Prosti-Tots: And This is Okay?!

After my daughter’s first dance recital, it became abundantly clear that we were in no way, shape or form destined for the pageant circuit.  I think now I understand why the pageant moms are always looking rough.  They’re flat worn out.  They’ve had to wrangle a 4-year-old into pantyhose, wigs, layers of tulle, 8 pounds of stage make-up, fake eye-lashes, nails and spray tanning.  They should give a trophy to the Mom who shows up looking fresh as a daisy after getting her little queen ready for the stage.  Seriously.

You should’ve seen us dancing moms backstage.  We were all sweating like a gang of menopausal heffers, screaming at our kids, “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT HAIRBOW!  DON’T DO IT!  QUIT RUBBING YOUR EYES!  YOU’LL SMEAR YOUR MASCARA!  QUIT CRYING!!  NOW!”

One of Cali’s sweet little friends had the backbone to DO what the rest of the kids WANTED to do, but DIDN’T out of unnatural fear.  She just stood there on stage…frowning into the light…not giving one hoot ‘n holler about dancing or looking pleased to be there.  That would’ve been me.

Anyway…earlier today I came across a blog talking about a book called “High Glitz: The Extravagant World of Child Beauty Pageants” by Susan Anderson.  She walks you through the process that these kids go through in the great quest for tiaras and trophies.  I’m talking nuts here, people!  NUTS!  I’ll go ahead and admit I have an odd fascination with pageants.  Not because I want to participate.  What fascinates me is the brazen exploitation of these children followed by treats and rewards.

Call me Amish…but I have a problem with five-year olds who look like 23-year-old women of ill repute.  The term “natural beauty” is offensive in the pageant world.  Their idea of “natural beauty” is fake teeth and airbrushing.  FAKE TEETH!  I believe they’re called “flippers” in the industry.  And you ain’t big-time until you got a flipper, hunny.

Places like “Unity Smile: The Flipper People” cater to pageant-eers looking for oral perfection.  And it’s not like you can go find those things in a consignment shop.  Well, maybe you CAN…but you really wouldn’t want your little piece of precious running around on stage with George Washington teeth.  It wouldn’t be the responsible thing to do.

And there’s pageant lingo.  Stuff like ‘Casual Wear’, ‘Crowning Dress’, ‘Boutique Outfit’, ‘Cupcake’, ‘Glitz’.  If I sent my kid up on stage in her ‘Casual Wear’…she’d be…well…nekkid. Eating a cupcake.  Some mamas see tutu’s and lip-gloss in their daughter’s future.  I see Art school, professional sports and communal living.

I live in the deep south…the bowels of pageant country.  Home to some of the most beautiful people on the planet.  When my daughter was a few months old, people began to talk.

“Oh, this divine child needs to be on stage, sweet-haht!  Would you just LOOK at those lashes?  She wouldn’t even need falsies! She’s precious…simply precious!  Let me contact ******* for you, mkay?  He’s who you’ll want to help with choreography, style, glamuh.  Let me just grab his cahd.”

It would confuse them when I laughed maniacally at their suggestion.  Perhaps if they would’ve looked behind me, they would’ve seen the Divine Child, picking her nose and ingesting its contents like it was prime rib.

I’m not bashing the entire pageant kingdom.  Just the ones that promote and celebrate itty bitty kids who look like prostitutes.  You know…Prosti-Tots.

Maybe I’m biased……but I think my daughter reeks of natural beauty…and I hope she grows up knowing that beauty comes from a place that can’t be altered by man.  This is my daughter.  You can’t manufacture a mess this hot: