Whenever I’m asked about my pageant obsession, I tend to answer the “when” and not the “why”. See, I always dreaded the thought of having to rationalize a passion. But if I were to indulge, it all began in the summer of ’94. It was a peculiar time in my childhood, highlighted by weeklong sleepovers, biking around the subdivision, and an intense pining for Miss Minchin’s comeuppance. Indeed, I had a curious mix of interests. I was into X-Men, Street Fighter, and Mortal Kombat, while still bearing attachment to fairy tales and Mother Goose.

And then, Miss Universe happened.

Hello, Philippines, Mabuhay

It was our country’s second hosting stint; that much I’d learn later. Hence, the festivities came with touches of nostalgia. I really wasn’t into the competition at first. I just enjoyed learning about countries. And the opening sure felt like Geography 101, but with added spectacle. I learned about Greece being “The Home of the Ancient Gods”, Namibia being “The Smile of Africa“, and Australia being “The Largest Island and Smallest Continent”. All that, while production promulgated the notion of “Mabuhay” being our “Hello” (It isn’t).

It only sank in when the ladies were whittled down to ten, then to six, and then, finally, three. By then, Charlene Gonzalez had gotten the boot and the dark horse from India stole the show with her profound rhetoric. So much depth from an 18-year-old, they said. Consequently, that led to a breakthrough for the world’s most populous country and the first crowning moment I ever witnessed. It was the moment that had people discoursing the “essence of being a woman” and the reason many girls born that year were named Sushmita.

As for my nine-year-old self, who’d yet to grasp the concept of travel, it was how I discovered the world (the Universe, rather) without even having to leave the house. Moreover, it marked the beginning of a personal tradition, one that would span three quarters of my life so far.

Hobby and Lifeline

People didn’t really keep tabs after that year. It was likely because our country wasn’t host anymore. Worse, we missed the first cut for the most part. So, there was nothing much to celebrate locally, save for Miriam Quiambao’s stumble-then-rise storyline and the occasional Miss Photogenic trophy.

As for me, the tradition was only picking up. In 1995, I learned that Miss Universe was only but a speck in the entire pageant, well, universe. I started watching Miss World and Miss International, which was comparatively more generous to our country in the 90s. In 1996, I started following the national tilts, like Bb. Pilipinas and Mutya ng Pilipinas, and, granted ABC5 or RPN9 aired them, Miss USA, Miss Teen USA, and Miss America. In 1998 came my decade-long practice of recording them to VHS.

By the turn of the millennium, my enthusiasm only continued growing. There was no turning back. The internet enabled me to see the action leading to coronation night and I nailed picking Lara Dutta as the century’s first winner. In 2001, I started doing pre-pageant wishlists. Sometimes, my pick would win. Sometimes, she’d miss the cut entirely. It didn’t matter. The fun was in the guessing game. And as the fan community mourned our lack of Miss Universe placements that decade, I relished our achievements in other tilts: Our four-year Miss World placement streak, our 2005 Miss International victory, thanks to Precious Lara Quigaman, and the inception of the locally staged Miss Earth.

By college, my guilty pleasure had become a sanctuary known only to a trusted few. Much like in high school, whenever classmates made me miserable and quantitative subjects proved to be my academic undoing, I simply turned to my collection of pageant recordings, and my worries were instantly buried.

There was no other way to put it. It simply made me happy. And if there’s one viewpoint I indirectly acquired through this hobby-turned-lifeline, it’s to be unapologetically and unequivocally yourself, because it’s a title you will carry not just for one year, but for the rest of your life.

As I entered the workforce, everyone around me simply knew (and understood). By then, there was no longer guilt in the pleasure. I had embraced it as my identifier – the Walking Pageant Encyclopedia, who could name a titleholder at mere mention of a year and enumerate recent representatives of any given country. One time, a former boss even called me on pageant morning, not to ask why I wasn’t at work yet, but to know how my favorites were faring. That’s how I affirmed that, while I have a slew of other dreams and interests, there was something in pageantry that invigorated me. Apparently, it was that obvious.

With the support, came the pockets of encouragement. “Maybe you should be a pageant blogger”, they’d tell me. Let’s just say I’ve made attempts. By 2012, I started watching live.

Highs and Lows

The previous decade was our Golden Era in the pageantry, bar none. It was most felt in 2013, when Megan Young captured the once-elusive Miss World crown, Mutya Datul became the first Asian Miss Supranational, and Bea Santiago became the country’s Miss International #5. And with the nation riding the coattails of Pia Wurtzbach’s win two years later, Miss Universe was bound to return. I was ecstatic when a former employer acquired official broadcasting rights for the pageant, more so when they tapped me for the project.

What followed was a two-month whirlwind stint that came with a broad job description and promises of a huge break. I contributed what I could, from copies and articles to creative inputs for the network’s promotional material. Over our initial briefings, I was told to anticipate the most stringent parameters, despite being required to be everywhere. So, the weeks that followed were an exercise of patience and workarounds, both for me and the field team. Naturally, challenges came with the territory and power imbalance would always be at play. But, compliant as we were, it was strange how our broadcaster status still kept us barred from key events.

Eventually, it was crystal clear. Everyone wanted a slice of the pie. Some even flexed their power to horde the whole metaphorical pie, which they wouldn’t typically partake under normal circumstances. In contrast, those who did were lucky to even get crumbs.

Still, I closed the chapter with gratitude and the yearning to experience it all over again. A milestone is a milestone. Going through the unpleasant parts still beats not going through any part of it at all. I earned my role in that narrative and, hey, I got paid.

Fractured Fandom

It was never the same after that. I maintained interest, but with an enhanced level of discernment. More than ever, I became privy to the dissonance, the toxicity, and the power play. And it’s true. When we peep behind the curtain, the magic disappears. It always takes a close-hand experience to unveil the unsavory side of something we hold dear and how much of it contradicts our values. That applies everywhere, really, especially in sectors that claim to serve. But part of passion, really, is measured by how much we can stomach the impurities and how we keep our principles intact through it all. Otherwise, there will always be other avenues.

I landed another pageant stint in 2018. Specifically, I handled social media for a local tilt’s 50^th year. That one was a relative breeze, and the past queens were pleased to still be recognized and enthusiastically asked for tags. It was also refreshingly strange to be called “Kuya” by some of the contestants. In the end, at least half of the roster became my FB friends.

By December, I had another chance to watch Miss Universe live, this time in Bangkok for the 67th edition. Throughout that four-day adventure, I remembered why I was a fan. The icing on the cake was when Catriona Gray clinched the crowning moment that once evaded her, thus launching the Pinoy audience into jubilant hysterics, with the Impact Arena feeling like our own backyard. And, for the first time in two years, the passion felt alive again. Seeing my own country win live felt like a culmination. Then came the summer of 2019.

When a subsequent pageant gig ended abruptly six months later, it felt like the final knell. And my Catriona High in Thailand, in hindsight, was my last hurrah. At that point, it felt that, after a quarter-century of identifying with the scene, it was time to hang the sash (symbolically, of course).

Hint of Second Wind

Except, I couldn’t completely – that, considering the prevalent pause that was 2020 and new developments polarizing the fanbase. Even at my most detached, people never stopped seeking my opinions. Though, for a brief period, responding never felt so taxing.

When Henrie, a former work colleague, randomly shared his sentiments on a former candidate’s histrionics, my jaded stance remained. “See, stories like that are why I’m on sabbatical”, I replied. After a short pause, he warmly responded, “Kahit lola na ako, ikaw pa rin chichikahin ko about pageantry” (“Even when I’m old, I’ll still talk to you about pageantry”), which he punctuated with a smiley. And for the first time in several months, the topic made me smile again.

And I must admit. The thrill of tuning in never left. I stayed on as remote spectator, with Zoom parties as my outlet. I just had to remind myself that a pastime is a pastime. It need not constitute my whole identity.

Full Circle

As live events slowly resumed, more changes followed suit. Aside from the license switcheroos, the field is now more open than ever and age restrictions are suddenly a thing of the past. Yes, it’s all too much to process in parts. But then, excitement is never achieved by clinging on to status quo. That also means staying through the lulls, or in the country’s case, its occasional non-placements. Part of fandom is also coming to terms with unwanted results.

Soon, I found myself attending live stagings again – unaccompanied, at times, because there’s always a chance of running into people I know or, better yet, making friends from the audience. Along the way, I was also asked to judge a teen competition. I can’t really say that was random, even if the invite came on the day itself, and there was a strange fulfillment in sashing an award winner onstage.

Perhaps, it’s also no accident that my third round with Home Network led to encounters with key people, from notable former queens to their respective managements. It’s probably one of the alternate reasons I was led back to this job. Somehow, alignment is at play.

I felt that especially when Charlene Gonzalez (now Muhlach), the first hometown girl I ever rooted for, landed a role in an upcoming sitcom. In one of our downtimes during the show’s look test, I did not hesitate to share. “Hi. I started watching pageants because your batch.” “Gosh, how old were you?”, she replied, part amused and, likely, part surprised. After I tentatively answered her latter query, she briefly sampled the iconic opener.

30 years. Who would have thought? See, if my years spent as follower were itself an aspirant, old rules would have rendered it ineligible. But now that certain systems have evolved, it only means there’s more to look forward to. There’s thrill in not knowing, for now.

It took this second wind to remind me. The things that contribute to our being are often difficult, sometimes even impossible, to shake off – especially, when they’ve already opened doors for us. If they’re meant to stay, they will naturally evolve with us as we grow and heal, for as long they continue to serve us.