In a rare public statement that has drawn renewed scrutiny to Donald Trump’s history with the nation’s most prominent beauty competitions, a former Miss USA and Miss Teen USA judge has asserted that the “smoking gun” connecting Trump to long-standing allegations of misconduct has been hiding in plain sight for decades.
Steve Seabold, a former judge and trainer who worked closely with dozens of pageant winners and finalists, posted a short video in which he urged journalists to re-examine the structure and culture of the pageants Trump owned from the mid-1990s through 2015. While he offered no new documents or interviews and emphasized he would not publicly elaborate, the content and tone of his warning have revived old accounts, resurfaced past statements by Trump, and reopened questions about the environment he created behind the scenes.
Seabold’s message points investigators toward individuals who may have had direct visibility into Trump’s backstage activities, including hosts Billy Bush and Nancy O’Dell, both of whom were involved repeatedly in Miss USA and Miss Teen USA ceremonies. Without accusing the hosts of wrongdoing, Seabold framed them as potential witnesses to dynamics that contestants say were routinely downplayed or ignored.
His comments add weight to years of firsthand testimony that had long circulated but gained fresh attention during Trump’s 2016 campaign. Among the most widely discussed accounts is that of Tasha Dixon, Miss Arizona 2001, who described Trump entering a dressing room while contestants—many of them teenagers—were in various stages of undress preparing for a bikini rehearsal. Dixon, then 18, said Trump’s unannounced arrival was “shocking,” not only because of the physical vulnerability of the moment but because staff encouraged contestants to “go fawn all over him.”
“There’s no one to complain to,” she said in a previous interview. “He owns the pageant.” Former contestants have echoed that sentiment over the years, characterizing a system in which Trump wielded unchecked power and backstage access was treated as an entitlement rather than a breach of professional boundaries.
Trump has never denied that he entered dressing areas at his pageants. In a 2005 Howard Stern interview, he boasted that as the pageant owner, he was “allowed to go in” when the contestants were changing because he was “inspecting” the competition. The comments were broadcast live and later resurfaced during the 2016 election cycle. At the time, the remarks were dismissed by some as crude humor, but pageant insiders argue that the behavior described was consistent with actual practices.
Beyond conduct backstage, critics have long pointed to Trump’s public remarks about contestants and models as part of a broader pattern. During the 2016 race, Hillary Clinton called attention to Trump’s treatment of Alicia Machado, a former Miss Universe, whom he publicly mocked as “Miss Piggy.” Trump later directed his followers to search online for what he characterized as Machado’s “sex tape.” These actions—documented and public—have increasingly been referenced by observers as part of a continuum of behavior rather than isolated incidents.
Seabold’s decision to speak now, after years of silence, appears connected to growing pressure for transparency surrounding Trump’s past, including his long-documented association with Jeffrey Epstein. He explicitly states that investigators have been focusing on the wrong venues—flight logs, private estates, or sealed federal files—when the most revealing evidence may lie in the institutional framework Trump controlled for nearly two decades.
“The smoking gun is Miss USA and Miss Teen USA,” Seabold said in his video. “If you’re in the media and you’re looking for information, start with Billy Bush… start there and go down the rabbit hole.”
While Seabold’s remarks do not constitute a new allegation of criminal behavior, they underscore systemic issues within the pageant ecosystem during the years Trump owned the competitions. Former participants have described a workplace where the power imbalance was so steep that lodging a complaint felt professionally impossible. Contestants depended on the organization for public exposure, future career opportunities, and endorsement prospects—factors that discouraged speaking out.
Advocates for reform argue that this dynamic mirrors those that allowed misconduct in other high-profile industries to persist for decades, from Hollywood to sports to political institutions. Pageants, they note, often involve young women still navigating early professional environments without meaningful safeguards or independent oversight. When the owner of the organization is the individual alleged to have crossed boundaries, the standard mechanisms for accountability collapse entirely.
The renewed attention also raises questions about the longevity of such systems. Many former contestants later enter public-facing fields, including broadcasting, advocacy, and politics. Their reluctance to speak openly, some insiders assert, may stem not from the absence of experiences but from the risk of professional retaliation or harassment.
For now, Seabold maintains he will not elaborate further, citing concerns about personal safety and the “dangerous territory” associated with publicly challenging powerful individuals. But his comments have already reignited public debate about Trump’s conduct and the institutional conditions that enabled it. Whether they prompt formal investigation remains uncertain, but they have placed spotlight back onto an era of Trump’s career often overshadowed by more contemporary controversies.
As calls for closer examination grow, one question appears central: not whether a single document or revelation will emerge, but whether the structure of the pageants Trump oversaw—and the culture he shaped within them—deserves a deeper reckoning than it ever received.
