Little Miss Sex Bomb

So last night I attended "Miss Golden Autumn." My ticket refers to it as an "Entertainment Show," but I think most Americans would refer to it as a "beauty pageant" or a "beauty contest." I'll refer to it as "Russia's best attempt to make a 25 year old, red-blooded American male feel extremely awkward."

Here's why: despite the pastoral title, the way you determine Miss Golden Autumn is not through pie-baking, adroitness with a scythe or knowledge of animal husbandry but through a series of half-naked dance routines set to Tom Jone's "Sex Bomb." Awkward enough yet? If not, I should mention that the first contestant was 15 years old and few looked much older. More awkward? Let me add that I was invited to the event by one of my professors, who was also in attendance. Quite awkward you say? Final fact: her daughter was one of the competitors. Hey ya!

It took place at a city auditorium, almost all of the 200+ seats filled. There was a panel of judges and loveably inept presenters. The stage looked like it could have doubled as a high school set for "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

The first round was the "Presentation" phase. Each of the contestants got a few minutes to present some information about themselves. Some of the girls had prepared short slideshows set to music. If you asked a teenage girl to conduct a live reenactment of her Myspace page, this is what it would look like.

There were eight of them, almost all tall and blond. I had trouble keeping track of them. After the presentation round, only four left an impression on my mind: #1, because she was short, the only brunette, had immediately tripped over her words and was forced to restart; #4 because she was serene despite being heftier and clumsier than the rest, like participating in a beauty pageant was the way she relaxed after a week of elk hunting; #5 because she was the tallest, she strutted and was the only one who already seemed like a woman, and because she had a look on her face that said if she didn't win she was going to defenestrate one of the judges; and of course #7 because she was the teacher's daughter. I'll refer to her from now as "7".

After the Presentation round came the Talent portion. All of my favorites were reaffirmed: #1 because her strategy to win the title of Russia's "Miss Golden Autumn" was to dance a Cha-Cha-Cha in a pink tu-tu; #4 because she sang beautifully, was planted to one spot while on stage, and wore a completely unsexy dress-suit; #5 because she wore a red leotard with rips all up the legs, and because she looked like she might jump off stage to throttle the sound engineer if her song didn't play at the correct volume.

And of course 7, who I was bound by obligation to cheer for. I really wanted to. And I was relieved because she was wearing a modest sort of jazzy-1920's outfit with a top hat. But from the way the bass hit me in the chest when the music started, I knew it would not be tame. There was a lot of thrusting and undulating. The chorus of the song repeated "Let's do it on the beach, let's do it on the street. Let's do it in the car, wherever you are." She dipped in forward-sweeping gestures which, based on the design of her shirt, would have obligated me to look away under normal circumstances. At some point the audience started clapping to the beat. A relief! A godsend! It gave my hands something to do other than feel clammy.

Throughout the performance I did my best to look like I was watching someone else's home videos or looking at pictures from a colleague's recent trip abroad: respectful and slightly bored. Eye contact and smiling were avoided.

After the Talent phase came a hybrid evening-wear / wedding-dress phase. Having already tripped over her words, #1 kept tripping on her dress and at some point just decided to hold the front of it in both hands. I liked her determination. 7 looked elegant and nonplussed. When the round was over I turned to give a thumbs up to my teacher, then turned away and said a silent prayer that there would be no Swimwear round.

Prayer answered. The show concluded shortly thereafter and we we waited anxiously while the judges tallied the scores. I felt sincerely nervous for 7, a sort of nervousness I usually only get when watching a Game 7 in the playoffs.

Unfortunately for my professor, her daughter came in third. But she was given the "Audience Choice" award, something I had helped contribute to by writing her name on the back of my ticket and placing it in a ballot box at the end of the last round. I'm glad she got it, because I was secretly cheering for #1, the lone short brunette, who had the audacity to think that she could personify the Russian Fall with a lascivious Cuban dance in a tiny pink skirt.