“Is Germany a protest vote?” my sister asked, struggling to contain her cynicism as she trawled through the photographs of Miss Universe contestants dressed in what was described as their “national costumes” last weekend. It certainly looked like some kind of political protest.
“How is this representative of Germany?” I asked a friend, staring at the smiling, Teutonic blonde wrapped in a kind of Jean-Michel Basquiat-esque dystopian technicolour dream coat which covered her entire body (including her arms—which begged the question: how was she holding the bunch of white balloons which floated above her head?)
“Graffiti and overcast skies?” he replied, sardonically.
In hindsight, it may have been a figurative representation of the fall of the Berlin Wall. But I guess we’ll never really know.
Fair play, though, to the brainchild behind Germany’s creation. Let’s face it, there’s only so many ways you can re-jig the milkmaid in Lederhosen look without it looking like porn.
It’s easy to stereotype your own country and parody its most obvious iconography—look at Miss GB dressed in a sexy Grenadier Guards outfit, or Miss Canada dressed literally as ice hockey. There were subtleties in that Canada costume that went unnoticed—the Stanley Cup in miniature on her head, the thigh-length boots laced up like ice-skates with silver-bottomed “blades.”
If I was designing them I’d have done away with subtle ironies. Canada would have been dressed as a half-Mountie, half-moose hybrid—just as Jevon King was forced into a 50/50 steelpan/hummingbird monstrosity.
Miss GB would have been fish’n’chips wrapped in the News of the World and sprinkled liberally with salt and vinegar.
Miss Jamaica would have been the fattest spliff you’ve ever seen. Using e-cigarette patented technology, her head would have billowed ganja-scented fumes over the audience.
Go big or go home. Like Miss Indonesia, weighed down by the creativity of her own seamstress, she refused to buckle under the 44lb outfit and ultimately triumphed in the costume competition.
Miss Curacao had the right idea coming as a bottle of actual Curacao. Leave not a hint of doubt in their minds, Miss Curacao, you are literally Curacao.
Next year, forget about the pan/hummingbird fiasco and send Miss T&T as a bottle of pepper sauce. Or better still, a doubles.
Last year I wrote about how the very concept of Miss Universe and beauty pageantry undermines the status of women. This year, I’m just seeing the whole thing as a kind of wonderful comedy. If it was satire it couldn’t have been better scripted.
The judges asked unintelligible questions in broken English. Manny Pacquiao (whose day job is similar to the Miss Universe’s in that he parades half-naked in front of millions but different in that he punches people in the face until they’re concussed) asked what Miss USA would do in the face of a terrorist. She literally had no clue. Neither would I. She’s not James Bond, Manny!
Miss Ukraine was asked if she would replace the bikini round with something else. “I’m comfortable wearing every things!” came her response. Of course you are, love, except a woman’s suffrage sash, I’ll wager.
When Miss Jamaica was asked by Gloria Estefan’s husband what she would do to reduce the statistic that one in three women in the world “experiences violence in her lifetime,” she said, “Crime is a global phenomenon. It does not affect just one nation,” before flouncing off with her interestingly short hair as the crowd screamed her name.
Miss Colombia was asked by a creepy professional skateboarder what women could learn from men and she answered, “I believe there are still men who believe in equality and I believe that that is what women should learn from men.”
One wonders if the one-third of women who experience violence in their lifetimes will be on the receiving end of this valuable lesson, or the two-thirds of women who don’t experience violence in their lifetimes.
The final question of the night came from a Facebook user who wanted to know what each country’s greatest contribution to the world was. As Miss USA made her way to the microphone I imagined her saying, “The atomic bomb. Specifically, to Japan.” As Miss Jamaica came up I imagined her saying, “Duh, did you see my ganja outfit?” When Miss Colombia, the eventual winner, declared her nation “world leaders,” I blurted out, “Yeah! In coffee and cocaine exportation!”
And then it was all done, and short-haired Miss Jamaica was left heartbroken and Jevon King tore her pan/hummingbird costume to shreds and burnt it and I went back to deciphering the national costumes.
Miss Venezuela came as a tree. Kenya came as Lupita Nyong’o, Dominican Republic came as the Virgin Mary with the baby Jesus in her womb, Korea came as the whole world, Israel came in a dress she’d picked out in the sales, Hungary brought a pet rabbit, Gabon wore the bark of a tree, Netherlands came as a Van Gogh painting but forgot the hacked off ear, and Miss Guam, well…it’s hard to say with any degree of accuracy.