The Panoptiblog

While checking out some of my quality online sources, I ran into another story about Miss California. Only this one falls more in line with traditional Miss America chatter: it’s all about the boobs. And though I’m not a huge fan of pageants these days (despite what they purport to inspire), I did watch them–and even “rate” contestants–with my dad when I was a little girl.

On the other hand, my mom had a different take on what to do with these shows. If you asked, she might tell you about Kleenex balls, “cookies,” or other popular pageant tricks. She would talk about tape and peroxide, wigs and falls. She was the accidental deconstructionalist, taking apart the event piece by piece while also offering “genuine” compliments like, “that one looks like a young Elizabeth Taylor, only the nose is wrong.” With her watching, the images flattened out and seemed less threatening; they moved from the real to the simulated. Though the whole thing was likely distasteful to her, she didn’t do battle by turning off the T.V. (or even asking my dad to turn the channel). She took it apart from the inside, “reading” the images in surprising ways. Derrida said:

Whatever precautions you take so the photograph will look like this or that, there comes a moment when the photograph surprises you.

So when thinking about Miss California’s remark last week, and the pageants effort to create the right look (and the contestants effort to participate in that look) I wonder about the connections between Miss CA’s quest for a “balanced” body and her appeal for “opposite” marriage. Can some efforts to perfect the “normal” (and the critique that that draws in New Times) help us articulate our own position? Without celebrity, how would we know what to hold up/tear down/resurrect? And finally, they present girls like me with the ammo to read images in surprising ways, sometimes multiple ways in one reading.

So in retrospect, I’m happy to hear about the implant/cutlets/cookies. They make the stupid/biased/ridiculous fall beautifully across the shoulders.