The goal, says emcee Scelsi, was to have a daytime show, during which both men and women could have lunch or a few drinks by the water and enjoy a full afternoon of entertainment. "We never targeted the spring break crowd," he claims.
By the early '90s, the circuit-girl profession was providing local women with a way to earn easy money. Others planned to use the circuit to catapult fledgling modeling or acting careers into big-time opportunities. A handful succeeded; others faded into obscurity. Out of the hundreds of women who have entered Fort Lauderdale bikini contests since the heyday of spring break, perhaps five have hit it big, according to Luis Alicea, an agent with Famous Faces Entertainment, who represents three former circuit girls, including Christine Marais.
Marais, who was on the circuit for five years, says that, unlike many of her colleagues, she spent her days working hard, taking acting lessons and going to auditions to further her career. When she quit the circuit and moved to Los Angeles, her hard work paid off. She just completed filming for her role as the female villain in a B movie, and an audition landed her a job at a local Fox Sports TV program. She claims that most circuit girls are simply waiting to be discovered.
"There's no potential for modeling," Marais says. "We're too short. There's no $10,000 a day in any of us. There's no supermodel in any of them. There's a hundred million beautiful people, and you have to put in the time. Some of the girls are lazy."
That's precisely what worries circuit-girl parents.
"I think the whole thing is keeping her from getting a job," complained one mother, who didn't want to be identified. "My friends all have daughters with careers. They can be anything -- doctors, lawyers, anything in life.... [My daughter has] capabilities, but she really hasn't gotten into anything she can put on a resume."
Marais couldn't agree more. While she was on the circuit, she says, people assumed she was a bimbo; worse yet, they treated her that way. For five years she struggled to maintain self-respect.
"I don't think it's a good experience," she concludes. "A lot of people do it very young, and I think some people are disrespectful of women. And if you don't have the tolerance or you're not balanced enough, I think it can leave a bad mark with you."
But for every Marais, who leaves the circuit in disgust, there's another woman in South Florida willing to give the circuit a shot. It's 11 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and Christine Hauser, age 26, has just walked into Danny's West with two male friends to compete in her first bikini contest. While she waits for the contest to begin, she sits in a booth by the door with her friends, sipping soft drinks.
It's already been a long day for Hauser. She says she woke up early this morning to get to her job as a preschool teacher. She likes the job, she says, and would like to continue teaching and return to school for her bachelor's degree. But right now she can't afford it. The circuit, she believes, could be the answer. She doesn't plan to do it for long, she says, just long enough to pay the bills.
"I just want to get through school, get married, and have kids," she says. "Very boring. Very wholesome."
Tonight's crowd is small, consisting of the two dozen or so regulars who come every night of the week, whether there's a contest or not. The contest at Danny's is only a month old and has not quite taken off yet. That's a good thing for Hauser, who is nervous about being scrutinized by a bunch of strangers.
Hauser knows she'll win something tonight. She's one of only four contestants, and they've already agreed to split the $300 pot by giving the first- and second-place winners $100 each, the remaining two $50 each.
When the emcee introduces Hauser, she steps carefully onto the dance floor, wearing the requisite high heels and a pink-and-white-striped bikini. She has straight brown hair that flows behind her shoulders to the small of her back. Her long, fair-skinned legs tremble. The other three contestants -- all of them circuit girls -- have their acts down pat: the confident wave, the flip of the hair, the sultry smile. Hauser forces a smile of her own.
Within 15 minutes the contest is over, and because the crowd is so small, it doesn't take long to gauge audience approval. With the help of her two friends, who applaud and give shouts of approval, Hauser wins second place. The emcee lights up a cigarette, the patrons resume drinking, and Hauser is relieved as she scurries off to the restroom to change clothes. "Gosh," she exclaims when she returns. "That was the easiest $100 I ever made.
