Why I quit modeling

IN A work-related event dominated by engineers, someone told me: “You have a lot going on in your head but you should be joining beauty pageants.”

The remark wasn’t new and was never flattering to me. But at that time I was practically working, and my job had nothing to do with beauty pageants in any way, so I felt offended. Why am I always being stereotyped? Was it because I wore my heels that day? But my shoes should not be the one to blame. “It’s not the clothes I wear..” so feminists say, which, in my friend’s opinion, are “pang-teacher.”

But then I asked myself: Why don’t I join beauty pageants? Well, the idea doesn’t excite me, except for the Q&A part where they get to conclude with motherhood statements. I love the contestants’ idealistic answers, although for me, anything they say in response to “What is the essence of a woman?” would seem ironic because whatever their “essence,” the world would see them only as smiling girls in swimsuits. Not that swimsuits and smiling are wrong, but I really don’t see their relevance to saving Mother Earth or raising funds for Africa.

Maybe this is just a marketing strategy to lure billionaire-donors who happen to be men? I don’t know and I won’t judge. But I’d rather be an environmentalist or a social worker to prove my intentions.

I am no stranger to beauty pageants because I have friends who were contestants. And I was once part of the modeling industry. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. But for me, modeling was a ticket through college. I come from a poor family, and I did photo-shoots and fashion shows to earn money for my tuition (see, UP, I had to do these because of the tuition increase).

Modeling was not hard work, but neither was it easy. Why? Because everywhere I went, I had to exert extra effort to prove that I wasn’t just a stereotype. I worked long hours, had to “go the extra mile,” because I hate the look of satisfaction in people’s eyes when they tell me to “just” work as a flight attendant every time I mess up.

I remember the time I decided to quit modeling. It was after a volunteer teaching activity where I was motivating my students to aim for more in life. (It’s my way of giving back to the Universe for giving me some privileges.) Coming from poor families like me, my students, mostly young girls, had to work as kasambahay (maid) and attend vocational courses on Sundays.

When I asked them what they wanted to become, their answer was “model”—all of them, except for three who wanted to go abroad. So much for being a “role model.” On my way home, I reflected: Am I influencing my students in a positive way? Does my being a model send them wrong messages on what they should aspire for? How can I impart lessons on learning to love themselves if I continue to be an agent of negative contributions to the issue of ideal body image and objectification of women? Am I really upholding my values?

“No” was my answer to all my questions. And so I decided to quit.

I quit modeling because I feel for all the girls who have struggles about physical appearance. I believe there is something more in women than what the print ads and our beauty-obsessed culture dictate. I’m sick of beauty queens claiming that “inner beauty” is the most important. Like, go tell that to an overweight mother of four who breaks her back working for the sake of her family, or to the shy, pimply girl with big eyeglasses who graduates summa cum laude.

Not that physical beauty is wrong. But it’s about time other forms of beauty were recognized. Kindness is beauty. Intelligence is beauty. Being passionate about something is beauty. Let’s skip the superficiality—the makeup and all the other masks we love to wear to cover all our “flaws.” Flaws can be beautiful, too.

I quit modeling because I don’t agree with the stereotype bestowed on me by this society, and I refuse to be defined by anyone else but me.

Mae Valdez, 27, works in a renewable energy company and is an officer of an environmental NGO.