When a beauty pageant becomes a battleground for cultural sensitivity, it’s clear we’re living in a moment of reckoning. The recent Miss Universe Canada pageant, where former titleholder Ashley Callingbull halted the competition to call out cultural appropriation, is more than just a viral moment—it’s a mirror reflecting our ongoing struggle with identity, respect, and representation. Personally, I think this incident is a wake-up call, not just for the pageant world, but for society at large. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it forces us to confront the fine line between celebration and exploitation, especially when it comes to Indigenous cultures.
One thing that immediately stands out is Ashley Callingbull’s role in this drama. As the first First Nations woman to hold the Miss Universe Canada title, her voice carries weight. When she interrupted the pageant to address the inappropriate costumes worn by two contestants, she wasn’t just speaking as a former winner—she was speaking as a representative of a community that has historically been marginalized and misrepresented. In my opinion, her decision to speak up in such a public forum was both brave and necessary. It’s easy to ignore cultural appropriation when it’s happening quietly, but when it’s called out on a stage like this, it becomes impossible to dismiss.
The costumes in question—one featuring a feathered headdress and the other incorporating mukluks and braids—were clearly problematic. What many people don’t realize is that these items aren’t just fashion statements; they’re deeply symbolic and sacred to Indigenous cultures. The headdress, for instance, is often earned through acts of bravery and leadership, not something to be worn casually. If you take a step back and think about it, the contestants’ choices weren’t just misguided—they were a reflection of a broader lack of education and awareness.
This raises a deeper question: Why are we still seeing these missteps in 2024? The contestants’ apologies, while sincere, highlight a troubling gap in understanding. One contestant, Jasleen Kaily, admitted that she struggled to interpret the costume competition’s theme and defaulted to representing Indigenous culture because, in her words, ‘they have been in Canada the longest.’ What this really suggests is that we’re failing to educate people about the complexities of cultural representation. It’s not enough to say, ‘I meant well’—intentions don’t erase impact.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the pageant’s response. Miss Universe Canada didn’t just issue a generic apology; they announced new guidelines to prevent future incidents. This is a step in the right direction, but it’s also a reminder of how reactive these changes often are. Why did it take a public callout to implement these measures? From my perspective, this incident underscores the need for proactive education, not just in pageants, but in schools, media, and everyday life.
If we zoom out, this isn’t just about a beauty pageant—it’s about power dynamics and who gets to tell whose stories. Indigenous cultures have been commodified and erased for centuries, and moments like this are a stark reminder of that history. What this really suggests is that cultural appropriation isn’t just about costumes; it’s about who holds the power to define and represent identities.
Looking ahead, I’m cautiously optimistic. The fact that this incident sparked such widespread conversation is a sign of progress. But it’s not enough to talk—we need systemic change. Personally, I think this should be a catalyst for deeper conversations about representation, education, and respect. If we can learn anything from this, it’s that silence is no longer an option. The stage is set—let’s see if we’re ready to perform.
