It's kind of funny that someone who represented Australia in one of the biggest global competitions — which is watched by an estimated 500 million viewers in over 190 territories — didn't know how to say "nauuuuur" (it's how Aussies pronounce the word "no") when she was a teenager. Why? Because she had a thick Indian accent.
Nonetheless, she did it and went on to become only the third woman of colour to represent Australia in Miss Universe's 69-year history. My name is Maria Thattil and this is my story.
For starters, I'm an author (my book Unbounded has just been released), actor, media commentator, speaker and diversity advocate. I'm also the daughter of Indian immigrants — one of who is an ex-Catholic priest. Yes, that's right. The man I call Dad was "Father Tony" to everyone else, until my mum strutted into his office wearing a leather skirt and seduced him out of the priesthood. But that's another story (Chapter 1 of Unbounded — you're welcome).
I grew up in the bustling city of Melbourne, raised within the rich culture of my Indian heritage. But as a teenager, I couldn't help but feel like it conflicted with the culture of the country I was born in…and desperately wanted to fit into. My friends thought I was over-familiar when referring to every adult I encountered as "aunty" or "uncle". I couldn't explain why we had that plastic bag full of other plastic bags in the kitchen. I'd struggle to lie when I had to tell my friends about the 10pm curfew my dad enforced for a party starting at 9pm. I hated the disparity between roast chicken dinners and the biryani we ate at home. I yearned to be more 'white.'
I often wondered whether people assumed that brown people connected via a secret network because, "Oh, I know an Indian person!" was often the first response when I'd answer queries about my ethnicity. But serious bullying rooted in racism meant that I always felt like I was on the fringes, so it angered me when my parents would tell me to "take pride in my differences." I felt like I wasn't Indian enough to be Indian, nor Australian enough to be Australian.
"I felt like I wasn't Indian enough to be Indian, nor Australian enough to be Australian."
When you compound the experience of racism with sexism and rampant queerphobia (I came out as bisexual on national television last year), you just don't see people like me represented in spaces that matter. That lack of visibility meant that a lot of people saw me through toxic caricatures and exaggerated stereotypes for most of my life. This made being ambitious tough. So, I compromised by deciding to succeed, but conservatively so. That felt safe.
I went on to graduate with degrees in Psychology and Management with first-class honours — and was even nominated for a scholarship to Harvard through a fellowship program. All I knew was that I wanted a career where I could pursue a purpose, be of service and make an impact. I went into corporate human resources whilst also pursuing a make-up qualification to satisfy my creative itch. But that itch developed into full-blown hives.
I started posting beauty content on Instagram — and advocating for diversity in the beauty landscape in my posts. From there, I started to build a community, which made me think differently about purpose, service and impact. Ultimately, I began to question the "safe" route — especially after seeing Priya Serrao, an Indian-Australian lawyer, win Miss Universe Australia in 2019. I checked my own internalised misogyny and recognised the potential of Miss Universe's platform as a vehicle for achieving my goals.
Then, a year later, I became Miss Universe Australia. However, when I won, I wasn't what people expected and my new platform opened me up to major discourse, both domestically and internationally. As I describe in Chapter 6 of Unbounded, "The discussion often focused on my 'Australianness' […] From taunts to 'deport her' from the very country I was born and raised in, to observations that I 'looked like Miss India, Miss Israel, anything BUT Australia' [...] And 'confusion' at how the organisation chose someone who didn't look like the 'majority' of people the country was comprised of. They went on to liken my representation to 'Kenya sending a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes to represent them.'"
"The discussion often focused on my 'Australianness' […] From taunts to 'deport her' from the very country I was born and raised in, to observations that I 'looked like Miss India, Miss Israel, anything BUT Australia.'"
This wasn't just about me becoming Miss Universe Australia. This was about the pervasive systems for beauty, power and success that exclude so many people of colour. Truthfully, it was a scary experience.
As a woman of colour, I know what it's like to have to hustle harder just to be able to knock on the door of opportunity at all. It felt safer to avoid knocking, because I believed the door wouldn't open — but I was done playing it safe. When I became Miss Universe Australia, I was at last ready to follow my parents' advice and take pride in my differences.
Rather than hiding, I decided not to ignore that I was a woman of colour facing racism for being different from what people expected. I shone a light on it, built their criticisms into my campaign and used it as my 'why'.
I ignited conversations challenging the misrepresentation and under-representation of people of colour, wrote articles championing diversity and spearheaded campaigns on inclusivity. Because when I placed in the top 10 of the global Miss Universe competition, I proved that the things binding us to the fringes can be used as fuel to power us into the spaces they once kept us out of.
"I was only the third woman of colour to represent Australia at Miss Universe, but I won't be the last."
I was only the third woman of colour to represent Australia at Miss Universe, but I won't be the last. And as I continue to grow, I will never forget the things that keep me grounded.
The plastic bag that's full of other plastic bags in mum's kitchen. The sound of Bollywood music and the aroma of biryani when I walk into my family home. The respect I have for elders. And the pride in my hybrid cultural identity — because the middle ground can also be home.
Take it from a brown Miss Australia — you can be a proud desi and still rip a satisfying "naaaaaaaurrrr."
One of Australia's boldest voices, Maria Thattil is a media personality, advocate, writer, speaker and creator. A passionate advocate for diversity, LGBTQIA+ rights and addressing violence against women and children, Maria has dedicated her career to campaigning for change and representation. She lives in Melbourne and spends the rest of her time fawning over her dog and consuming excessive amounts of Nutella. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter.
