked sipping on my iced coffee nonchalantly.
“From last night.”
I chewed on my bottom lip trying to remember what she was referring to.
“Oh yes” I had forgotten about my excuse for leaving the “ball” the night before. “I’m much better today.”
“Good.” These two girls were sincerely decent people I decided.
The Miss contestants piled into a large bus that took us to the Mesa Arts Center where the pageant would be taking place that night and the next. My stomach began doing flips, as the excitement and nerves began to mount.
“I’m getting so nervous again.” I told the two.
They both nodded. “Me too girl. I feel sick.”
“So how do you think interview will go?” I asked. I had watched YouTube video after YouTube video in hopes to create some sort of idea in my head as to how to act and answer “beauty pageant” questions, yet I still felt a strong sense of apprehension.
“If you could meet any celebrity dead or alive, who would it be?” Miss Glendale asked.
“J.R.R. Tolkien.” I responded without hesitation.
“Nice, I would have to say Alexander Graham Bell.”
“Cool.”
“Ok, how about a celebrity who is alive?”
“The Dalai lama” I smiled with satisfaction, thinking myself clever for that answer.
“Ooh we are here.”
We passed through security into the vast building, and up massive concrete stairs. The miss contestants were split into two groups and ushered into separate dressing rooms. Each of us had a sliver of counter and mirror space, indicated by each of our headshots taped to a tiny corner of each mirror.
“Are you shitting me?”
“This is too small for us to get ready in.”
“Bullshit. I can’t fit here.”
“This is going to be a cluster fuck.”
I sat down at my spot and began strategically laying out the items I needed to get ready with in my tiny allotted space. All around me the complaints continued as every girl attempted to claim a territory.
“Fine, I guess I will claim the center.” A sickly sweet voice announced.
“Me to.” Another joined her.
“Ok ladies rehearsal time is in fifteen minutes. And don’t forget to bring your heels.”
We spent the next two hours rehearsing the opening number dance on the stage with the teens. At twelve we broke for a one hour Subway lunch which the girls scarfed down in record time.
I decided to eat a protein bar and pin curled my hair to make the best use of my time.
At one pm we were back in the auditorium for a full dress rehearsal. This part is when I really began to panic. The stage seemed very large and had four different marks/poses to hit.
Our first walk through was swimwear. I must say I was more confident walking in my bikini because I spend a significant amount of time working out and eating fairly healthy. As I made my way on to the run way that went down the stage, then to the first X on stage right, then the second X on stage left, my legs, and body started to quiver.
Fuck.
Please God, let my nerves stop.
I pleaded in my head.
If I was this nervous for dress rehearsal, how was I supposed to do this tonight for the actual show?
“You have a great body girl.” Miss Central Phoenix said as soon as I made my way back into the dressing room.
“Thank you, you too.”
“Ha!” cackle cackle. I turned around and saw Legs eyeing me through the mirror with contempt.
I smiled at her biting my tongue.
What a bitch.
I realized this was the same girl who stood to my right during the opening number dance and continued to hit me with her arms every time we did a run through without fail. She also managed to step on my size 6 feet with her own size tens.
Seriously what was her problem with me?
It was now time to change into our evening gowns for rehearsal. I walked to the other side of the dressing room where my dresses hung on the shower rod since the clothes rack was chock full of the fluffy extravagant gowns. Miss Central Phoenix and a few other girls also shared the rod with me.
I slipped my silver rose colored gown up my torso and zipped the clingy fabric up my back. It fit like a glove and hugged my curves in a Jessica Rabbit sort of way. I hadn’t spent a ton of money on this dress, but I had it altered to perfection and felt confident wearing it.
That was until I rounded the corner and caught sight of the other gowns.
I made my way back to my seat and nearly tripped eyeing what looked like a ten thousand dollar white Jovanni disco ball dress.
Shit! I looked down at my feet and realized that my dress was still too long.
Fuck. I thought in dismay as I attempted to walk in a straight line without tripping over the fabric.
I tried kicking my foot out a little in an attempt to push the fabric away from my other foot, but this only caused the back of the gown to get stuck on the heel of my stiletto.
The bottoms of my feet began to perspire as I made my way back to my tiny area, avoiding the glares from the nosey girls nearest me.
“I didn’t realize they were having a sale on last season’s prom dresses.” The blonde one who had been whispering to Legs the day before gossiped to another as she lined her lips in a mauve pencil then smiled empathetically at me in the mirror.
Are you shitting me right now?
I felt a strong desire to take my bottle of my Sally Hansen tan leg makeup and “accidentally” spill it on her cream colored sparkly gown, but realized how ridiculous that thought was.
I looked around the room, at the sea of blue, purple, pink, grey, silver, white, and every other color of dazzling gowns. Some of these dresses were truly gorgeous. A few were even breathtaking.
That is when I began to feel truly insecure, after that and the comments that were to follow.
Reluctantly, I followed my two confidants back down the cement staircase and into the auditorium for the rest of dress rehearsal.
When it was almost my turn to walk in my gown I watched in trepidation as the girls in front of me walked with grace and posed like pros at every marker, turning in a figure nine at the last mark.
Why hadn’t I practiced more?
I made my way to the first marker, my eyes wincing momentarily from the unforgivingly bright stage lights above my head.
I posed awkwardly at the first mark for less than a second, shuffling my feet as fast and carefully as possible to the X on stage right, forgetting to look at the area where the judges would be watching.
Fuck went through my head a thousand times as I pleaded with God not to trip and make a complete ass of myself.
As I stopped briefly at the final X, I heard Legs, who had on a stunning red dress, laugh hysterically at my poses.
I walked quickly and waited for my group to do the final look and heard her cackling to another group of girls once again,
“It’s a shame she has no self-confidence, she actually is kind of pretty.” Laughter followed by “In a bimbo Barbie sort of way!”
At that moment I felt the strongest urge to cry. Vicious thoughts of old self-doubt and a decade of low self-esteem flooded my head once again.
What am I doing here?
Did I really think I was good enough for a beauty contest?
Who was I kidding?
I am a fraud.
I am not good enough.
I blinked back my tears long enough to make it back upstairs and into one of the bathroom stalls.
I stood in there, against one of the chilly cement walls and stared at the ceiling; silently crying, wondering what the hell had possessed me to be a part of something so superficial and cruel.
This was not the experience I had hoped for.
Instead of building my confidence, this was bringing me back to a very dark place, a place I had worked diligently to pull myself out of. A place created by the castigating voice of my stepmother for years, by her abuse, her malice.
“Is someone in here?” I saw the metal door pull out slightly as someone attempted to pull the door open.
“Just a second.” I sniffled and fumbled with a piece of thin toilet paper, dabbing my cheeks and my nose-getting rid of any tell-tale signs of crying.
I couldn’t let them see me this way.
I flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash my hands.
“Ok girls you have two hours till show time! Call time is six thirty! Don’t be late!”
I took my gown off and threw my sweatshirt and jeans back on.
I spent the next two hours putting my makeup on; applying it to perfection. I was determined to put my best foot forward and simply get through the night despite the negativity around me.
At five pm I sent a text to my boyfriend;
Omg I’m Freaking out. Please text me something encouraging. I feel like crying. I dunno why. Ughh
Before that I had sent;
My dress SUCKS compared to these other ones. Omg lol. Oh well..
His responses couldn’t have been better written or full of more encouragement. Unfortunately my mind was convinced that I was not up to par and my nerves took over.
By show time it only became worse.
During the opening number dance, I all but forgot the easiest parts of the dance. I felt myself almost running off the stage after the last eight counts. My face felt hot and red. Nothing my friends there said mattered anymore; it was the snickering of the other girls that resounded in my head.
I hardly remember anything but my cheeks shaking uncontrollably as I attempted to smile big at the judges when it was my turn on stage for the bikini portion.
My heart was no longer in it though, and I knew my insecurities were getting the better of me. I felt the stage lights follow me as I made my way uncertainly from mark to mark, showcasing the absurdity I felt as I attempted to pose at each X.
Please let this be over soon. I prayed.
Once again I practically ran off the stage, the feeling of failure enveloping itself around my shoulders, like a familiar old cloak.
My heart was heavy with guilt as I thought of the wasted money and time my family had put into this event.
I was ashamed that I had once again allowed the negativity and taunts of others get the better of me.
Why am I this way?
Why do I care what these girls say or think of me?
Why am I allowing them to ruin what should have been a fun experience for me?
I climbed the cerulean blue cement steps once again into the dressing room. I slipped off my coral colored swimsuit and grudgingly put my gown on.
“Are you ok?” Miss Glendale, whose seat was next to mine asked.
“My dress is too long.” I looked down at my feet “I’m scared I’m going to fall and eat it on stage.”
“Here, let me see.”
She then took some double sided tape and helped me “hem” the front up a bit.
“There, that should be better.”
I tried walking, it was better.
“Thank you so much! You are a freaking life saver.”
I sat down and reapplied some lip gloss and teased my hair up even higher.
I felt better momentarily but that passed as soon as Legs and the blonde one came in, looked at me, then each other and started laughing manically to each other.
They weren’t even trying to hide their snobbery.
“Whatever.” I said through clenched teeth as I made my way carefully back down to the auditorium stage. I practiced walking a bit down the hall before entering stage left.
When the last group of teen were done with the evening gown portion, it was our turn.
Since my title was Miss Fountain Hills USA, I was in the first group of Miss to go. As I did one more quick walk, my dress got caught on the heel and pulled my “hem job” apart.
“Oh no!”
I quickly pulled the fabric and tried to push it back together, but the stickiness of the tape was lessening.
I took my place in line behind Miss Fashion Square and in front of Miss Glendale.
I took a deep breath and started the walk towards the center stage to the runway, my arms went to lift my gown, but I quickly moved them away remembering that we were encouraged not to do so. I smiled at the judges, but the smile stopped at my mouth and never connected with my eyes. I tried with all my will to execute a decent pose at each of the markers, but my trembling cheeks made it impossible to focus on any one of the photographers.
I locked eyes briefly with one of the female judges, a former beauty queen herself who eyed me with both pity and amusement.
This time, as I made my way back upstairs I decided with absolute certainty that I was done competing, that I would be leaving tonight and heading back home.
I couldn’t take another day of snide remarks, put downs, or judgment.
I was exhausted, humiliated, and disappointed.
The worst part was knowing I had put myself in this situation, and felt as though I should have known better.
It was a beauty pageant after all, how could I have expected anything less.
After the show I sat in the dressing room with the other girls while we waited for the bus to drop the teens off at the hotel.
I stared at myself in the mirror, at all the makeup on my face, my teased hair, the dark body makeup on my skin that made me look really tan.
I felt absolutely foolish.
Hot tears formed behind my green eyes that were decorated with full lashes. I blinked back, fighting my strong desire to cry.
By ten thirty I made my way through the crowded hotel lobby toward the elevators, pushing through the groups of proud friends and family members bearing roses and cameras for their daughters and friends.
I hit the elevator button and took it up to the eighth floor.
The room was empty when I went inside.
I sat at the desk and took my Ipad out and filmed my final video recording for my pageant experience. I didn’t plan on it happening, but I cried towards the end of it.
I sobbed like a big baby; stress, exhaustion, and bruised feelings finally getting the best of me.
My roommate came in about ten minutes later.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah.” I lied.
“Can I give you a hug at least?”
I looked up at her from the hotel desk.
“Sure.”
I stood up and she hugged me.
“Thank you.”
I felt an immediate sense of guilt. I had planned on leaving when she got in the shower, without saying anything.
I couldn’t do that to her though.
I sat back down at the desk and wrote her a note;
Hey Sweetie,
So I am not going to come back. I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t like drama, but I have decided to go home. This weekend has not turned out to be anything like I had expected it to. A few girls have really hurt my feelings and I just want to go home. You have been a great room ate though! Best of luck tomorrow,
Amber
Then I took my packed bags and left while she was in the bathroom.
How I managed to carry all of my bags to my car in one trip is beyond me.
I suppose I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
As I made the forty minute drive home in the dark I wondered whether I would regret my decision in the morning.
I didn’t.
Leaving the pageant was the best thing I could have done for myself and I don’t see my leaving as giving up, but instead as getting myself out of an unhealthy situation that posed no benefit to my staying.
My old self would have remained in an unhappy situation simply because that was what I was “supposed” to do. I would have smiled and nodded, later regretting not leaving when I had the chance.
Staying would have been pointless since I realized with absolute certainty, that I no longer wanted anything to do with the Miss Arizona USA pageant system and couldn’t stand another second being there.
I am not here to bash pageants, or the people involved within them; to do so would simply show ignorance and prejudice.
I have simply written about my personal experience, emotions, thoughts, and conclusions as my beautiful country, The United States of America so allows me to, under the first Amendment of Freedom of Speech, and Freedom of Press.
That is all.
Huh?
I looked up from my doodles on the contestant package to the fiery haired woman on the college auditorium stage.
“Did she just say..?” I whispered quizzically to the girl on my left.
“Yup. I think she did.” The look of amusement and a stifled giggle on her face mirrored my own astonishment.
My gaze returned to the pageant director, a former “Miss”..something or other, who was surely about two decades away from what was once her prime.
Her disheveled-bag lady appearance and full figure were a far cry from the list of expectations she had for the brand new group of Miss Arizona USA and Miss Arizona Teen USA contestants who sat eagerly in front of her taking down notes and chattering like absentminded fools.
What was I doing here again?
“I don’t care how amazing you look in your swimsuits-if you have camel toe, that is all the judges, AND the audience will see. And it ain’t cute.” She stared impishly at us. She seemed to do that quite often. Say something, then just stare, as if she had to pause and soak up the cleverness of her regurgitated words.
After a few hours of superficial hellos and introductions, and excessive ranting on how “amaze balls” the upcoming pageant was going to be, I had an abundance of notes including where to buy the infamous “butt glue”- stuff to keep your bathing suit bottoms and any other wardrobe in place, and what to use to actually tape your lady bits together- medical tape or even a blister band aid, and a plethora of other beauty pageant preparations scribbled in my own notes.
I left orientation that day connecting briefly with about three girls- two teen contestants, and one miss-these three, including two other miss contestant were the only girls who treated me with kindness and honest, sincere humility during my experience competing in the 2014 Miss Arizona USA pageant.
I will not name names of course, what kind of writer would I be if I did? However, there are no implied rules about naming titles.
Before I continue telling you of the incredibly humiliating, and slightly degrading experience I had with the Miss Arizona USA pageant, I would like to say thank you to Miss Central Phoenix, Miss Glendale, Miss Teen Central Phoenix, Miss Teen Scottsdale, and to my favorite contestants the sweetest, most adorable girl there, Miss Teen Southwest, whom I truly hope wins the crown.
I would also like to say that my roommate, Miss Wildcat was also a sweetheart, and was kind enough to allow me to spend a little time at the gala with her and her family.
In life, there are several ways to broadly describe people, situations, events, and so forth. Since this is a beauty pageant I will stick to what most will already assume; beautiful on the outside does not always portray the morally objectionable interior some of these would be queens possessed.
Let me be the first to say how against preconceived notions I am. I myself have been told that I am pretty, gorgeous, and even beautiful. I have also been called superficial, materialistic, and a dumb blonde, all from people whom have created their own opinion of me based solely on my outer appearance.
Many are shocked to discover that I have written two published novels, or that I have been a key note speaker at several different women’s’ luncheons and expos; speaking openly of the horrendous abuse I was subjected to since I was a four year old little girl.
Clearly, everyone has their own definition of beauty and I realize beautiful is one of those terms used loosely; regardless, I came into this competition with an incredibly open mind, free of prejudice and willing to fully succumb to this competition in an unpretentious manner.
As soon as I paid the full $1200 entrance fee, I became 100% committed to making the most of this new experience, meeting new friends, and pushing myself out of my comfort zone.
Unfortunately what actually transpired the two days I was there, played out to be more of a cheap take on the Michael Patrick Jann, Drop Dead Gorgeous film, only with a far more uninteresting cast.
After the $1200 was paid in full, the niceties’ of both the pageant coordinators, and director quickly soured as well.
Gone were the generic, “Congrats, you have been chosen to participate..blah, blah..we look forward to meeting you, blah blah” emails.-
to highly inappropriate (in my opinion) bitching rants on the private member Facebook Page;
“(putting on my stern face) We have only sold 69 tickets for the Gala. Let’s see….there are 67 of you, you’re each supposed to sell 4 BY TODAY, so that should be (yes, I’m doing MATH after 9pm) 268 tickets sold. 199 short…do you NOT want enough food there for everyone??”
And..
“I sent a very informative email yesterday so please check your junk mail to make sure it’s not there. ALSO, sell your 4 gala tickets. If you don’t sell 4 then you’re just mean and can’t follow rules because this is required.”
Also..
“1. If we say we don’t have something from you, don’t reply “but I turned that in”. You either A- turned it in wrong, B- the mailman ate it, or C- you are lying. So turn it in because we are nice enough to even warn you.”
Those are just a few examples of some of the Facebook rants. The emails they sent were even more embarrassing and unprofessional, unless of course you are a fifteen year old, speaking to your peers.
I received my official contestant welcome email on Halloween afternoon, along with my official title, Miss Fountain Hills USA, of which I was actually pretty happy to have received. I have previously lived in Fountain Hills so the title absolutely fit.
I had less than a full month to find an evening gown, a competition swimsuit, nude heels, accessories, and everything else needed for a successful pageant.
After spending three weeks scouring every store I could think of for the items I needed, I finally found the things I believed would be suitable to compete in.
Little did I know how substantially I underestimated the need for an extremely loud, resplendent, and expensive statement dress.
On Friday, November 30, 2013, I found myself awake at five am preening myself to camera ready perfection.
By nine am I had a full on face of stage makeup, hair teased up to the heavens, and a spray tan so deep I almost appeared as though I was covered in dirt.
All in the name of beauty, right?
As I made my way to The Marriot Hotel in Mesa, the host hotel to the pageant, I went over my mental checklist of all the items I would be needing; opening number dress, gown, swimsuit, nude heels, cocktail attire, accessories for every outfit, rehearsal clothes, tennis shoes, incidentals, hair spray-gel-mousse, shampoo, conditioner, every type of makeup you can think of, eyelashes, hot tools, brushes, teasing combs, paperwork, vitamins, healthy snacks, nail polish, Miss Congeniality gift, money, IDs and about 25 other items I probably didn’t need, but took any way “just in case”.
As I neared my destination, my nerves began to surface through a loud thumping in my chest, and my shallow, unsteady breathing.
Every time I practiced my “winning” smile my cheeks began shaking from the utter unnatural feeling of a constant plastic-like grin.
Instead of turning the car around as the logical part of my mind urged in a loud convincing manner, I adjusted my thinking, practiced some breathing exercises, and arrived to registration with less than three minutes to spare.
It took two separate trips to my car before I had all of my luggage piled in a corner of Ballroom B where the contestants were told to change into their opening number dresses for a photo opt and video intro taping;
“Amber Walter, Miss Fountain Hills USA” was my line in the video.
After a mini photo shoot in the plum colored, “toddlers in tiaras” style Sherri Hill dress, I was given my room key and able to go upstairs and unpack.
The room had two small beds, a miniature fridge, and an even tinier bathroom for my roommate and I to share.
I recorded a small video clip of my thoughts, and then headed down a couple of hours later to shoot the bikini video with the other Miss contestants. All 39 of us were supposed to meet at the pool at the required time, but at least six were excluded from the shoot for being tardy.
The pageant director, the same fiery haired woman from before, took picture after picture of us on her cell phone while the professional photographer was also attempting to photograph us which made for a chaotic shoot with some girls looking at the washed up “former” beauty queen director, and others at the photographer.
An hour later we were released to go about our day until rehearsal time at 2:30.
I arrived with Miss Central Phoenix, the girl I became the closest with, to rehearsal where we went over the opening number dance.
Much to my surprise I was moved from the back “where the lousy dancers would be, no offense girls” was how the director put it, to the very front.
This is where the stare downs truly began to surface.
The leggy brunette to my right, and her blonde friend couldn’t have possibly whispered any louder to each other,
“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Legs asked the blonde girl after I was moved up twice, “she’s an idiot.” Cackle cakle.
I ignored their banter at first, not completely certain it was me who they were referring to.
That night was the charity gala which also to my surprise was a complete bore- the most entertaining thing were the adorable puppies from the charity the gala was held for.
Other than that, it was your typical pile of stuffy folk with spoiled children who couldn’t tell their left foot from their right on the dance floor.
The music was Dj’d by a duo that looked as though they belonged at a quinceniera or in a mariachi band. I ate two pieces of dry cheese, and drank a small plastic cup of surprisingly delicious iced tea before calling it a night and heading back upstairs.
I took a shower in the tiny bathroom, slathered on some face cream, took a Lunesta, and tossed and turned till almost one am.
Much to my annoyance our alarm went off not once, but twice, at both five and five thirty am. Lying restlessly I decided to get up, sneak out of the hotel in search of a Starbucks. Ten miles away from the hotel near the ASU campus I found one, I recorded another short video, then went back to the hotel and threw all my stuff together in preparation for the day.
“Oh I didn’t know if you were in here.” My roommate smiled, eyeing my Starbucks enviously as I came in to our room.
“Ya, I couldn’t sleep anymore so I snuck out for coffee.” I smiled back, “hey, did you set the room alarm?”
“No, I thought you did.”
“Nope. I had my phone set for 6:45.”
“how funny, I had mine set for seven.”
“That’s weird the alarm went off twice. Must have been preset.” I reached behind the tiny dresser separating the two beds and unplugged the sleep killer.
“There, no more alarm.”
We met the other girls downstairs by 8:30 am where we drifted to our mini groups. I spent most of my time there with Miss Central Phoenix and Miss Glendale.
“You feeling better?”
“Huh?” I asked sipping on my iced coffee nonchalantly.
“From last night.”
I chewed on my bottom lip trying to remember what she was referring to.
“Oh yes” I had forgotten about my excuse for leaving the “ball” the night before. “I’m much better today.”
“Good.” These two girls were sincerely decent people I decided.
The Miss contestants piled into a large bus that took us to the Mesa Arts Center where the pageant would be taking place that night and the next. My stomach began doing flips, as the excitement and nerves began to mount.
“I’m getting so nervous again.” I told the two.
They both nodded. “Me too girl. I feel sick.”
“So how do you think interview will go?” I asked. I had watched YouTube video after YouTube video in hopes to create some sort of idea in my head as to how to act and answer “beauty pageant” questions, yet I still felt a strong sense of apprehension.
“If you could meet any celebrity dead or alive, who would it be?” Miss Glendale asked.
“J.R.R. Tolkien.” I responded without hesitation.
“Nice, I would have to say Alexander Graham Bell.”
“Cool.”
“Ok, how about a celebrity who is alive?”
“The Dalai lama” I smiled with satisfaction, thinking myself clever for that answer.
“Ooh we are here.”
We passed through security into the vast building, and up massive concrete stairs. The miss contestants were split into two groups and ushered into separate dressing rooms. Each of us had a sliver of counter and mirror space, indicated by each of our headshots taped to a tiny corner of each mirror.
“Are you shitting me?”
“This is too small for us to get ready in.”
“Bullshit. I can’t fit here.”
“This is going to be a cluster fuck.”
I sat down at my spot and began strategically laying out the items I needed to get ready with in my tiny allotted space. All around me the complaints continued as every girl attempted to claim a territory.
“Fine, I guess I will claim the center.” A sickly sweet voice announced.
“Me to.” Another joined her.
“Ok ladies rehearsal time is in fifteen minutes. And don’t forget to bring your heels.”
We spent the next two hours rehearsing the opening number dance on the stage with the teens. At twelve we broke for a one hour Subway lunch which the girls scarfed down in record time.
I decided to eat a protein bar and pin curled my hair to make the best use of my time.
At one pm we were back in the auditorium for a full dress rehearsal. This part is when I really began to panic. The stage seemed very large and had four different marks/poses to hit.
Our first walk through was swimwear. I must say I was more confident walking in my bikini because I spend a significant amount of time working out and eating fairly healthy. As I made my way on to the run way that went down the stage, then to the first X on stage right, then the second X on stage left, my legs, and body started to quiver.
Fuck.
Please God, let my nerves stop.
I pleaded in my head.
If I was this nervous for dress rehearsal, how was I supposed to do this tonight for the actual show?
“You have a great body girl.” Miss Central Phoenix said as soon as I made my way back into the dressing room.
“Thank you, you too.”
“Ha!” cackle cackle. I turned around and saw Legs eyeing me through the mirror with contempt.
I smiled at her biting my tongue.
What a bitch.
I realized this was the same girl who stood to my right during the opening number dance and continued to hit me with her arms every time we did a run through without fail. She also managed to step on my size 6 feet with her own size tens.
Seriously what was her problem with me?
It was now time to change into our evening gowns for rehearsal. I walked to the other side of the dressing room where my dresses hung on the shower rod since the clothes rack was chock full of the fluffy extravagant gowns. Miss Central Phoenix and a few other girls also shared the rod with me.
I slipped my silver rose colored gown up my torso and zipped the clingy fabric up my back. It fit like a glove and hugged my curves in a Jessica Rabbit sort of way. I hadn’t spent a ton of money on this dress, but I had it altered to perfection and felt confident wearing it.
That was until I rounded the corner and caught sight of the other gowns.
I made my way back to my seat and nearly tripped eyeing what looked like a ten thousand dollar white Jovanni disco ball dress.
Shit! I looked down at my feet and realized that my dress was still too long.
Fuck. I thought in dismay as I attempted to walk in a straight line without tripping over the fabric.
I tried kicking my foot out a little in an attempt to push the fabric away from my other foot, but this only caused the back of the gown to get stuck on the heel of my stiletto.
The bottoms of my feet began to perspire as I made my way back to my tiny area, avoiding the glares from the nosey girls nearest me.
“I didn’t realize they were having a sale on last season’s prom dresses.” The blonde one who had been whispering to Legs the day before gossiped to another as she lined her lips in a mauve pencil then smiled empathetically at me in the mirror.
Are you shitting me right now?
I felt a strong desire to take my bottle of my Sally Hansen tan leg makeup and “accidentally” spill it on her cream colored sparkly gown, but realized how ridiculous that thought was.
I looked around the room, at the sea of blue, purple, pink, grey, silver, white, and every other color of dazzling gowns. Some of these dresses were truly gorgeous. A few were even breathtaking.
That is when I began to feel truly insecure, after that and the comments that were to follow.
Reluctantly, I followed my two confidants back down the cement staircase and into the auditorium for the rest of dress rehearsal.
When it was almost my turn to walk in my gown I watched in trepidation as the girls in front of me walked with grace and posed like pros at every marker, turning in a figure nine at the last mark.
Why hadn’t I practiced more?
I made my way to the first marker, my eyes wincing momentarily from the unforgivingly bright stage lights above my head.
I posed awkwardly at the first mark for less than a second, shuffling my feet as fast and carefully as possible to the X on stage right, forgetting to look at the area where the judges would be watching.
Fuck went through my head a thousand times as I pleaded with God not to trip and make a complete ass of myself.
As I stopped briefly at the final X, I heard Legs, who had on a stunning red dress, laugh hysterically at my poses.
I walked quickly and waited for my group to do the final look and heard her cackling to another group of girls once again,
“It’s a shame she has no self-confidence, she actually is kind of pretty.” Laughter followed by “In a bimbo Barbie sort of way!”
At that moment I felt the strongest urge to cry. Vicious thoughts of old self-doubt and a decade of low self-esteem flooded my head once again.
What am I doing here?
Did I really think I was good enough for a beauty contest?
Who was I kidding?
I am a fraud.
I am not good enough.
I blinked back my tears long enough to make it back upstairs and into one of the bathroom stalls.
I stood in there, against one of the chilly cement walls and stared at the ceiling; silently crying, wondering what the hell had possessed me to be a part of something so superficial and cruel.
This was not the experience I had hoped for.
Instead of building my confidence, this was bringing me back to a very dark place, a place I had worked diligently to pull myself out of. A place created by the castigating voice of my stepmother for years, by her abuse, her malice.
“Is someone in here?” I saw the metal door pull out slightly as someone attempted to pull the door open.
“Just a second.” I sniffled and fumbled with a piece of thin toilet paper, dabbing my cheeks and my nose-getting rid of any tell-tale signs of crying.
I couldn’t let them see me this way.
I flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash my hands.
“Ok girls you have two hours till show time! Call time is six thirty! Don’t be late!”
I took my gown off and threw my sweatshirt and jeans back on.
I spent the next two hours putting my makeup on; applying it to perfection. I was determined to put my best foot forward and simply get through the night despite the negativity around me.
At five pm I sent a text to my boyfriend;
Omg I’m Freaking out. Please text me something encouraging. I feel like crying. I dunno why. Ughh
Before that I had sent;
My dress SUCKS compared to these other ones. Omg lol. Oh well..
His responses couldn’t have been better written or full of more encouragement. Unfortunately my mind was convinced that I was not up to par and my nerves took over.
By show time it only became worse.
During the opening number dance, I all but forgot the easiest parts of the dance. I felt myself almost running off the stage after the last eight counts. My face felt hot and red. Nothing my friends there said mattered anymore; it was the snickering of the other girls that resounded in my head.
I hardly remember anything but my cheeks shaking uncontrollably as I attempted to smile big at the judges when it was my turn on stage for the bikini portion.
My heart was no longer in it though, and I knew my insecurities were getting the better of me. I felt the stage lights follow me as I made my way uncertainly from mark to mark, showcasing the absurdity I felt as I attempted to pose at each X.
Please let this be over soon. I prayed.
Once again I practically ran off the stage, the feeling of failure enveloping itself around my shoulders, like a familiar old cloak.
My heart was heavy with guilt as I thought of the wasted money and time my family had put into this event.
I was ashamed that I had once again allowed the negativity and taunts of others get the better of me.
Why am I this way?
Why do I care what these girls say or think of me?
Why am I allowing them to ruin what should have been a fun experience for me?
I climbed the cerulean blue cement steps once again into the dressing room. I slipped off my coral colored swimsuit and grudgingly put my gown on.
“Are you ok?” Miss Glendale, whose seat was next to mine asked.
“My dress is too long.” I looked down at my feet “I’m scared I’m going to fall and eat it on stage.”
“Here, let me see.”
She then took some double sided tape and helped me “hem” the front up a bit.
“There, that should be better.”
I tried walking, it was better.
“Thank you so much! You are a freaking life saver.”
I sat down and reapplied some lip gloss and teased my hair up even higher.
I felt better momentarily but that passed as soon as Legs and the blonde one came in, looked at me, then each other and started laughing manically to each other.
They weren’t even trying to hide their snobbery.
“Whatever.” I said through clenched teeth as I made my way carefully back down to the auditorium stage. I practiced walking a bit down the hall before entering stage left.
When the last group of teen were done with the evening gown portion, it was our turn.
Since my title was Miss Fountain Hills USA, I was in the first group of Miss to go. As I did one more quick walk, my dress got caught on the heel and pulled my “hem job” apart.
“Oh no!”
I quickly pulled the fabric and tried to push it back together, but the stickiness of the tape was lessening.
I took my place in line behind Miss Fashion Square and in front of Miss Glendale.
I took a deep breath and started the walk towards the center stage to the runway, my arms went to lift my gown, but I quickly moved them away remembering that we were encouraged not to do so. I smiled at the judges, but the smile stopped at my mouth and never connected with my eyes. I tried with all my will to execute a decent pose at each of the markers, but my trembling cheeks made it impossible to focus on any one of the photographers.
I locked eyes briefly with one of the female judges, a former beauty queen herself who eyed me with both pity and amusement.
This time, as I made my way back upstairs I decided with absolute certainty that I was done competing, that I would be leaving tonight and heading back home.
I couldn’t take another day of snide remarks, put downs, or judgment.
I was exhausted, humiliated, and disappointed.
The worst part was knowing I had put myself in this situation, and felt as though I should have known better.
It was a beauty pageant after all, how could I have expected anything less.
After the show I sat in the dressing room with the other girls while we waited for the bus to drop the teens off at the hotel.
I stared at myself in the mirror, at all the makeup on my face, my teased hair, the dark body makeup on my skin that made me look really tan.
I felt absolutely foolish.
Hot tears formed behind my green eyes that were decorated with full lashes. I blinked back, fighting my strong desire to cry.
By ten thirty I made my way through the crowded hotel lobby toward the elevators, pushing through the groups of proud friends and family members bearing roses and cameras for their daughters and friends.
I hit the elevator button and took it up to the eighth floor.
The room was empty when I went inside.
I sat at the desk and took my Ipad out and filmed my final video recording for my pageant experience. I didn’t plan on it happening, but I cried towards the end of it.
I sobbed like a big baby; stress, exhaustion, and bruised feelings finally getting the best of me.
My roommate came in about ten minutes later.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah.” I lied.
“Can I give you a hug at least?”
I looked up at her from the hotel desk.
“Sure.”
I stood up and she hugged me.
“Thank you.”
I felt an immediate sense of guilt. I had planned on leaving when she got in the shower, without saying anything.
I couldn’t do that to her though.
I sat back down at the desk and wrote her a note;
Hey Sweetie,
So I am not going to come back. I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t like drama, but I have decided to go home. This weekend has not turned out to be anything like I had expected it to. A few girls have really hurt my feelings and I just want to go home. You have been a great room ate though! Best of luck tomorrow,
Amber
Then I took my packed bags and left while she was in the bathroom.
How I managed to carry all of my bags to my car in one trip is beyond me.
I suppose I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
As I made the forty minute drive home in the dark I wondered whether I would regret my decision in the morning.
I didn’t.
Leaving the pageant was the best thing I could have done for myself and I don’t see my leaving as giving up, but instead as getting myself out of an unhealthy situation that posed no benefit to my staying.
My old self would have remained in an unhappy situation simply because that was what I was “supposed” to do. I would have smiled and nodded, later regretting not leaving when I had the chance.
Staying would have been pointless since I realized with absolute certainty, that I no longer wanted anything to do with the Miss Arizona USA pageant system and couldn’t stand another second being there.
I am not here to bash pageants, or the people involved within them; to do so would simply show ignorance and prejudice.
I have simply written about my personal experience, emotions, thoughts, and conclusions as my beautiful country, The United States of America so allows me to, under the first Amendment of Freedom of Speech, and Freedom of Press.
That is all.
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