Maryland's Junior Miss(fit) Waves Goodbye

When you’re in a parade with Miss Teen Maryland primly waving in the car in front of you and Miss Maryland blowing kisses in the float behind, it’s hard to not to wonder how you got there.

Last weekend my “reign” as Maryland’s Junior Miss came to an end, a year after I entered the pageant on a whim. Billed as a “scholarship program for accomplished high school seniors,” America’s Junior Miss program looked like a good chance to get some money for Harvard. Though my mother never forced false eyelashes on my three-year-old self in an attempt to capture the Mid-Atlantic Miss Dream Girl title, my first cousin, Miss America 1979 had been pestering me for years to give the pageant circuit a try. I agreed to enter the Junior Miss competition because there was no swimsuit competition or entrance fee and I was free that weekend in January. Why the hell not.

So I found myself, participant seven of ten, a little out of my league. Most of the girls were old hat (crown?) to the pageant scene—former Miss Chesapeakes, Miss Teen Marylands to name a few. Junior Miss is a little different from traditional pageants—heavy emphasis on academics, talent and interview, and only high school seniors are allowed to compete.

I did my best at states, and got along with the girls. I had to refrain from rolling my eyes sometimes, but all in all, it was an enjoyable couple days. And I really thought it would be just that—a weekend. So imagine my surprise when they announced me as Maryland’s Junior Miss 2002. In pictures of me wearing my gleaming Junior Miss medallion, I look shocked. During my news interview, I look shocked. In the mirror that night, washing pounds of stage makeup, I looked—you guessed it—shocked.

Titles don’t end when you take off the medallion or unpin the crown. From parades to appearances at nursing homes and elementary schools, Junior Miss became a huge part of my life. Each state winner is required to make a creative scrapbook, “Discover Your Own Style” project, plan a blowout sleepover for all the contestants and, of course, prepare for the two week America’s Junior Miss National Finals. To prime me for the all-important interview at nationals, my state chair carted me to mock conferences with Miss Maryland judges. Now, I don’t mind someone reminding me to speak slowly and make eye contact during an interview. It was the “friendly suggestions” about my appearance that pissed me off. Let’s get this straight—no, I don’t want to dye my hair, no, I don’t want to lose weight, yes, I realize I have acne and, no, I don’t care which Clinique products can cover it up.

So after cramming shopping trips, practice interviews, official appearances and make-up consultations into my senior spring, it was time for the two-week National Finals competition. A week after graduating from high school I found myself on a plane bound for The Land of Dixie, wearing a borrowed red suit, my medallion and a nametag reading “Kristi Jobson, Maryland.”

The other 49 state winners and I were treated like princesses from the second we landed in Mobile, Alabama. Junior Miss is a very big deal to the city. We each had drivers with official Junior Miss logos on their cars, sponsor families and hospitality mothers at our beck and call. Have a craving for an Oreo mid-rehearsal? The hospitality moms were more than happy to drive out to the store. Little girls asked for autographs, earnestly leaning in close to whisper that they hoped they would be a Junior Miss someday. Wherever we went, the Mobile press followed. Every morning I read articles about us over breakfast, and every night I watched footage of our rehearsals and appearances on the news. Then there was all the free new clothes—I lugged 14 t-shirts, five pairs of shoes, custom tailored jeans, three tops and an exercise outfit back home.

A girl could get used to such pampering.

It was a surreal two weeks. After eight- to 10-hour rehearsal days, we went to the beach, line dancing clubs, a luau—a different party for every night. Tyson foods sponsored a prom for us. Hundreds of down-home ’bama boys were interviewed as possible dates. I don’t know how effective the scanning process was for the final 50—while every guy was definitely hot, Utah’s date didn’t show up and Florida’s reeked of Bacardi.

Most memorable for me was the exhibition North vs. South Junior Miss softball game in Minor League Mobile BayBears Stadium. I couldn’t believe how many people showed up to watch. Just a wee bit intimidating for a girl who wasn’t sure which hand her mitt went on. Maryland (that’s me) batted last for the South, down two with runners on first and second. Folks in Alabama haven’t forgotten the Civil War—the fans were going crazy screaming for me. Too bad I only hit a double, bringing Louisiana home but leaving South Carolina stuck on third. The North prevailed, 14-13. The Southern gents and belles weren’t too happy with me.

A quick word about my fellow state winners: these girls were amazing. I expected to deal with prima donnas and drama queens for two weeks, but these chicks were talented, wicked smart and accomplished. Some of them had beat out hundreds of girls in their state to get to Alabama. I, on the other hand, had reluctantly entered and blown off any major effort to prepare. I kept wondering when my official Junior Miss ride would turn back into a pumpkin.

But I had so much fun I forgot the reason why the America’s Junior Miss council flew us down there—two nights of preliminary competition and a final night broadcast on national TV (the PAX network).

The most important part of the competition is the dreaded interview with the judges, worth 25 percent of your score. They have 10 minutes to grill each participant on current events and ask questions based on their resumes. During breaks in rehearsals, many of my fellow participants busted out notebooks and binders containing their carefully cultivated “opinions,” reciting members of Bush’s Cabinet under their breath. Backstage, Rhode Island quizzed herself. “Kristi, do you remember who the Secretary of Agriculture is? I keep forgetting.”

I did not.

She gaped at me in shock. “You better know before your interview!”

It turned out that I didn’t have to play name games with the judges during my interview, but I probably should have studied more. When Olympic swimmer Rowdy Gaines asked me to compare Secretary of State Colin Powell’s foreign policy to National Security Advisor Condoleeza Rice’s, I almost laughed. Some of the other girls got even weirder questions. Heisman trophy winner Herschel Walker is fond of grilling contestants with church involvement on their resumes about obscure Bible passages. More than one of us walked out of that room in tears.

But at least no one sees your interview televised. The talent portion is right there onstage. My worst quarter of the score, I’m sure. See, I can’t really sing, and while my little Broadway number “It’s an Art” was okay, it was nothing next to Utah’s Rachmaninov or Ohio’s pirouettes.

With the motto “emphasis on education”, it’s no surprise that scholastics count for 20 percent of each participant’s score. Quick and painless—fill out a transcript and you’re set.

Then there’s the fitness routine, worth 15 percent of your score. Go ahead and laugh. You try seven minutes of dancing, kickboxing moves, push ups and Russian jumps. Fitness rehearsals were the worst part of the weeks leading up to the telecast. Though my abs were burning, the muscles I worked hardest were in my face—if you stopped smiling for a nanosecond the kindly Southern volunteers would scream out, “SMIIIIIIIILE, Maryland! The judges like girls who look happy!”

The fifth category of Junior Miss is poise. This entails walking around with genteel grace and softly swinging hands, part of the program in an evening gown. I’m sure there are plenty of beauty queens who just adore perusing bridal shops and formalwear stores. I’m not one of them. Shopping for a dress was pure hell. If there’s a gown in the Maryland-Virginia-Delaware area, you can bet my poor body got zipped into it. Yellow washed me out. Orange clashed with my hair color. Red makes you look fat onstage. Black is too grown up. Blue, too conventional, green too free-thinking. White? Out of the question. That left pink. I’m not a pink chick, but after two months of shopping I didn’t give a damn. Pink it was.

The song my fellow Junior Misses and I sauntered across the stage to for poise was “A New Day” by Celine Dion. Most people cringe and change the radio station when this syrupy little tune comes on. I was privy to Miss Dion for hours of rehearsal, not to mention the three nights of competition. In true Kristi form, I tripped onstage. Way to go, Maryland.

Dan Marino and Deborah Norville hosted the televised finals, viewed by 1.2 million people across America (all of whom probably had some connection to the contestants). Make no mistake about #13. He’s enormous. And very nice. But he’s not the brightest crayon in the box. Even aided by a teleprompter, Deborah had to save his ass a couple times during the live show.

Mr. Quarterback and Ms. Inside Edition didn’t announce Maryland as one of the eight finalists, and I didn’t even make it to the sweet 16. But I flew home with a lot of really great memories and a $2,500 Preliminary Scholastics Award. Coupled with my state award winner scholarship, Junior Miss paid for about four Ec10 lectures this year.

I spent the last couple days of my spring break last week in Frederick, Md., as a part of the 2003 Maryland’s Junior Miss program. This year’s participants were predictably cute, spunky and sweet. They had the requisite beaming grins and bouncing ponytails. None of them seemed particularly catty or driven to win, although one girl lingered behind after rehearsals to grill me for tips on the interview. Last Saturday night I gave a goodbye speech, performed my talent one last time, and gave this year’s winner her silver medallion and a huge hug. Theresa promenaded the stage, tearfully clutching her flowers as she blew kisses to the cheering audience.

Neck bare, I stood stage right watching the shiny medallion glint against her gown. I’m a has-been, last year’s queen, all washed up. But thinking about all the preparation and all the appearances Theresa has ahead of her, life post-title doesn’t seem so bad.

And I’ll be damned if I didn’t have a huge smile plastered on my face when I glided off that stage.

Kristi L. Jobson ‘06 religiously attends FM meetings, rewarding even the most dismal ideas with her winning smile.