Miss Universe has long sold itself as more than a beauty pageant. It brands itself as a global platform where women amplify advocacies, speak on social issues, and represent empowerment beyond physical appearance. Yet recent controversies suggest that this promise may now be secondary to something far more dominant: business.
The backlash surrounding the latest Miss Universe competition exposed uncomfortable truths. Allegations of biased judging—particularly claims that Miss Mexico’s victory was influenced by her father’s connections within the organization—ignited widespread criticism. Fans and pageant watchers were quick to label the event a “cooking show”—a term reserved for competitions perceived to be pre-decided. In that moment, the narrative shifted. Instead of celebrating a woman's journey or her advocacy, the focus turned to insider ties, commercial interests, and credibility gaps.
This is where the line between platform and product becomes blurred.
Pageants today operate in a highly commercialized space. Sponsorships, host country deals, broadcast rights, and branding partnerships fuel their survival. In theory, these should coexist with advocacy. In practice, however, they often overpower it. Contestants are marketed as content; causes are condensed into sound bites; empowerment is packaged for consumption. When outcomes appear influenced by who bring more business value rather than who best represents the competition’s ideals, the crown loses its moral weight.
The issue is not whether Miss Universe is a business—it undeniably is. The problem arises when business becomes the point, rather than the means. When controversies overshadow causes, and when credibility is compromised by perceived favoritism, the pageant’s claim of being a platform for women rings hollow.
This context makes Chavit Singson’s expressed interest in acquiring the Miss Universe Organization more than just a headline. His statements about wanting to restore credibility emerge not simply as ambition, but as a response to an organization visibly struggling with trust. Whether or not he becomes involved, the fact that ownership change is even being discussed underscores a deeper issue: Miss Universe is in an identity crisis.
At its core, the pageant must decide what it wants to be remembered for. If it continues down a path where marketability outweighs merit and connections overshadow convictions, it risks becoming just another televised spectacle—glossy, profitable, and empty. But if it genuinely re-centers women’s voices, advocacy, and transparency, the crown can still mean something beyond applause and profit margins.
Miss Universe does not lose relevance because people stop watching. It loses relevance when people stop believing.
Written by Micaella Macuja, Insight PH
Micaella Macuja, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
