When Good Intentions Aren’t Enough: The Miss Universe Canada Cultural Appropriation Debate
Let me ask you something: How many times do we have to witness the same cultural appropriation controversy before pageants actually learn? The 2026 Miss Universe Canada competition just handed us another textbook case of how not to engage with Indigenous cultures—complete with feather headdresses, red handprints, and a chorus of apologies that rang hollow. But here’s what fascinates me most: Why do these organizations still treat cultural respect as an afterthought?
The Sacred vs. The Spectacle
Ashley Callingbull, a Plains Cree woman and former Miss Universe Canada winner, didn’t hold back when she interrupted the live broadcast to call out the pageant’s blatant cultural appropriation. And honestly? Good for her. When contestants wore outfits featuring sacred Indigenous symbols like feather headdresses and mukluks, they weren’t “celebrating” culture—they were reducing millennia-old traditions to Instagrammable props. Personally, I think the bigger question is: Who in the pageant’s production team thought this was acceptable? Because let’s be clear: This wasn’t ignorance. It was negligence.
The red handprint face paint—tied to the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement—felt particularly tone-deaf. How dare anyone co-opt a symbol of trauma and resistance for a beauty pageant? In my opinion, this reveals a disturbing pattern: The entertainment industry’s obsession with cherry-picking “exotic” elements of marginalized cultures while ignoring their living, breathing context.
Good Intentions Are Cheap
Contestant Karisa Haverkamp apologized, claiming her goal was to “learn” from the experience. Jasleen Kaily echoed this, saying her Arctic Beauty costume aimed to “recognize and celebrate” First Nations peoples. But here’s the thing—intentions don’t erase impact. What many people don’t realize is that cultural appropriation isn’t about being mean-spirited; it’s about power dynamics. When white women wear Indigenous regalia as costumes, it perpetuates a legacy of erasure. Meanwhile, actual Indigenous communities face systemic poverty and violence. The disconnect is staggering.
This isn’t even the first time Miss Universe Canada has stumbled here. In 2015, a contestant “misunderstood” her way into wearing a totem pole costume. So why weren’t cultural consultants mandatory after that incident? From my perspective, the pageant’s reactive apologies expose a deeper rot: Diversity is treated as a checkbox activity, not a value.
Reconciliation? Try Representation.
The pageant’s director now promises a “comprehensive costume guide” and wants Ashley Callingbull as a liaison. Cute. But let’s not mistake performative allyship for progress. If you’re serious about reconciliation, start by asking: Why weren’t Indigenous designers, historians, or community leaders involved in this process from the start? Why are we still letting non-Indigenous people decide what “counts” as respectful?
What this really suggests is that pageants—and mainstream media at large—are terrified of ceding control. They’ll tokenize marginalized voices after the fact, but won’t share the mic proactively. A detail I find especially interesting? The national costume segment’s official description explicitly mentions celebrating Canada’s “traditions, symbols, and history.” Yet somehow, the people who’ve lived that history aren’t considered the experts.
Beyond the Headdress: A Systemic Problem
Let’s zoom out. This isn’t just about feathers or braids. It’s about how Western institutions commodify culture while dismissing the people who created it. The fashion industry does it. Music festivals do it. Even yoga studios do it. But what’s unique about pageants is their retrograde obsession with “heritage” that’s all aesthetics, zero accountability. The irony? Miss Universe Canada’s website says the costume segment combines “creativity” with Canadian heritage. Creativity shouldn’t require pillaging sacred traditions.
If you take a step back and think about it, the outrage cycle here is predictable: Appropriation happens → marginalized group objects → pageant issues vague statement → rinse and repeat. Until organizations like this embed cultural sensitivity into their DNA—not just their crisis management playbooks—nothing will change.
The Path Forward? Decolonize the Crown
So where do we go from here? Well, I’ve got three words: Stop. Asking. Permission. Why should Indigenous communities have to endlessly educate institutions that already know better? Accountability means paying Native creators to lead these initiatives. It means sharing profits if cultural elements are used. It means understanding that some symbols shouldn’t be touched without lived experience or explicit community authorization.
Personally, I think this controversy exposes a global crisis in cultural literacy. But here’s the hopeful angle: Ashley Callingbull’s intervention proves that marginalized voices can—and will—disrupt these spaces. The bigger question is whether institutions will listen before the next PR disaster strikes. Or will they keep treating cultural respect like a last-minute accessory to change on stage?
