The Crown That Doesn’t Fit: Why Miss Universe Is Losing Its Sparkle
The Miss Universe pageant, once a glittering pinnacle of global beauty and ambition, is suddenly shedding its crowns. In a move that’s both bold and deeply symbolic, Olivia Yacé, the newly crowned Miss Universe Africa and Oceania, has resigned from her title. What’s striking isn’t just the act itself, but the why behind it. Yacé’s decision to sever ties with the organization isn’t a quiet exit—it’s a declaration of values over validation.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Yacé frames her resignation. She doesn’t just step down; she steps up. Her statement on social media isn’t a farewell; it’s a manifesto. Phrases like “remain true to my values” and “defend the values I hold dear” aren’t just words—they’re a challenge to the very institution she’s leaving behind. Yacé isn’t just walking away from a title; she’s rejecting a system she believes compromises respect, dignity, and equal opportunity.
From my perspective, this isn’t just about one contestant’s disillusionment. It’s a symptom of a larger crisis within the Miss Universe brand. Yacé’s resignation follows closely on the heels of Brigitta Schaback, Miss Universe Estonia, who also renounced her title over ethical misalignment. Two high-profile exits in quick succession? That’s not a coincidence—it’s a pattern.
One thing that immediately stands out is how these women are redefining what it means to be a role model. Yacé, in particular, is flipping the script. Instead of using her platform to promote the pageant, she’s using it to critique it. Her call to “Black, African, Caribbean, American, and Afro-descendant communities” to “continue entering spaces where you are not expected” is a powerful reminder that representation isn’t just about being present—it’s about challenging the systems that limit you.
But let’s take a step back and think about it: Why is this happening now? The 2025 Miss Universe pageant was a mess, to put it mildly. From a contestant’s shocking fall on stage to judges quitting over exclusionary behavior, the event was less about empowerment and more about chaos. The viral video of Nawat Itsaragrisil, the now-dismissed president of Miss Universe for Asia and Oceania, berating Miss Universe Mexico Fátima Bosch was the icing on a very unappetizing cake.
What many people don’t realize is that these incidents aren’t isolated. They’re part of a broader cultural shift. Pageants, once celebrated as platforms for women’s empowerment, are increasingly seen as relics of a bygone era. In a world where #MeToo and body positivity movements have reshaped conversations about gender and beauty, the Miss Universe pageant feels out of touch. Its focus on physical appearance and outdated ideals of femininity is being called into question—and not just by activists, but by the very women it crowns.
Personally, I think the pageant’s troubles go beyond its surface-level controversies. It’s about the tension between tradition and progress. Miss Universe has always been about more than just beauty; it’s been about aspiration, representation, and breaking barriers. But in 2025, it seems to be stumbling over its own heels. The organization’s inability to address its internal issues—from leadership scandals to ethical concerns—is alienating the very women it aims to celebrate.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Yacé and Schaback are leveraging their resignations to amplify their voices. By cutting ties with the pageant, they’re not just quitting—they’re rebranding. Yacé’s promise to “continue my journey differently, with the same determination to uplift and inspire” suggests that she sees her impact as bigger than any crown. This isn’t just a rejection of the pageant; it’s a rejection of its limitations.
What this really suggests is that the Miss Universe brand is at a crossroads. If it wants to survive, it needs to evolve. The women it crowns are no longer content to be just faces on a stage; they want to be agents of change. The organization’s leadership needs to ask itself: Is it a platform for empowerment, or is it a relic of a time when women’s worth was measured in inches and pounds?
If you take a step back and think about it, the resignations of Yacé and Schaback aren’t just about personal ethics—they’re about the future of pageantry itself. As these women step away from their titles, they’re forcing us to question what those titles even mean. In a world where beauty is increasingly defined by authenticity and inclusivity, does Miss Universe still have a place?
This raises a deeper question: Can an institution built on outdated ideals ever truly reform? Or is it destined to crumble under the weight of its own contradictions? From my perspective, the answer lies in how the organization responds. If it listens to the voices of women like Yacé and Schaback, it might just stand a chance. If it doesn’t, it risks becoming a footnote in history—a glittering crown with no one left to wear it.
In my opinion, the Miss Universe pageant isn’t just losing contestants; it’s losing its relevance. But within that loss lies an opportunity. The women stepping away from their titles are paving the way for a new kind of beauty—one that’s defined not by crowns, but by courage. And that, to me, is the most beautiful thing of all.
IT’S TIME FOR AFRICA, Yacé declared. Maybe it’s also time for Miss Universe to redefine itself—or risk being left behind.
