My Letter to Ms. America

Creative Writing
My Letter to Miss America

Dear Miss America,

What a superb dress you were wearing.

I noticed it instantly even with the altering of your photograph. I must say, I don’t believe you are a candidate for this particular beauty pageant. I can tell from your body, that you are a runway model. To the rest of the world, I suppose it would be difficult for them to know the difference. This painting is quite rich and the artist painted it with such a bold statement concerning the Vietnam War.

The juxtaposition of your picture and the Vietnamese man is quite a mind turner. I studied it for an extensive amount of time trying to figure out the artist overall statement. I do know that it was not an encouraging statement on your behalf, and I wonder how you are dealing with that? If it offends you, I am sorry, but there is not much one can do to shun certain stereotypes on our identities. Does it offend you to be to be displayed in such a manner? I feel as if the artist had portrayed your work as an insignificant and very materialistic, shallow even. I wonder if you feel that? The lack of depth in your line of work.

As a model, do you ever feel like people only see your beauty? Is it difficult for people to take you seriously? I know what it feels like to be just thought of as an item. Like an object people look at. It’s like the girls that tape your photograph to their bedroom walls, ripped and torn from the neglect of your image. Sometimes, I feel as if women are expected to be like you. I feel like our nation is cursed with this desire and need to feel “beautiful.” That does not make things easy for us women. Men think we can just wake up and look like you. It’s really not the case; we are actually, statistically very unlike your body type. Only slim margins of women in this world look like you.

As I write to you, I like to think that you are kind, and that in your youthfulness; you are making the best of the assets given to you. I like to think that you don’t let modeling get to your head and that’s why the painting enrages you so, the artist portrayed you as something that is really far from your character. As I sit here, I imagine you preparing your day for the line up of runway shows. Marc Jacob today, tomorrow it’s Proenza Schouler, and the next day you fly out to Paris to do the Chanel show. You slip into a structured, deep purple chiffon dress, tapered in the waist just to fit your slim body.

The assistants try to slip you into your assigned heels, while a photographer tries to snap a picture. I think, that for you this is all temporary; that besides the glitz and glamour, one day you will wisk yourself away to a third world country to give back and help in an orphanage. Something much more worth while in your eyes. As you pose for the various photographers, you smile that million dollar smile that makes all the boys melt, flirt with stage hands, and then I think… no, maybe you are not like what I imagined at all.