By Nimrat Ranhotra
I have always loved pageantry which is perhaps why I question it.
There is something undeniably fascinating about it, the elegance, the confidence, the glamour, the femininity of it all. Watching women command a stage with grace felt powerful to me. It was never merely about beauty; it felt like a celebration of womanhood itself. Like many young women, I admired the crowns, the gowns, and the women who carried themselves with poise under bright lights. Eventually, I found myself on that stage too. And oddly enough, the experience left me with more questions than answers.
The part I remember most vividly is the subtitle round. Best eyes. Best smile. Best hair. Best skin. I won none of them.
Now, this is not an article about losing titles. Beauty is subjective, rationally I knew that a panel of judges could not determine my worth. Yet I would be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind:
If I wasn’t chosen, does that mean I wasn’t beautiful enough? I felt that for a moment. But almost immediately, the question stopped being about me.
Instead, I found myself wondering why any woman should have to ask herself that question at all. Why should one woman win and another lose when it comes to something as personal as beauty? Why should eyes, smiles, skin, and hair become categories in which human beings are ranked against one another? Can a smile really be judged against another smile? Can eyes be placed first, second, and third? Can hair be awarded as though beauty exists on a scoreboard?
Perhaps the issue is not that some women win these titles and others do not. Perhaps the issue is the belief that something as deeply personal as beauty can be measured at all.
Of course, pageantry is not only about beauty. That is the argument most people make in its defence, and rightfully so. There are interviews, talent rounds, social initiatives, and tests of knowledge. Modern pageantry often prides itself on rewarding intelligence and substance alongside appearance.
But even that made me question things because how much of it is truly spontaneous?
I know because I participated in it. I rehearsed answers. I prepared responses. I practised speaking in a certain way. Most contestants do. We anticipate questions, memorise structures, and learn how to appear composed under pressure. A part of me was not entirely myself on that stage. Not because I was being fake, but because I was trying to become the version of myself I thought the competition wanted to see.
We perfect our walks. We perfect our smiles. We perfect our answers. We perfect our appearance. We wear carefully selected outfits, professionally styled hair, and makeup designed to make us look our best, not necessarily like ourselves, but like versions of ourselves more likely to be rewarded.
By the time we step onto the stage, almost everything has been refined, rehearsed, and curated. So, what exactly is being judged? Beauty? Intelligence? Confidence? Or simply who can present them most convincingly?
To understand why this question matters, we must understand why pageantry existed in the first place.
When pageants first emerged, women occupied a very different place in society. Their opportunities were limited, and their voices often remained unheard. Public platforms where women could represent themselves, demonstrate confidence, and be celebrated were far rarer than they are today. In that context, pageantry served a purpose beyond appearance. It offered visibility. It gave women a stage in a world that often denied them one.
But societies evolve, and institutions must evolve with them.
The women of today inhabit a world far larger than the one pageantry was originally created for. Women lead companies, conduct research, create art, build businesses, argue cases in courtrooms, and make their mark in spaces that were once closed to them. They have carved out platforms of their own and claimed voices that no longer require validation from a crown.
And perhaps that is why pageantry feels increasingly difficult to reconcile with modern womanhood.
Because somewhere along the way, the purpose seems to have shifted. What may once have been about giving women visibility now appears preoccupied with perfecting visibility itself. In trying to become the most polished version of ourselves, we risk drifting away from the most authentic one.
There is nothing wrong with beauty. There is nothing wrong with makeup, fashion, elegance, or femininity. Being a fashion enthusiast myself, I reject the idea that women must distance themselves from these things to be taken seriously.
But elegance today means something far more expansive than appearance. A woman is elegant when she stands by her convictions even when it is inconvenient. She is elegant when she works tirelessly for a life she wants to build. She is elegant when she refuses to shrink herself, when she speaks with purpose, and when she creates opportunities not only for herself but for others.
The modern woman has witnessed a world beyond beauty and presentation. She has learned that her value cannot be reduced to the symmetry of her features, the quality of her hair, or the brightness of her smile.
And that is why I find myself questioning the relevance of pageantry today. Not because beauty has become irrelevant. But because women have become far too extraordinary to be defined by beauty alone.
Despite all my criticisms, I do not regret participating in pageantry. In fact, I loved the experience. Not because of the titles, the rankings, or the results, but because it pushed me to think beyond them. Standing on that stage exposed me to questions I had never seriously considered before. It forced me to examine ideas about beauty, femininity, confidence, and how women are perceived in society.
Ironically, the most valuable thing pageantry gave me was not a title; it was perspective. It opened the door to a much broader arena of thought, one that extended far beyond the stage itself.
A crown may symbolise achievement. But the crown belongs to a moment. The questions follow you home.
