little girls, ugly mothers, forceful, cruel, materialistic, shallow, bad examples, not a childhood, SHALLOW. Toddlers & Tiaras. Bad excuse for being materialistic and shallow. The inside counts, not the outside. Those poor kids.
I was sick of it. Sick of it all. My lips were covered in some disgusting goo, and I could barely keep my eyes open with the weight of my lashes. Smile they said. Don’t forget to smile.
Their it was, all the pageantry that was left for us to partake in.
“They’re announcing prom queen,” someone told me, grabbing me by the elbow.
As if I cared. I looked around for the guy I came with, wishing more and more that I had the courage to say no to him when he had asked.
Prom.
Oh what had I done to deserve it.
dragging small children. painting smiles on their faces. you will have curls. you will have adult teeth. i will make you smile. spray on tan. you need to be prettier. you are a beautiful little child, not pretty enough on your own. this is what i will teach you.
Sometimes life feels like one big pageant. You stand up in front of the world and people judge you. Sure, it’s supposed to be more than skin deep but usually it’s not. You try to be perfect but you never will be. But that’s ok. I don’t want to get a crown, I just want to be me.
A little girl prepared to compete In a pageant. She learned to walk in a regal style. A stylist fixed her hair and chose her wardrobe. She loved dressing up pretty and strutting for the judges. She could hardly wait for the competition to begin. Her mother loved to cheer her on and was a former pageant winner herself. Mother and daughter were close as a result of their shared interest and frequent trips to regional competitions.
Strutting around like she lived a constant beauty pageant, she always thought she was walking around. She never saw all of us, the little ones holding up her shaky knees and swaying her full hips. She was like a roller coaster car with an invisible track.
queens are the bane of my existence and some of my best friends. They are beautiful and passionate, but like anyone they can be fake and cruel. They judge each other, but they beg to be judged. They smile when everyone is looking, but not always when no one is.
Summer, it was amazing to see you dressed in gold, shimmering brighter than the night could possibly imitate. I don’t fully support your choices, but I’ll always be there. This you must know for the rest of your days.
oh god. why is toddlers in tiaras the first thing that came to my mind? because it’s a disease, that’s why. fucking pedophile fodder for creeps and validation for mothers with no sense of future self-worth. trash. shit. horrible. waste of time.
but that little girl that says “a dolla makes me holla, honey boo boo” is a hilarious child, i hope she grows up happy, funny, and fun to be around instead of spoiled and vain like the others.
Like toddlers and tiaras? I know it’s got this huge stigma, but I mean, come on. Moms have always been trying to gussy up their creepy little insect children. It’s a way of life.
pageant princess, looking so bright and cheerful. What’s your aim? where do you want your life to go? No? Nod and wave, be happy and when you’re unfulfilled at 25, wave, be happy. And when you’re unfulfilled forever, wave, be happy.
demoralizing superficial contests not actually beauty miss America pageants toddlers and tiaras so horrible unfair treatment judging unfairly beauty should be internal too harsh
What we think of beauty
May it be fake?
May this beauty be so unnatural?
Caked with make-up
Too-big for life dresses
Colors swirling in my head like a jungle
Judging your face again
As you walk down for everyone to witness
There was a pageant during the fair.
Many of the girls from school had been talking about it for weeks.
Dieting, dresses, makeup; it had become the talk of the school.
As she wandered around the fair she came across it and saw the girls running too and fro trying to get ready.
“Girls, 15 minutes!” called one of the judges to squeals of panic.
Charlotte sighed and kept walking. There was nothing fun for her at the fair. Groups of people laughing happily seemed to surround her which only served to make her even sadder.
‘I wish I had friends.’ she thought, moping to herself.
Before she knew it she had walked to the edge of the fairgrounds. Charlotte looked around and saw that it was a cloudless night.
“I’ll go see the stars.” she said then rolled her eyes, “And now I’m talking to myself.”
She headed into the forest, looking for a tree to climb.
“Mmmm too thin…..no, no, no. Oh! There’s one!” She ran to a tree farther in, “The branches are a little high.” She stretched to reach them and pulled herself up to the first branch. But halfway up the branch she heard a great cracking of branches followed by a loud thump. Charlotte froze, half expecting to find herself on the ground.
“What was that?” she whispered and dropped back to the ground crouching.
It had come from her left and she crept slowly towards the now silent trees.
She pushed herself through the bushes and came out in a clearing.
‘Wow. This is really beautiful. You can see the stars.’ She looked at the sky in wonder and then turned her gaze to the ground. She gasped. There was a boy laying on the ground with his back to her.
She threw herself back into the bushes, scratching herself in the process, and then peeked through at the boy.
He had a tall, slender build and he was laying half curled up, sideways on the ground. She moved in the bushes to see more of him. ‘His hair…’ she thought. It was shockingly white and lay tousled, covering his ears. She was overcome by the urge to move closer but shook the idea from her brain and moved around the clearing to look at him from the front. He was so pale, paler than her. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt she realized suddenly. Her face grew pink as Charlotte continued to watch from the bushes. But it looked like he was hurt, there was a scrap on his side, most likely caused by his fall. And it looked like something had scratched his face but his hair got in her way.
She moved slowly out of the bushes staring at him intently. There was something about him that made her want to be closer. Want to help him. His face was long and thin with a nose to match, but with a softness to it. His lips were almost as pale as his skin and as Charlotte got closer she saw a thin stream of blood across his face. She knelt on the ground and brushed the hair away from his face. There was a thin cut next to his left eye which made the blood flow across his nose and over his lips. As the hair fell back onto his face she caught it and moved it away, entranced. Suddenly he stirred. She was pulled out of her trance and quickly moved back towards the bushes. A twig snapped beneath her boot and she froze, her eyes darting to his face, where two stormy gray eyes bored into her own.
Take a bow or two and then listen to the applause of many. The many who don’t know your true face, your true identity. You hope maybe they will never know. You hope they will never gaze beyond the cake on your face.
Fuck pageants. It’s just more female stereotyping. More pressure to be societies twisted version of beautiful. This is one of many causes of sexist ignorance. This is one of many causes of eating disorder beginning at younger and younger ages. Effecting more and more victims.
Don’t obsess. You’re all beautiful. You’re all equal. You’re all grand.
I have never been a part of any type of pageant. If I were I think it would have to be not a beauty pageant, but maybe more of a parade of trivia knowledge. I do well at jeopardy, trivial pursuit, spotting grammatical errors and other types of useless knowledge.
I’ve seen them. The perfect girls with the blown out hair, the pancake make up. The girls who will always get the guy, and who will never be truly happy. Do I envy them?Envy their “perfection” or their lack of creativity? Do I pity them, for they’ll never see the world as I do. Those girls, their whole lives are like one big beauty pageant.
There once was a pageant girl named Latina. Her mom was a bitch. She made her dress up and parade around like a show pony. Eventually she got tired of her mother’s antics, left her sleeping on the couch, and decided to move out and become a lawyer. She was a much better person because of it.
Pageant, It reminds me of that project I did in Sociology in which I made a proven fact that child beauty pagaents are indeed a form of child abuse. It’s crazy what those parents do to their daughters, an what the daughters believe is beautiful thanks to these beauty competitions. It makes me sick.
Beauty pageants are cruel. Sure, they make kids feel good about themselves if they win, but they also teach them that beauty is the most important thing. If they don’t win, it hurts their self-confidence.
Little girls need a better reason to live and respect themselves. Beauty inside is what’s important. Not what you see on the outside – especially if it isn’t real.
The girl watched as the young ladies crossed the stage one by one. Each of them waving to their fans. They were viewed as idols. Despite her position as a judge she couldn’t stand to see these girls walk around in such a way where they are merely seen for their appearance and nothing else.
The girl walked slowly across the stage waiting to receive her tiara. It was only her first pageant but she had won. She couldn’t be more proud of herself. It had taken her several years to work up the courage to compete but standing there she couldn’t be more proud of herself for finally going after her dream
One time my mother took me to a beauty pageant. She watched all the other little girls with awe in her eyes. When the first prize was given, she looked down at me in my mud covered converse and stained t shirt.
i really don’t like how little kids are being out into these beauty pageants these days. especially now that they’re televised. if it’s the childs choice then fine but 90% of them are just the parents living vicariously through their children. it’s not right but instead of stopping it we pay for it.
All of the kids were getting ready to go on stage. On the outside of the building, the terrorists were there plotting their move. They had wanted to place a bomb underneath the stage but they had lost it… when suddenly *BOOM*
Sandra Bullock. She was in a pageant. It doesn’t seem like there should be that second ‘a’ in pageant. It really doesn’t. That trips me up sometimes. Not that I write the word ‘pageant’ very often. I don’t. I usually only speak of pageants when I’m talking about Toddler’s and Tiara’s, which I guess is a little sad because television is so very annoying.
One of the judges asked the little girl, “Who is your favorite superhero and why?” She answered, “The firefighter that saved me from a fire yesterday. He saved Mommy and Lily and me.”
She turned and twirled in her sequin, pencil thick dress. Her mirror reflected the lights that illuminated the stage of the pageant. Delila couldn’t breathe in the sheath her mother forced her to wear. She was nervous. Anxiety. Trembling.
Dumb, bimbo blondes that have nothing to do with their time but put on a whole lot of makeup and too-big for like dresses and fake hair and call themselves beautiful. All in the while, their not. They’re fake.
Jensen fiddled with the staple until he was able to use it to open his hand cuffs. “It’s about time to change the pace and route of this pageant,” Jensen thought to himself as he first made eye contact with the Ninja babe and then leaped up and grabbed the Mac-10 machine pistol from the guard nearest the rear doors of the van. The van lurched as the driver turned to see what the commotion was all about.
Beauty. It’s everything-to some.
Only people think, animals do.
Am I an animal because I write without thinking.
except I am thinking. About a pageant.
About a girl. the time is running.
Pageants can be good. They can be bad. Why don’t people just wake up in the morning and see themselves as beautiful? Why must they starve themselves and plaster makeup on their faces, flit around a stage and get approval? You are beautiful. The end.
little girls, ugly mothers, forceful, cruel, materialistic, shallow, bad examples, not a childhood, SHALLOW. Toddlers & Tiaras. Bad excuse for being materialistic and shallow. The inside counts, not the outside. Those poor kids.
I was sick of it. Sick of it all. My lips were covered in some disgusting goo, and I could barely keep my eyes open with the weight of my lashes. Smile they said. Don’t forget to smile.
Their it was, all the pageantry that was left for us to partake in.
“They’re announcing prom queen,” someone told me, grabbing me by the elbow.
As if I cared. I looked around for the guy I came with, wishing more and more that I had the courage to say no to him when he had asked.
Prom.
Oh what had I done to deserve it.
dragging small children. painting smiles on their faces. you will have curls. you will have adult teeth. i will make you smile. spray on tan. you need to be prettier. you are a beautiful little child, not pretty enough on your own. this is what i will teach you.
Well pageant is a kind of event where one promotes his/her individuality in a way that physical attributes and personality as well is involved.
Sometimes life feels like one big pageant. You stand up in front of the world and people judge you. Sure, it’s supposed to be more than skin deep but usually it’s not. You try to be perfect but you never will be. But that’s ok. I don’t want to get a crown, I just want to be me.
A little girl prepared to compete In a pageant. She learned to walk in a regal style. A stylist fixed her hair and chose her wardrobe. She loved dressing up pretty and strutting for the judges. She could hardly wait for the competition to begin. Her mother loved to cheer her on and was a former pageant winner herself. Mother and daughter were close as a result of their shared interest and frequent trips to regional competitions.
So silly. What a phony facade of beauty. Tanned, voluptuous bodies will be wrinkles and droopy in so many years.
Strutting around like she lived a constant beauty pageant, she always thought she was walking around. She never saw all of us, the little ones holding up her shaky knees and swaying her full hips. She was like a roller coaster car with an invisible track.
Toddlers in tiara’s. sick. wrong. These kids will need therapy and their parents need it too.
queens are the bane of my existence and some of my best friends. They are beautiful and passionate, but like anyone they can be fake and cruel. They judge each other, but they beg to be judged. They smile when everyone is looking, but not always when no one is.
Summer, it was amazing to see you dressed in gold, shimmering brighter than the night could possibly imitate. I don’t fully support your choices, but I’ll always be there. This you must know for the rest of your days.
oh god. why is toddlers in tiaras the first thing that came to my mind? because it’s a disease, that’s why. fucking pedophile fodder for creeps and validation for mothers with no sense of future self-worth. trash. shit. horrible. waste of time.
but that little girl that says “a dolla makes me holla, honey boo boo” is a hilarious child, i hope she grows up happy, funny, and fun to be around instead of spoiled and vain like the others.
Like toddlers and tiaras? I know it’s got this huge stigma, but I mean, come on. Moms have always been trying to gussy up their creepy little insect children. It’s a way of life.
I’m embracing it.
pageant princess, looking so bright and cheerful. What’s your aim? where do you want your life to go? No? Nod and wave, be happy and when you’re unfulfilled at 25, wave, be happy. And when you’re unfulfilled forever, wave, be happy.
demoralizing superficial contests not actually beauty miss America pageants toddlers and tiaras so horrible unfair treatment judging unfairly beauty should be internal too harsh
What we think of beauty
May it be fake?
May this beauty be so unnatural?
Caked with make-up
Too-big for life dresses
Colors swirling in my head like a jungle
Judging your face again
As you walk down for everyone to witness
Why would parents want their children to be paraded around to be judged by others?
There was a pageant during the fair.
Many of the girls from school had been talking about it for weeks.
Dieting, dresses, makeup; it had become the talk of the school.
As she wandered around the fair she came across it and saw the girls running too and fro trying to get ready.
“Girls, 15 minutes!” called one of the judges to squeals of panic.
Charlotte sighed and kept walking. There was nothing fun for her at the fair. Groups of people laughing happily seemed to surround her which only served to make her even sadder.
‘I wish I had friends.’ she thought, moping to herself.
Before she knew it she had walked to the edge of the fairgrounds. Charlotte looked around and saw that it was a cloudless night.
“I’ll go see the stars.” she said then rolled her eyes, “And now I’m talking to myself.”
She headed into the forest, looking for a tree to climb.
“Mmmm too thin…..no, no, no. Oh! There’s one!” She ran to a tree farther in, “The branches are a little high.” She stretched to reach them and pulled herself up to the first branch. But halfway up the branch she heard a great cracking of branches followed by a loud thump. Charlotte froze, half expecting to find herself on the ground.
“What was that?” she whispered and dropped back to the ground crouching.
It had come from her left and she crept slowly towards the now silent trees.
She pushed herself through the bushes and came out in a clearing.
‘Wow. This is really beautiful. You can see the stars.’ She looked at the sky in wonder and then turned her gaze to the ground. She gasped. There was a boy laying on the ground with his back to her.
She threw herself back into the bushes, scratching herself in the process, and then peeked through at the boy.
He had a tall, slender build and he was laying half curled up, sideways on the ground. She moved in the bushes to see more of him. ‘His hair…’ she thought. It was shockingly white and lay tousled, covering his ears. She was overcome by the urge to move closer but shook the idea from her brain and moved around the clearing to look at him from the front. He was so pale, paler than her. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt she realized suddenly. Her face grew pink as Charlotte continued to watch from the bushes. But it looked like he was hurt, there was a scrap on his side, most likely caused by his fall. And it looked like something had scratched his face but his hair got in her way.
She moved slowly out of the bushes staring at him intently. There was something about him that made her want to be closer. Want to help him. His face was long and thin with a nose to match, but with a softness to it. His lips were almost as pale as his skin and as Charlotte got closer she saw a thin stream of blood across his face. She knelt on the ground and brushed the hair away from his face. There was a thin cut next to his left eye which made the blood flow across his nose and over his lips. As the hair fell back onto his face she caught it and moved it away, entranced. Suddenly he stirred. She was pulled out of her trance and quickly moved back towards the bushes. A twig snapped beneath her boot and she froze, her eyes darting to his face, where two stormy gray eyes bored into her own.
Take a bow or two and then listen to the applause of many. The many who don’t know your true face, your true identity. You hope maybe they will never know. You hope they will never gaze beyond the cake on your face.
Fuck pageants. It’s just more female stereotyping. More pressure to be societies twisted version of beautiful. This is one of many causes of sexist ignorance. This is one of many causes of eating disorder beginning at younger and younger ages. Effecting more and more victims.
Don’t obsess. You’re all beautiful. You’re all equal. You’re all grand.
I have never been a part of any type of pageant. If I were I think it would have to be not a beauty pageant, but maybe more of a parade of trivia knowledge. I do well at jeopardy, trivial pursuit, spotting grammatical errors and other types of useless knowledge.
I’ve seen them. The perfect girls with the blown out hair, the pancake make up. The girls who will always get the guy, and who will never be truly happy. Do I envy them?Envy their “perfection” or their lack of creativity? Do I pity them, for they’ll never see the world as I do. Those girls, their whole lives are like one big beauty pageant.
There once was a pageant girl named Latina. Her mom was a bitch. She made her dress up and parade around like a show pony. Eventually she got tired of her mother’s antics, left her sleeping on the couch, and decided to move out and become a lawyer. She was a much better person because of it.
Pageant, It reminds me of that project I did in Sociology in which I made a proven fact that child beauty pagaents are indeed a form of child abuse. It’s crazy what those parents do to their daughters, an what the daughters believe is beautiful thanks to these beauty competitions. It makes me sick.
Beauty pageants are cruel. Sure, they make kids feel good about themselves if they win, but they also teach them that beauty is the most important thing. If they don’t win, it hurts their self-confidence.
Little girls need a better reason to live and respect themselves. Beauty inside is what’s important. Not what you see on the outside – especially if it isn’t real.
The girl watched as the young ladies crossed the stage one by one. Each of them waving to their fans. They were viewed as idols. Despite her position as a judge she couldn’t stand to see these girls walk around in such a way where they are merely seen for their appearance and nothing else.
The girl walked slowly across the stage waiting to receive her tiara. It was only her first pageant but she had won. She couldn’t be more proud of herself. It had taken her several years to work up the courage to compete but standing there she couldn’t be more proud of herself for finally going after her dream
One time my mother took me to a beauty pageant. She watched all the other little girls with awe in her eyes. When the first prize was given, she looked down at me in my mud covered converse and stained t shirt.
i really don’t like how little kids are being out into these beauty pageants these days. especially now that they’re televised. if it’s the childs choice then fine but 90% of them are just the parents living vicariously through their children. it’s not right but instead of stopping it we pay for it.
All of the kids were getting ready to go on stage. On the outside of the building, the terrorists were there plotting their move. They had wanted to place a bomb underneath the stage but they had lost it… when suddenly *BOOM*
Sandra Bullock. She was in a pageant. It doesn’t seem like there should be that second ‘a’ in pageant. It really doesn’t. That trips me up sometimes. Not that I write the word ‘pageant’ very often. I don’t. I usually only speak of pageants when I’m talking about Toddler’s and Tiara’s, which I guess is a little sad because television is so very annoying.
One of the judges asked the little girl, “Who is your favorite superhero and why?” She answered, “The firefighter that saved me from a fire yesterday. He saved Mommy and Lily and me.”
She turned and twirled in her sequin, pencil thick dress. Her mirror reflected the lights that illuminated the stage of the pageant. Delila couldn’t breathe in the sheath her mother forced her to wear. She was nervous. Anxiety. Trembling.
Dumb, bimbo blondes that have nothing to do with their time but put on a whole lot of makeup and too-big for like dresses and fake hair and call themselves beautiful. All in the while, their not. They’re fake.
Jensen fiddled with the staple until he was able to use it to open his hand cuffs. “It’s about time to change the pace and route of this pageant,” Jensen thought to himself as he first made eye contact with the Ninja babe and then leaped up and grabbed the Mac-10 machine pistol from the guard nearest the rear doors of the van. The van lurched as the driver turned to see what the commotion was all about.
Beauty. It’s everything-to some.
Only people think, animals do.
Am I an animal because I write without thinking.
except I am thinking. About a pageant.
About a girl. the time is running.
She looked from afar at her daughter on stage. The girl was shifting too often. Her hands were trembling on her side.
The mom just shook her head, disappointed. She taught her daughter everything she had to. She said she would be proud no matter what.
Only to motivate her at first.
She lied.
Pageants can be good. They can be bad. Why don’t people just wake up in the morning and see themselves as beautiful? Why must they starve themselves and plaster makeup on their faces, flit around a stage and get approval? You are beautiful. The end.