Miss France 2025: Muguette Fabris on a Changing Pageant

As France approaches the 75th Miss France final in December 2025, one former titleholder from the 1960s will be following it intently, pen poised. Her view of the pageant’s evolution is neither simply nostalgic nor wholly favourable.

A 1963 Miss France watching the 2025 show

Muguette Fabris won the Miss France crown in 1963 at Bordeaux’s Grand-Théâtre. Now in her eighties, the slender, lively brunette of Italian descent has retained an almost forensic fascination with the competition that transformed her life.

Every year, she watches the live television broadcast with a notebook at hand. She identifies the contestants she thinks could win, studies the production and records the answers that catch her attention. By her own account, she remains sincerely impressed by the work of the organising committee.

However, she is among the few people able to draw on personal experience when comparing the stripped-back contests of the 1960s with the lavishly produced television event due to take place at the Zénith arena in Amiens in 2025.

Behind the glitter, former winners are starting to ask whether preparation has gone so far that it squeezes the spontaneity out of the candidates.

“Too managed”: when coaching erases personality

For Fabris, the most significant shift concerns neither the gowns nor the set design, but the level of control imposed on the young women.

She supports some aspects of that development. The fact that contestants must now complete a general-knowledge test, for example, seems to her a positive step. Intelligence finally counts, at least in principle.

Still, she considers the current multiple-choice format much too elementary. Contestants should, in her opinion, answer in their own words and be encouraged to develop genuine cultural knowledge: history, art and political life, rather than simply trivia.

Her greatest concern is the impression that many candidates have been scripted by the time the final night arrives.

On live TV, she says, excitement and pressure combine with heavy coaching, and some contestants look like they have lost the distinctive spark that got them there in the first place.

As she sees it, the candidates stand before veteran presenter Jean-Pierre Foucault and recite phrases refined during rehearsals. Rehearsed formulas take the place of instinctive answers, while personal judgement is pushed aside.

To Fabris, surrendering that “free will” is too steep a price for an impeccably polished production.

1963: no media training, no brief, just you and the press

Her own experience could scarcely have been more different. In 1963, there were no prepared messages, media trainers or image advisers. Contestants were placed directly under the spotlight.

Journalists asked questions in corridors and dressing rooms. The newly elected Miss France had to respond “on the fly”, without either a filter or a safety net. Whether awkward or brilliant, each response was entirely her own.

That absence of support also brought disadvantages: professional prospects were far more limited, and there was little protection if a remark went wrong. At that time, winning Miss France did not automatically require someone to leave her day job.

Fabris was a mathematics teacher and simply carried on teaching. The crown gave her status, rather than launching a career in entertainment.

From classroom to Parisian apartments

Today’s winners face a very different reality. They are accommodated in Paris, receive various benefits associated with the role and must fulfil a packed diary of public appearances.

For many entrants, the title has become a route into the media world, including television, radio, influencing and acting. The pageant functions as an enormous audition in front of producers and casting directors.

Fabris understands why that prospect appeals, but she cautions that the chances are unforgiving.

• Only one contestant secures the title.
• A small number succeed in establishing a lasting media profile.
• Most go home without a defined professional direction.

She advises teenagers aspiring to wear the crown to gain a dependable qualification as well, and to consider early on which career they would pursue if the cameras stopped rolling the following day.

In an age where a single viral post can damage a reputation overnight, she argues that a degree or a trade offers a more reliable safety net than followers.

Although she openly dislikes social media and the rapid pace at which online controversies develop, she accepts that contestants cannot disregard it. Their public image now exists permanently on platforms beyond their control.

Rules, feminism and a specific “image of woman”

Miss France has also been required to address discussions around sexism and inclusion. Requirements once seen as inviolable, including age limits, marital status and motherhood, have been challenged or loosened.

Fabris, who describes herself as practical and supportive of women’s independence, concedes that she has mixed feelings. She did, in fact, value the former rule limiting entry to unmarried young women.

In her view, those conditions were not as draconian as their critics claim, and they sustained a clear, though conventional, idea of femininity that continues to resonate with her generation.

She observes that no contestant in the latest edition was married in any case. That, she believes, indicates that the image promoted by the competition still follows familiar patterns, even while its public relations messaging stresses change.

She insists, though, that every woman should live as she chooses, and that deeper freedom often comes not from a TV show but from education, work and gradual self-emancipation.

For Fabris, genuine independence generally begins at legal adulthood, when young women start making their own choices, rather than when they walk onto a stage wearing a ball gown.

Artificial intelligence, image control and the future of beauty contests

Looking to the future, Fabris identifies another disruptive influence: artificial intelligence. Technological advances are accelerating, she notes, and beauty pageants will not escape their effects.

AI-generated pictures and deepfakes already make it harder to distinguish between real and artificial beauty. This creates fresh questions around judging women’s appearance in a live programme: how can viewers trust what is in front of them? How can contestants retain control of their likeness once it can be copied and altered without end?

Production teams may also turn to AI for scripting, editing and refining material, reinforcing the feeling that the entire event has been packaged long before the programme begins.

Behind the tiara: what young candidates often underestimate

Fabris’s account reads almost as an informal career manual for prospective contestants. She highlights several issues that many young women overlook when submitting an application.

The first is the commitment of time. Months spent preparing, rehearsing and travelling can postpone or interrupt education. A gap year devoted to pursuing a crown may be exciting, but it can leave an unexplained space on a CV if nothing comes afterwards.

The second is emotional pressure. National exposure at 19 or 20 means being judged publicly for appearance, accent, views and private life. Criticism is now immediate and may come from thousands of anonymous accounts.

The third is the aftermath. Once public attention shifts to the next group of hopeful contestants, former entrants often need to rebuild their identity beyond the pageant label.

• Some go back to university or vocational education.
• Others create small businesses, using their brief recognition to bring in clients.
• A minority remain in showbusiness, frequently after years of auditions.

Fabris’s own path, which combined a prominent title with a serious academic career, offers one possible example: she was the only Miss accepted at France’s prestigious École Polytechnique during her reign. Her experience suggests treating the crown as an episode rather than a lifelong plan.

What “singularity” really means in a modern pageant

When Fabris says that candidates “lose part of their singularity” on election night, she is describing a conflict found in nearly every modern talent or beauty competition.

Production teams, on one hand, need a consistent television product: neat answers, similar mannerisms and recognisable storylines. That requirement encourages extensive rehearsal and coaching. Audiences, on the other hand, increasingly expect authenticity and diversity of character.

In this context, singularity involves more than appearance or an unusual hobby. It concerns the way a contestant thinks, responds to surprise and handles a difficult question about politics or social issues without relying on a script.

One practical means of preserving that quality is for contestants to prepare not only their walk and smile, but also their judgement. Reading broadly, developing views and practising spontaneous speaking may help them resist, tactfully, when a rehearsed phrase does not feel true to them.

For viewers and voters, recognising this backstage choreography makes the programme easier to interpret. An answer delivered flawlessly may be the result of hours of training, whereas a slightly untidy but heartfelt reply may be the instant when a contestant’s true personality finally emerges through the glitter.