Babeland!

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Babeland!
At child beauty pageants, every baby is a star.

But, objectionable though we may be, we are not the kind of parents who seem likely to enter their kid in a beauty pageant. It's completely out of character. And, therefore, perversely appealing.

The pageant we entered, Sunburst USA, is not one of the many "glitz" competitions, in which parents are encouraged to go crazy with lipstick, sunless tanner and sequins. It's a "natural" pageant, so such embellishments are supposed to be kept to a minimum, but often they're not. There were plenty of little girls who appeared to have been mugged by Mary Kay.

Sunburst's most famous alumna, JonBenet Ramsey, is not mentioned on its Web site. She participated in several different pageant circuits, but the videos played again and again after her murder were from Sunburst. In the short term, the fallout hurt children's pageants. Some companies and publications had to close down. But the tragedy of JonBenet may have given the pageant industry a boost in the long run, according to Princeton sociologist Hilary Levey, who has studied children's pageants. There are more contests now than a decade ago, she says. Some parents apparently saw the JonBenet video and thought, "Hey, that could be my kid!"

Except for the whole getting murdered part.

Parents are more likely to enter their daughters in beauty pageants. When Levey asks why this is so, the response she usually gets is, "It's not a boy thing." But that attitude may be changing. A couple of years ago, a boy won the overall title at the international Sunburst pageant in Atlanta. And, anecdotally anyway, there has been a recent increase in the number of male contestants, a pageant official says. This is either (a) a shame because now boys will be taught that looks are what truly matter or (b) an important step toward breaking down gender barriers. Take your pick.

I turned in the paperwork and Henry's entry fees. Pageants are not cheap. We paid $45 just to get into the competition. That covered the "beauty" category, but there are also side contests: "prettiest eyes," "best smile," etc. By the time we entered Henry in everything, we were out $100. And that's before you count the $40 we spent on his suit. Judging by the volume of tulle and crystals draped on some of the girls, other parents had paid much more.

But, expense-wise, the mall-level competition is nothing compared with the subsequent rounds. At the state and international levels, the basic fee rises to $95 and $100, respectively. That will get you in the door and into the beauty competition. But to have a shot at the top honors, you have to accumulate points in optional contests such as photo portfolio, day-care wear and swimwear. Enter all six at $40 each ($45 at international), some side competitions for $15, plus maybe the mail-in photo contest for $25, and you are quickly spending more than four times the now modest-seeming Benjamin you had to fork over at the mall. Contestants are also encouraged to sell advertising in the program book, much like all those "good luck" ads in the backs of yearbooks. If you can get friends and family members to pay $150 for a page with your kid's picture and/or their business cards on it, you'll receive a crown. Sell five or more pages, and you get a six-foot-tall trophy. The child who sells the most ads -- I wish I were making this up -- is featured as the program book's "centerfold."

This means that Sunburst is either (a) doing its best to wring every last dollar out of starry-eyed parents or (b) offering options that its customers want. Again, take your pick.

HENRY'S FIRST PAGEANT WAS AT MARLEY STATION MALL IN GLEN BURNIE. He was grouped with the under-1 boys -- although, at the younger ages, I'm not sure gender really means much. Slap a bow on Henry's head, and he could pass for a girl. In our category, there was only one other contestant. He was a couple of months older than Henry and already sported an impressive head of hair. This was a point in his favor. But the other boy was wearing a boring blue sweater, while Henry was more formally attired in a sport coat and bow tie. This was a point in our favor.

I lined up next to the mother of Blue-Sweatered Baby. We stood just a few inches from each other, our respective sons on our respective hips. I turned to say something to her, something like "Isn't this funny?" or "Nice sweater," but it seemed as if she was intentionally ignoring me. Maybe she was trying to psych me out.

Whatever, I thought. Bring it on.

They went first. The mother walked to the designated spot in front of the judges' table, squatted down and placed her baby's feet on the floor. She helped him balance as he stood there smiling shyly at the judges and, I feared, winning them over.