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There is a lot more to a beauty pageant than meets the eye. I know, after judging one myself. Beauty is a vague term often defined by first impressions. If you like what you see, it is beautiful. If not, it is not. For many people tuning in to the Miss America pageant, that will be their definition. It certainly was mine, until I judged a preliminary pageant for Miss New Hampshire last summer.

2

How did a twenty-one-year-old sportswriter on summer break from college get to be a tiny part of this glamorous slice of Americana? Given proper guidance on the rules, pretty much anyone can become a judge, and a former journalism professor of mine who has been involved in pageantry since 1986 signed me up to be on the panel for the twenty-second annual Miss Kingston/Miss Seacoast scholarship pageant, partly because he thought it would be a good experience for me. He also thought it would be fun. So did I. It wasn’t.

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As I entered the blue-gray antique home in Kingston, New Hampshire, where a preliminary session of private interviews would take place, I saw fifteen young women, all seventeen to twenty-one years old. I walked through the crowd, knowing I would be judging which one was most deserving of a scholarship; to me, in my own common sense terms, that meant picking who was most beautiful. It seemed so cool at the outset — there are far worse ways for a heterosexual male to spend a Sunday — but once I saw them and they saw me, it was terrifying. I was not the only judge (there were seven of us, all men), but because communication among judges is limited to avoid bias, I felt alone.

4

They walked in one by one, and, in ten-minute segments, we asked questions. It wasn’t hard to decide who was the most physically attractive, but in those first ten minutes, I began to understand just how grossly misunderstood this whole pageantry thing is. Being a role model — and a pretty one at that — is hardly enough to win and advance. (The winners of this event would go on to prepare for the 2009 Miss New Hampshire contest, which leads to the Miss America pageant.) Each of the contestants had innumerable academic and extracurricular honors. Each had a thoroughly developed plan for advancing good causes, like awareness of Lyme disease, depression, and low self-esteem; or for donating blood; helping the elderly; or volunteering at local schools. To be sure, none of them was perfect. But they were mighty impressive human beings. And yet, what most of the typical observers will remember from a pageant is the swimsuit competition. If only they knew. After the interviews, the judges sat on a screened-in patio and ate lunch. I felt sick. Over and over in each interview, my definition of beauty was shattered, and I was ashamed.

5

That night, the pageant moved to a nearby café for the talent, swimsuit, onstage questioning, and evening-wear events. The contestants sang beautifully, danced gracefully, played violins and flutes, and recited poetry. They looked elegant in evening wear and articulated as best they could intelligent answers to the onstage questions, which were created by my former professor, a charming emcee if there ever was one.

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And then the swimsuit competition began. On my drive to Kingston, I had looked forward to this event like Christmas morning. Now, I dreaded it. After seeing the contestants’ smarts, skills, poise, and dedication, I couldn’t help but wonder: What does a swimsuit have to do with any of this? Later, after the judging, I talked to KeriAnn Lynch, a former winner of this pageant, and Lindsey Graham, who was crowned Miss Seacoast that night, about whether pageants should drop this segment. Lynch said she “wouldn’t shed a tear,” while Graham said it would be a disservice if they did, because the contestants “need to represent what healthy is.”

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But I guess that is a debate for another time. Each contestant crossed the stage in about fifteen seconds. I jotted a number from one to ten, and we moved on. The winners were crowned, and there was a dinner back at the blue-gray home. There, Graham told me she would not have gotten through college without the nearly $30,000 she has won in pageants. She also admitted the difficulty of presenting herself. “You walk around in life trying not to think of people’s opinions,” she said, “but it’s really hard when they are literally in front of you with numbers, judging you.”

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True enough, but it is not so easy on the other side, either. Beauty is not a simple matter.