Mark Wignall

I was only about 12 or 13 when I saw my first beauty queen. She was Carol Joan Crawford, Miss Jamaica, who had just won the Miss World title in 1963. My parents had taken me downtown to enjoy the Independence float parade and she was a part of it.

There she was, slowly waving her hand, a cute little white woman, a smile etched on her face but yet looking slightly scared or just wishing she was at her home in upper St Andrew taking tea or an afternoon glass of lemonade.

Apart from my 84 year-old father, no one is more a fan of beautiful women than me. From my mother to my five sisters to my ex-wife to my girlfriend and all the others who came in between, I have been surrounded by beautiful women all my life. And yet I have never been a fan of beauty contests.

As they are made up now, beauty contests can't quite decide whether they exist to create envy in other women or give lecherous men thoughts to torture them at nights. In one moment these contests are into raw flesh, then in the next, the pretence is made that each girl must have a mini-thesis floating in her head.

'So, tell me Miss Goat Island, should you win the Miss World contest, what would your main focus be?' Smiling, she takes the microphone then moves her facial muscles to show a look of deep concern. 'The children, oh the children. I would go to Africa, especially the Sudan, and I would preach out against hate, disease, war, famine. I would start a campaign to end the trials and tribulations faced by the poor, unfortunate children of the world.'
'Thank you, Miss Goat Island'.

What my mythical Miss Goat Island really means is, 'I am looking for a rich husband and this is just my way of parading my 'skills' before the rich, the famous and the lecherous'.
Which brings me to the present set of beautiful girls competing for the Miss Jamaica World 2004 crown. The first word that comes to mind after perusing their pictures is 'regional'. Why?

Simple. They look as if most of them originate from the regions of Kingston 6 and 8. Maybe I am nitpicking, but somehow when I look at their pictures, I am convinced that this beauty contest is an uptown thing, a middle-class thing where the girls resemble those who shop at Sovereign on a Sunday.

It is obvious that 'uptownish' girls have long taken over the contest because we can't afford to have a drop-dead black beauty or a 'bleached browning' from Rema or Gimme Mi Bit who went to all-age school going to the Miss World contest and, during the interview, 'bigging up' all her friends and family back home. Yu dun know!

The idea is, the girls must have 'brains' and more than the ability to string two words together. My suggestion is, we should have a real beauty contest. Forget about the brain and the gift of standard English gab. Let us just deal with black, brown, white, Chinese, Indian flesh, shape and facial beauty.

'So tell me, Miss Lime Key, if you should win and go on to the Miss World contest, what would you tell them about Jamaica?'

She giggles. 'Yu mean me. Well, I woulda tell dem all 'bout wi. Like all de nice tings 'bout our country, de rum, de ganja and all like our national flower, counter flour. How wi love it and it full wi belly easy.'
'Well said, Miss Lime Key.'

In such a contest we would only have to worry about the winner when she reaches the Miss World contest and we all have to turn down the television when it is her turn to speak. In the interim though, we would have a lot of fun.

'Miss Lemon Lock , if you should win the Miss Jamaica contest and go on to the Miss World contest, what would you tell dem, er, them about Jamaica?'

'Who, me? Mi nuh have nutten fi tell dem! Mi woulda just show dem some moves.' She places one hand at the back of her neck and does a few quick 'jooks' then moves into a slow grind. The crowd goes wild. 'Yu wan some more?' she shouts. They scream.

First prize in that contest would be one year's supply of bleaching agents and six months' supply of dancehall bling bling. Throw in six cases of Red Label wine and Lotto tickets worth $10,000 over the next year and everyone will be happy.

When Cindy Breakspeare won the Miss World contest in 1976, I fell in love with her briefly. Then Bob Marley stole her from me. The problem was, I could get the lyrics right, but I fell far short on handling the chalice.

I have never been able to speak with Lisa Hanna without being amazed at her mix of total beauty and brains. What a woman! Many years ago, a girl named April Parchment entered a Jamaican beauty contest. If my memory serves me right, she did not place among the winners but in my view, she oozed everything men wanted.

It is known that many Jamaican men with money and power are drawn to these beauty contests, not just to gaze at the cattle show that aspects of them are, but to do a quick reconnaissance of the pickings in terms of having one or two of the girls to profile with for a few weeks or months.

Some of the girls have the uptown addresses without the blue blood to back it up. These are the easier ones to 'fool up' and every year, quite a number of them get caught up by the smooth talk of these men and the lavish gifts thrown at them. And, of course, in life, I scratch your back, I expect you to rub down mine, with aromatic oils and smooth hands.
In the present beauty contests I am not sure what to look for or look at. The curvy legs and the ample rear ends in the swim suits or the 'brains' in the question and answer segment. For sure, if I want to be edified, a beauty contest is the last place I would want to be at.

Come to think of it, I have never attended one and have no intention of ever doing so. I prefer to love the girls at a distance.

observemark@hotmail.com

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