Miss South Africa is known as the country’s ambassador but basing that title on beauty alone does not seem all that revolutionary.
I did not clock the Miss South Africa competition was upon us until the social media storm surrounding one contestant, and oh boy, was it a lot. I got dragged in, and then I went on an Olympic-style deep dive myself.
Chidimma Adetshina, born in South Africa to a Nigerian father and a Mozambican mother, a divorcee, and a mother herself, was social media’s victim in recent weeks. Users stated her beauty was a product of her mixed heritage, and she didn’t physically and culturally resemble a ‘Miss South Africa prototype’, whatever that means.
This got me thinking about beauty pageants; about young girls or women dolled up in sparkling dresses and bikinis, strutting down a runway hoping their faces and bodies will dazzle judges. They are scrutinised for being too skinny or too chubby, too blonde or too brunette, too fake or not fake enough. Too Nigerian.
The panel adding a question about how they would want to change the world or how they would achieve world peace does not suddenly make the ordeal self-enlightening or inspiring, so why does Miss Anything still exist?
It surprised me, then, to learn Miss South Africa is in its 66th revolution around the sun. Debuting in 1958, the beauty pageant is still wholly dependent on the principles of its time. It was unironic to read their four core pillars are “duty, championship, empowerment, and beauty”, but the fact this remains unchanged in 2024 is unnerving.
Duty I can get behind, because as the supposed ambassador for South Africa, the crowned queen is expected to engage with her local communities and charities. For example, former Miss South Africa 2023, Natasha Joubert, advocated for education and entrepreneurship and the current queen, Mia Le Roux, promised to work towards a more inclusive society regarding “differentally-abled” individuals.
However, championship is where I start to teeter. This word is associated with winners which contradicts the “spirit of Ubuntu-Botho” the Miss South Africa organisation says it upholds. Sitting at Miss South Africa’s centre is the principle of the winner takes it all, yet they want to be seen as something believing in “I am what I am because of who we all are”. The woman who wears the crown is given a R1 million cash prize, a fully furnished and serviced apartment, and a shiny Mercedes Benz GLC Coupé to drive around; yet she is supposedly the voice of a less-fortunate community who is not bedazzled with jewels — H is for hectic.
Empowerment is an obvious one, and an important pillar in any social organisation. Miss South Africa says they are a “leading voice on women empowerment and a launchpad for much-needed social change”. This is all perfect on paper, but does Miss South Africa really touch that many lives, and if yes, for how long? Do her campaigns reign on for longer than she does, and does South Africa feel empowered when they see the crown settled on her head? I know my answer.
But beauty is where I really stopped in my tracks and did a double-take. Miss South Africa’s reputation is being a beauty pageant where a winner is crowned based on her physical appeal. But, the brand they promote is mountains away from this — they want Miss South Africa to be a leader in social change, yet do this through her objective beauty? It does not gel in my head because choosing a winner based on an icon-sized picture of her face on social media is misogynistic to a tee and I would be wholly disrespected by the process.
Nevertheless, Miss South Africa seems here to stay, and we have no choice but to buckle in for the ride, not that I am a fan of rollercoasters.
FEATURED IMAGE: A graphic created by Victoria Hill
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