5 Years Later: A Practical Guide to Holding Multiple Truths

I have not been this excited to sit down and write in months. And for that, I have pageantry to thank.

Yes, you read that correctly. No, you did not have a stroke. I said it: I am excited to write because of pageantry.

I attended the Miss Iowa pageant Saturday night for the first time in five years. The last time I attended, I was First Runner Up to Miss Iowa 2018. I had mentally prepared myself for a lot of things to happen last night. I had prepped for anxiety, a jarring mental discourse between feeling depressed and insecure while feeling like I looked like I could have won Miss Iowa that night, and I had prepped for maybe a panic attack or two, with my emergency pack of Warheads in tote. I had prepped for the small talk, the inevitable "how's being married?", which, by the way, I had rehearsed my answer as "no different, just with a joint checking and a mortgage." Please note: if we had this conversation, I appreciate you asking and I appreciate you letting out a small chuckle when I said that. I had prepped to feel anything but how I actually felt. I did feel a slight twinge of anxiety upon walking into the theater. But mostly, I felt happy. I felt excited to see people who were such a big part of my upbringing. I felt, dare I say, joy. 

But, because I am a human being and a recovering perfectionist and pageant gal, I also felt suffocated by the Skims underwear I wore and felt like I had maybe been sucking in just a little too much and I powdered my face and made sure I never smelled even though, at one point, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my arm allllll the way from Armpitland. Those travel size deodorants saved my life. Because I couldn't be the smelly hasbeen returning after five years, no siree Bob. 

Anywho...

I watched as women walked on stage with eloquence and poise, women I knew when they were 8 years old. It was bizarre and comforting and almost left me with a grief at the same time because I know — and many other women know — the journey that all but one of them will go on when the curtains close and the stage lights dim. And that journey is one of holding multiple truths, which is exactly what Saturday night was.

I don't know exactly the first time my therapist introduced the radical notion that multiple truths can coexist, but I know it completely changed my perspective and, had I learned it earlier, I'd have probably been better off. I am a recovering perfectionist because I'm a recovering black and white thinker. Or maybe I'm a recovering black and white thinker and therefore, a recovering perfectionist. I dunno — chicken, egg. What I do know is that the concept of black and white thinking has never served me, except when considering ideas like, "is murdering someone wrong?" 

Most pageant women (former and current) know exactly how complex and nuanced holding multiple truths can be, perhaps better than most, I'd argue. It's the complexity of wanting to win, but wanting to support other women. The complexity of knowing you're competing against other brilliant and talented and lovely individuals and bearing in mind that, just because they are, doesn't mean you aren't. It's the complexity of not too sexy, but sexy enough. The complexity of fit and thin, but never too thin. The complexity of smart, but never boring. Classy, but never prude. Pageant women know better than most populations how to hold multiple truths at once because without this skill, we wouldn't be involved in the first place.

And holding multiple truths is that — a skill. One you have to develop and work at long after the gown and makeup come off. 

I told another former pageant gal friend of mine the other day I am trying to figure out my place within the pageant world, if any. I don’t know how this will pan out. I had long sworn off the idea of ever holding any involvement in this world ever again because while I loved it, I also felt deeply hurt by it in multiple ways. I deemed myself the “Miss F*ck It” of the world, proudly flaunting the hard outer shell of “I don’t give a singular fuck what you think.” This has served as an excellent coping mechanism and, oddly, has actually helped me care less about others’ opinions. Some will view this as sore losing. That’s okay. I have accepted that many people will never understand the complexity of what devoting most of your adolescence and early adulthood to an organization that did not love you back is like. I have also accepted that some people are just assholes. 

The truth is, pageant women have to hold multiple truths long after they hang up their gowns. So, how do you do this as a retiree hoping to give other women the positive experiences you had in pageants? Well, you first accept you can’t ever promise a positive experience. This is women competing against other women, and while the ‘sisterhood’ may be strong, I still know a gal or five who’d cut the back of another’s dress. The next step to this is understanding that we can hold the truth that, yes, pageantry can provide women with a plethora of positive experiences, specifically scholarship money and the chance to promote a community service initiative. AND we hold the opposing truth: that pageantry can be detrimental to a woman’s well-being. We hold both truths together by understanding boundaries can and need to be implemented and exist when looking at organizations and systems that we love, and yet deeply, deeply want to change. 

You can’t remove the competition from pageantry, because no one would do it, and no one would watch. And capitalism requires pageants to have both of these things. The way that I best relate this is to Catholicism. The Catholic Church gave me a greater understanding of the world and of my own spirituality. But I also had a priest say inappropriate shit to me in a confessional at age 10. I hold both of these truths. I grew up having an amazing experience in pageantry for the most part. Towards the tail end, it did more harm than good. But, I also know that those 12 years provided me with information about myself I wouldn’t have obtained otherwise. And, I also know that I really want this system to change. How? I haven’t quite filled in the blanks there yet. Mostly, I’d love to see women care less, which is the greatest oxymoron of all time when considering we’re talking about pageantry here. I’d love to see women wear what they want and not what a board member or judge told them to wear. I’d love to see more women of color or women in bigger bodies hold titles. I know that I think ballot scoring is a scam and many will disagree with me on this (to which I say, you likely benefited from it). I know that we need younger ideas brought to the table in terms of what the future of this system looks like. 

The contradiction is that while I’d love to see women gain what I gained from these organizations, these organizations make women care. A lot. And I want women to care less. The contradiction, for me, exists in ever having been involved in the first place. 

So, I let this truth of contradicting beliefs exist. I don’t try to make it go away anymore. I don’t force myself to sway to one end of the spectrum or the other. I let it live, and air it out in blog posts like this one. And then I sit back in the audience with my peanut M&Ms and glass of Sauvignon Blanc and hope that other women, mostly the ones observing who haven’t ever been apart of it, can accept these contradictions too. 

Bravo, ladies. I think we’re all just trying to care less, pageant gal or not.