Eye of the Beholder

Coming back from a recent trip to the States, I read a Newsweek article on beauty-obsessed “tweens.” First of all, I didn’t even know we were calling them “tweens.” (These are the people formerly known as children, right?) I had happened to see a commercial for the reality TV show that the article referred to (on TLC cable network, if you’re interested) and I thought it was a spoof.

Disclaimer before I go further: I was actually in a beauty pageant when I was 11, but the Our Little Miss pageant organizers had the marketing savvy to call it a “talent pageant,” which was more accurate anyway. Most of us pre-teens applied our make-up ourselves, and you can guess the results.

It happens that Ecuadorians are crazy about beauty pageants, though I think the minimum age is 16. Every event imaginable features a reina (queen) competition. You have the Queen of the Annual Tena festivals, the Queen of Carnaval, Queen of Tena’s World Eco-Toursim Fair (the "world" part is a work in progress), and so on. It’s to the point where I’ve actually toyed with the idea of having a Queen of the Dry Toilet festival to promote ecological sanitation. The marketing on that one might need a bit more work. . .

Finalists at a Catholic high school's reina competition

The beauty pageants here are similar to those in the U.S. The ones for Kichwa queens are most interesting because the contestants usually have to dance in traditional Kichwa dress or sing Kichwa songs to promote their culture. However, the cash prizes and silk sashes are decidedly occidental.

One big difference between American and Ecuadorian beauty pageants, though, is the definition of beauty. Lighter skin is almost always considered more beautiful, even by people with darker skin, which can be limiting and self-effacing to say the least. But in terms of body shape, Ecuadorians have a much greater appreciation for curves and meat on the bones. News anchors on TV actually resemble real people, and some actors on the most popular prime-time soap operas would be considered at least chunky by American standards. I see some evidence that this might be changing, but not drastically, and certainly being called gorda (fat) is still a compliment or term of endearment.

You see what a difference it makes when society at large accepts a range of normal to voluptuous body shapes for women. I realized how self-conscious I was about my body when I came here and discovered I could relax about it. For all the talk in the U.S. about the need to appreciate one’s own body, I have a new appreciation for how difficult that is to do when the message from mainstream media and culture is exactly the opposite, and coming from the gloss-covered lips of “tweens” no less.