The Paradox of Perfection: A Miss Universe’s Journey Beyond Filters and Fairytales
There’s something deeply unsettling about the way we’ve normalized digital distortion in our lives. Personally, I think it’s one of the most insidious trends of our time. We’ve reached a point where altering our appearance—whether it’s slimming our waistlines, lightening our skin, or erasing blemishes—is as casual as scrolling through a feed. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it’s become a backdrop to the lives of an entire generation, especially teenagers. Take Kaziah Liz Mejo, the newly crowned Miss Universe Kerala, for example. Her story isn’t just about winning a pageant; it’s a mirror to the toxic beauty standards we’ve all quietly accepted.
Growing up in Abu Dhabi, Kaziah’s early years were marked by a confidence that seems almost mythical today. She was an extrovert, a performer, a child who felt ‘at home’ in a city that was constantly evolving. But what many people don’t realize is how quickly that confidence can unravel when you’re thrown into the digital age’s beauty blender. By her teenage years, Kaziah was navigating a world where her natural features—her dusky skin, her outspoken personality—felt like liabilities. In my opinion, this is where her story becomes a microcosm of a much larger issue: the way social media has turned self-expression into a minefield of insecurities.
One thing that immediately stands out is Kaziah’s admission that for three years, she didn’t take a single photo without a filter. Even the whimsical cat-ear filters were designed to alter her face—narrowing it, enlarging her eyes, lightening her skin. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just about vanity; it’s about a system that profits from making us feel inadequate. Kaziah’s struggle with body dysmorphia and her insecurities about her skin tone are a direct result of an industry that sells fairness creams and promotes Eurocentric beauty standards. What this really suggests is that the digital world isn’t just a reflection of society—it’s actively shaping it, often for the worse.
But here’s where Kaziah’s story takes a turn that’s both inspiring and thought-provoking. She didn’t just succumb to the pressure; she rebelled against it. Her philosophy of staying ‘delulu’—intentionally unrealistic—is a refreshing antidote to the practicality that often stifles dreams. As a 13-year-old, she wrote down her wildest ambitions, including a wish to be on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. From my perspective, this audacity to dream big is what sets her apart. It’s also a reminder that success often comes from embracing failure, not avoiding it. Her journey from a first runner-up in a teen pageant to Miss Universe Kerala is a testament to resilience, not perfection.
What makes Kaziah’s stance even more compelling is her refusal to conform to the pageant mold. In an industry criticized for promoting rigid beauty standards, she’s unapologetically authentic. She doesn’t diet, she indulges in McDonald’s after shoots, and she openly criticizes the ‘fake’ nature of social media. This raises a deeper question: Can pageants, historically tied to unattainable ideals, evolve to celebrate real beauty? Kaziah seems to think so, and her approach feels like a much-needed shake-up.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Kaziah navigates her identity as a bridge between her diaspora roots and her Indian heritage. Moving back to India at 17 was a deliberate choice to ground herself in the realities of her homeland. This duality—feeling ‘not Indian enough’ abroad and ‘not local enough’ in the UAE—is something many in the diaspora will relate to. But Kaziah’s take is that being Indian isn’t about geography; it’s about the values you carry. This perspective is not just insightful; it’s a call to redefine what it means to belong.
Finally, there’s something profoundly human about Kaziah’s nostalgia for Abu Dhabi. Amidst the glamour of pageants and the rigors of a law degree, she finds comfort in the simplest things: a shawarma, a plate of podichor, her mom’s cooking. It’s a reminder that no matter how far we go, home is often found in the smallest, most authentic moments.
If there’s one takeaway from Kaziah’s journey, it’s this: perfection is a trap, but authenticity is a superpower. In a world that constantly tells us to filter, alter, and conform, her story is a bold declaration to embrace who we are—flaws, dreams, and all.
