Drink: The Intersectionality of Beauty, Booze, & Corporate America

TW: sexual assault, rape.

When I write about my experiences in pageantry, it’s usually because I’m able to relate them back to how they’ve done fucked me up in my mid-to-late twenties. (I hope you laughed here... but in all seriousness...)

Any pageant-retiree of the last 15-20 years probably knows what I’m talking about.

I had a work conference last week. My first of many, I’m sure, but my first big-girl-I-actually-might-have-an-important-job-here-or-maybe-even-something-valuable-to-contribute work conference. And naturally I made plenty of mistakes at said conference, including talking too much, not listening enough, and tripping in the hotel lobby over my heels. Beauty and grace, Miss United States.

I was also the only woman from the sales team present at this conference, not counting my boss. If you work in sales, you know that open bars are essentially a game, or a trick, rather. Can you keep your shit together in front of clients or prospects well enough to have a tipsy conversation with them about your product or service, all while your company’s buying, in the hopes that they’ll take your teeny little business card and maybe not lose it in their Uber back to the hotel for a potential commission that might allow you to purchase a new leaf blower?

What I learned about being one of the only women out late with clients and my team, alongside just being a woman in sales in general was a threesome of the following: do not drink at the open bar… just don’t. Alongside that, your beauty will be judged with a fine tooth comb. And lastly, be enough, but not too much.

Similarly, I learned most of these same principles when I was in pageantry. And they all connect for me today. A few “hey gorgeous,” or “you look beautiful” comments were thrown at me at this conference. I can’t say I was uncomfortable. I feel pretty acclimated to those things by now, especially by people who I don’t know. Not because I’m some big fat narcissist with an ego problem (although… maybe we all are?), but because when you do pageants and spend enough time in a bikini and six inch heels in front of old white men, it’s kind of part of the gig. (“But you probably asked for that, right?” Actually, no, I didn’t ask for weird-as-fuck comments to be made to me while I have fresh glue on my ass or while I’m trying to do my job. And ‘weird-as-fuck’ constitutes comments about a woman’s appearance. Sorry not sorry. By only addressing her physical appearance, you’re undermining her capabilities professionally. Don’t call it a generational gap when you’re just too goddamn lazy to learn).

Anyway…

And at the intersection of all of these things lay a gorgeous savior here to make me feel better in moments that don’t feel so good (like, say, when I feel more valued for the beauty I bring to the table rather than the fact that I am actually just good at my work), and that little guy’s name is booze.

I’ve been reading Quit Like A Woman by Holly Whitaker, which has been equally as informative as it has been terrifying. She explores the patriarchal reasons Big Alcohol thrives in our world, the benefits of being sober, and how AA is an outdated, ill-equipped program for female addicts to follow. It’s worth noting here that I don’t identify as an addict, or really even someone with a drinking problem. I also don’t identify as sober. My relationship to and with booze is ever-evolving and that may include total sobriety someday. But I have made a lot of mistakes in my life while drinking, and I have known and loved and even lost several addicts. Quit-lit is, for me, a gentle reminder that I should continuously examine my relationship with alcohol. Because that’s what works for me… a consistent examination.

When I was in the thick of my pageantry days, I was a senior in college taking 21 credit hours to graduate on time and overcoming my rape that happened right as the semester started and grieving the loss of a friend of mine and my grandmother. And so, I drank. It seems counterintuitive; I was drugged and assaulted, so why would I go back to the thing that caused that in the first place? Because 1) alcohol doesn’t rape people; rapists do *(the alcohol and sexual assault conversation is a different one for a different day and would require 1,500 additional words… probably more) And 2) I was a senior in college with little-to-no knowledge of how to ‘self-care.’ This was a foreign concept to all of my friends and me. We knew how to get drunk though, so we did that instead.

If you’re a red-blooded human woman living and breathing on Planet Earth at this given moment, I’d be willing to bet you had an experience with alcohol where, whilst imbibing, you either a) felt deeply attractive, sexy, fancy, etc. or b) someone told you you were deeply attractive, sexy, fancy, etc. Or, any combination of those things. And what’s more: I bet it felt real fucking good, even if just for a moment.

It interconnectedness between my drinking, my time in pageantry, and now navigating my professional life is a complex relationship to try and explain. But think of it like this: you may be so desperately searching for validation because of the stress of being a human being that it feels good for a moment. That compliment after losing ten pounds for the swimsuit competition, that sip of crisp wine hits your lips and you think, “fuck, that’s nice,” ...just like how when that compliment leaves their mouth at the professional forum, you know it’s a little odd and you sure as shit know they haven’t said it to someone else, but it kind of still feels nice to be acknowledged for what you bring to the table… even if that thing is a pretty face wearing nice stilettos.

These things all intersect for me. And maybe, in some way, they intersect for you, too. Maybe not because you did pageants, but maybe because you’re a woman in this Universe, and you’ve actually been judged based off your appearance your whole life. And women better be hot, damn it. Because what other purpose do we serve? 

For what it's worth, I've been in therapy a long time. I have explored damn near every crevice of what my time in pageantry taught me, and I've spent most of that time unlearning a lot of it. But one thing I was respected for my last year I was involved was that... well, I was pretty blunt about how I felt regarding certain topics and issues. I got a standing ovation on finals night at Miss Iowa 2018 for answering a question about illegal immigration and border control. But I also have been scrutinized plenty for being too fill-in-the-blank and not enough whatever-the-fuck. Too much, too loud, too proud, too bulky, too skinny, too eccentric, not patient enough, not talkative enough, not this, not that. To put it in simple terms: women are exhausted because we have to navigate being who we are in a world that -- yes, still -- wants us to be something else. Misogyny is alive and well. And while I don't know shit about fuck, one thing I do know to be true is the three things I've discussed today DO want some degree of control over women. From Big Alcohol to the parameters by which a woman is deemed fit to be a cultural icon to our boardrooms and conferences, and let's face it -- everywhere in between -- if you're a woman living in the world today, someone, somewhere, wants control over you. And that's just God's honest truth.

I like my job. I do my job well. I also like my physical appearance. It took me a long time to get comfortable saying that. Objectively, I’m an attractive person. I’m a white woman in a size 6 body. Poor me, right? But what’s more, is I am a STILL a beautiful person when you take away the blazer and styled hair and manicured nails and cultural beauty norms I meet. All my favorite women I have ever known are not my favorite women because they’re objectively hot by our culture’s dumb-as-fuck beauty standards or because they drink green juice or are a size 4. They’re my favorite because they make me laugh until I cry, they’re sharp as all hell, they lead fearlessly, they have created life, they are moms and daughters and sisters and friends and caretakers. And they’ve all made me feel — not because of my appearance — that I fucking matter. 

And so. do. you. My deepest and most sincere hope for women on this planet — including myself — is that we all stop looking outside ourselves. You have all that you need within you and you are everything and then some… without the crown on your head, without the validation from someone at work, without the compliments, and yes… even without the booze.