They came to Thailand for crowns, sashays, and a little glitter. Instead, the pre-pageant night for Miss Universe 2025 ended with something rougher: a group of contestants walking out after one of their own, Miss Mexico, was publicly shamed. It wasn’t the usual pageant drama — no wardrobe malfunctions or surprise guests — it was louder, meaner, and oddly revealing about how power works in these spaces.
A short rewind: during a pre-event moment, organizers asked contestants to promote something on social media. When Fatima Bosch, Miss Mexico, didn’t post the required content, an official from the host country — Nawat Itsaragrisil — reportedly called her “dumb.” That’s not a small thing. It’s a jab that lands differently when it comes from someone who’s supposed to be coordinating and supporting the event. People noticed. And then things escalated: Bosch protested, was told to “shut up,” security was summoned, and threats of disqualification were made for those who backed her. That’s when several contestants decided they had had enough and left in solidarity.
Also read: Carter Oosterhouse is a Michigan native who became a prominent figure on TLC and HGTV
Why it mattered — and why it still does
On the surface, this looks like a straightforward case of an official overstepping. But beneath that is something messier: the intersection of power, image, and expectations placed on women in public roles. Pageants have long been about more than beauty; they are platforms, whether we like that or not. Contestants are often asked—and expected—to be ambassadors, spokespeople, polished and compliant. So when someone in a position of authority treats a contestant like she’s disposable or foolish, it cuts deeper than mere insult.
Fatima Bosch’s reaction was immediate and human. She said the director’s behavior was “disrespectful” and “undermining” to women. She spoke calmly, but with conviction — noting how she loves Thailand and respects the people there while condemning the act. That mix of gratitude and upset felt honest; I found myself believing her, and also sympathizing with the complicated position she was in: grateful to be on a world stage, but suddenly made small by the very people running the show.
Solidarity that wasn’t rehearsed
What surprised me — and I think surprised a lot of viewers — was the walkout. It wasn’t a choreographed statement. These contestants come from wildly different places and cultures; they don’t always see eye to eye. Yet many of them decided, in a short span of time, to leave the ceremony in support of Miss Mexico. That gesture matters. It’s a messy, imperfect form of protest: not a policy change, not a revolution, but a clear refusal to stand by passive when a peer is humiliated.
There’s something very human about that: people often wait for the “right” moment to take a stand. Here the moment arrived fast. Some contestants later said they felt the director’s actions threatened the dignity of all of them. Others might have left because staying felt like complicity. Either way, it revealed that solidarity can be immediate, not always planned, and powerful in its own small way.
What it says about institutions and accountability
This episode is also a reminder that institutions — even glittering, internationally watched ones — are not immune to bad behavior. Organizers are in charge of safety and representation. If someone in that role acts disrespectfully, it calls into question the culture they’re promoting. People will notice, speak up, and sometimes walk out. That’s accountability in a raw form: public reaction pushing back against an abuse of authority.
It would be naive to expect everything to be fixed overnight. Pageants, like many public institutions, have layers of tradition and bureaucracy. But incidents like this force conversations: How are contestants treated? Who holds organizers accountable? What lines exist around public shaming and power dynamics? Those are worthwhile questions, and they don’t have easy answers. Perhaps they shouldn’t — because meaningful change rarely does.
Also read: Kris Jenner and Corey Gamble: Signs of Trouble Beneath the Surface?
A subtle irony: this platform meant to elevate voices turned attention to silence and suppression. Yet the response refuted that irony. Voices rose anyway — not only Miss Mexico’s but those of her peers. They didn’t sing, they didn’t perform a scripted statement; they simply walked out. That might seem small. It might also be exactly what was needed in that moment.
Where things might go from here
Expect investigations, official statements, perhaps apologies. There may be attempts to smooth things over publicly, and some behind-the-scenes conversations about conduct. Whether those conversations lead to structural change — training for organizers, clearer codes of conduct, or independent oversight — is harder to predict. I’m hopeful, but cautiously so. These situations often reveal the need for change; time will tell whether that need gets translated into action.
For those watching, this was a reminder that even in polished environments where every smile is measured, real human reactions still happen. The walkout felt raw because it was sincere. It wasn’t a calculated PR move. And that, oddly, made it more powerful than most planned statements.
Final thought
A pageant is meant to celebrate, to uplift — and when it doesn’t, the fallout can be telling. This episode in Thailand shows how quickly dynamics can shift when someone in power behaves badly. It also shows that people, even those who are often expected to be agreeable and composed, will push back. It’s not tidy. It’s not always consistent. But it is human.
Leave a comment