My Letter to Miss World

Photo: David Shankbone

Dear Miss World,
or should I rather call you Ivian Lunasol Sarcos Col… ah, whatever. So Miss World, first and foremost my congratulations for your very, very, very hard earned victory. It must have been utterly difficult to learn all those complicated choreographies by heard. (Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, left foot, no again…)

And the sheer intricacy of beauty!  All the matching make up, the beauty sleep, the beauty creams, the push-ups, the finger diets and the smiling, the smiling, the smiling, the smiling. Yes, keep on smiling and smiling.  Not to forget the ingenious speech you had to give. Your idea to change the world for the better was so unpredictable and inspiring that even someone neurotically unchanging like me felt like changing something (- the TV channel).

When you said that you wanted to help the young and old people, you were not aware that you had already helped a plethora of men last night. You helped the young to fall asleep, say, a little bit less tensed and with an appreciation of the complication of beauty and the old with an inspiration of how to endure their nightly nuptial obligations.

Oh, I wish there were more selfless, cloth-less people like you out there. The world would be such a smiling, smiling, don’t forget smiling, world. Maybe you are really the messiah in 36-24-36, send down to us by the holy Lord himself. What a shame that you did not become a nun as you earlier intended to. You have to know that all men truly like nuns, the same way they like nurses, secretaries and teachers. Yesterday we could all clearly see the virtues which you must have learned from your earlier days in the monastery. This Bikini, which you wore like a chastity belt in a show of unadulterated spinsterhood.

And if you might get tired of saving the world, I could give you some distraction. I could pick you up with my eco-friendly, world-saving Toyota Prius, since I am in London right now as well. We could do something you enjoy – something totally chaste of course. Like you, I love mountaineering and volleyball. Or we could read your so unconventional favourite book, The Secret. While we are on the way, we could also run some of these protesting pseudo-feminist over. What do these ugly, wretched cabbage leaves know about the burden of beauty?

Dear Ivian Lun… – ah forget it – dear Ms World, I wish there were more women like you out there, with those two globes of idealism. Maybe than we would all be, like you, a smiling, smiling, smiling…. – ok I give up – world again.


The man behind the TV screen.


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