Every show seems to follow the three-mom formula: you’ve got the fat unattractive mom who lives vicariously through her skinny (for now) little princess, the former pagent contestant mom who doesn’t know any other way of life than glitz and flippers, and the control-freak mom who needs to win at all costs because that’s the only thing in life that matters.
The girls get spray tanned, coiffed, and painted up with makeup before taking the stage to do a grinding dance routine that would make Beyonce feel self-conscious, then wait anxiously to find out if they’ve won a glittery crown and a title that makes no sense whatsoever (Mini-Grand Supreme, Ultimate Grand Supreme, Supreme Latte Mocha Frappucino…hard to keep them all straight).
The hardest part to watch is how these working-class families spend tens of thousands of dollars a month on entry fees, facials, false teeth, hair pieces, weaves, fake tans, and glitzy dresses. The dads usually seem like sweet, amiable folk who aren’t quite sure how they got to this point but heck, they’re just along for the ride. Gotta spend your money on somethin’, I guess. Ack.
And yet, I watch.