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Jessica Leigh Lebos

When Jessica Leigh graduated with a degree in creative writing, she figured she'd be slinging lattes for the rest of her life, so she shaved her head, moved into a VW bus and set off for Alaska. Good thing the van broke down just north of San Francisco, because she just hates cold weather. Her baris...

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No Judgment

When I came into this job, my wise predecessor (better known as Aleigh of skirt! Charlotte) warned me that as the editor of the area’s coolest women’s magazine, I would occasionally be asked to represent at women-related events.

No prob, I thought. I’ve been talking about fashion and feminism for years with anyone from tweeny-boppers to the yentas at the JEA senior lunch. Bring it on.

Yet, as the yentas might say, I was a bit farmisht when I was recently invited to judge not one but two pageants last month. 

Since when are feminists asked to judge beauty pageants? I wondered. Don’t these people know that I might leap onto the stage during the bathing suit competition and cover up the contestants with a sheet all while shouting “Stop the exploitation!”?

My husband’s grandmother, who is 93, was alarmed at the idea. “That’s a dangerous job, Jessica,” she croaked. “Somebody’s mother might come after you.” Yikes.

But as the only child on the block not allowed to watch the Miss America Pageant, my curiousity won out over my indignation, as well as the anxiety that I would meet an angry stage mother wielding a tire iron in the parking lot. Especially when I found out neither contest would feature bikini-in-high heels strutting. And as it turned out, neither pageant offended my sensibilities. Rather, they had the opposite effect.

First I traveled to Ridgeland, South Carolina for the first-ever crowning of Miss Ridgeland High School. (Actually, I had the pleasure of making the 90-mile round trip twice since I entered the wrong date in Blackberry.)

The four young women who presented themselves as contestants threw me off right away with their authenticity and maturity – I had expected a group of simpering bimbos, an admitted stereotype on my part as to who would offer herself up for judgment at these things. First came a segment where the contestants demonstrated a sports activity, followed by a fashion show of clothing reflecting their respective career aspirations. As the evening went on, I understood that this was not a competition for the prettiest or the most popular – this community was seeking the best among them: The young woman whose grace, personality, kindness and intelligence would be a beacon for others during her reign. And it was partly my responsibility to choose her. I started to feel more serious about my role as a judge, paying careful attention.

More stereotypes on Southern beauty pageant life: I was a little disappointed that none of the contestants did a baton-twirling routine. However, three of the four performed original poetry, revealing a kind of bravery and moral character that inspired tears from the audience (and the judge’s table.)

I should be used to such paradoxes by now, but this pageant, honoring these girls’ accomplishments and future aspirations, was indeed a feminist event.

It was a difficult choice made by awarding points using four different colored pens to maintain the integrity of the judging, but finally Lauren Ashley Jenkins, volleyball player and future psychologist, was crowned Miss Ridgeland High:

Congratulations to Lauren – we’re working on her for a Girl Power feature soon!

The next pageant was much shorter, though the contestants have been around much longer: The Riverview Nursing Home hosts a pageant every year as special entertainment for its female residents. (When I mentioned the possible sexist implications of this, the recreation director told me the men get their own special activity later in the week – non-alcoholic beer and bellydancers. Oy.)

As a judge, I got a goodie bag and my first corsage since my senior prom. There was a lovely procession of most of the contestants being wheeled down the red carpet to the stage, then a series of interviews. One of the contestants was asked what makes her world-famous chili recipe so good, and she scratched her head and said, “It’s a secret, and I done forgot the secret!“

Once the cackles died down, the Queen was named. As it turns out, Kathleen Layel was the only ambulatory contestant, and she can still tango. Her mother lives at Riverview, too, and she just cracked me up. Isn’t she a peach?

So somehow, these pageants defied my exploitative expectations and actually honored the women participating – quite a surprise. It was an honor and a pleasure to serve as a judge, and I hope to be invited back to both next year. As long as I don’t get any hate mail from anyone’s stage mother (or granddaughter.)