‘I Am Cait’ docu-series,
practical and powerful
TV REVIEW
After her Vanity Fair
debut, viewers see
Caitlyn Jenner
By CAROLINE FILIPS
Summer Senior Arts Editor
“I just hope I get it right,” she
says.
It’s no makeup o’clock, but she
doesn’t
mind.
She has a story
to tell, a mes-
sage to share and
the voice of an
unjustly margin-
alized
commu-
nity to broadcast.
It’s 4:32 in the
morning,
and
she
can’t
help
but lament the tragic, preventable
transgender deaths before her
time, before her voice, her mes-
sage and her story.
Dear world, meet Cait.
Sunday’s premiere of E!s new-
est docu-series “I Am Cait” was
nothing short of a societal breath
of fresh air. Clichés were banished
(writers everywhere rejoice!), my
sobs were audible and, hopefully,
hearts and minds were opened.
For the first time onscreen — off
the pages of Vanity Fair and off
the record — we met Caitlyn Jen-
ner, or her self-dubbed epithet,
“the new normal”.
For ten seasons on E!, view-
ers literally kept up with the
partly vapid, yet equally fasci-
nating lives of the Kardashians.
Sex tapes were leaked, earrings
were lost in the ocean, Rob dated
an ex-Cheetah Girl, Scott Dis-
ick became The Lord and mar-
riages were annulled after less
than three months. Yet at its
core, throughout life’s peaks
and troughs, family came first
for the clan; a family complete
with Bruce Jenner, father figure
for the children of Kris Jenner
and the late Robert Kardashian,
and the biological father of his
daughters with Kris, Kendall
and Kylie Jenner.
Anytime
catfights
persisted
longer than their usual five min-
utes, or Kendall and Kylie almost
succumbed to high school cur-
riculums, or Kris lost her shit,
Bruce always added a sense of nor-
malcy to each episode; he’d bring
them back down to earth as they
descended from their Balmain-
clad heights.
But
despite
his
refreshing
pragmatism in a household of
all things nonsensical, Bruce
deceived them all. He spent
what’s recognized as the better
part of one’s life with an internal
pull, a wavering sense of self — a
wrongly ascribed gender iden-
tity. After 65 years, a gold medal,
three marriages and six children,
Bruce bid adieu to his falsified
lifestyle, and Caitlyn earnestly,
determinedly emerged as the
woman she always knew she was.
Like most significant social
advancements as they come into
fruition, the fight for transgender
equality is marked by a horrify-
ing excess of devastating casual-
ties, with few, albeit triumphant,
heroes. In the event of over-
whelmingly insufferable realities,
most of us are mere spectators,
too afraid to invalidate an unac-
cepting society on our own. How-
ever, valorous leaders invariably
emerge. Cait’s taking a step in the
right direction, emphasizing a
takeaway for all — being one’s true
self in their one life.
Although Caitlyn is finally vic-
torious after a lifetime of internal
battles, much of the transgender
population doesn’t have the finan-
cial means to undergo the bodily
reconstruction necessary to signal
their transformation in an appear-
ance-obsessed society. For that,
they’re misunderstood, mocked
and in the most extreme cases,
murdered. Cait is painfully aware
of this. In the premiere’s open-
ing, intimate moments, she states
“we don’t want people dying over
this, we don’t want people mur-
dered over this stuff, God, what a
responsibility I have”, recognizing
her celebrity as crucial to halting
unwarranted hate.
For the remaining 40 minutes,
we’re privy to Cait’s habitual
woes — ducking in the backseat to
avoid the invasive paparazzi, the
mourning of countless transgen-
der youths, along with the nerves
accompanying her introductions
to family and friends who knew
her as Bruce. But the most moving
initial encounter is that with her
mother, Esther. Aside from the
obvious reasons, it’s touching, yet
relatable to all — it is clear that no
matter how old we may be, we’re
still intrinsically children; mom’s
approval matters.
‘I Am Cait’ strays from the dra-
matics so often inextricable from
reality TV. As it’s majorly raw, unte-
thered Cait and her sincere exchang-
es and blithe smiles, the scripted
aspect is seldom recognizable.
In its poignant, yet practical
approach to championing the
rights of transgender individuals,
‘Cait’ excels. The realistic, nur-
turing approach once reserved to
resolving trivial matters within
the Kardashian household was
so essential to Bruce Jenner’s
stoic, yet playful presence on the
series. With Cait, her zeal for life
is amplified, pairing that inher-
ent levelheadedness with resolute
self-acceptance.
Sandwich of the
month: tomato
6
Thursday, July 30, 2015
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
ARTS
FLICKR
“These are too pretty to actually taste good” - Catherine
E!
#SQUADGOALS
A-
I Am Cait
Series
Premiere
E!
COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK
By CATHERINE SULPIZIO
Senior Arts Editrix
There is only one sandwich
to eat in August, and that’s the
tomato sandwich. As a self-pro-
claimed tomato-phile, abstract
concepts like “in-season” or
“local” don’t impinge on my
year-round consumption. But
let’s make this clear: there is a
world of difference between the
mealy varieties found in even
the best grocery stores (looking
at you, Whole Foods) that I eat
with a melancholic air and the
sublime specimens that start
popping up in farmer’s markets
around June. The latter are the
only ones to buy during summer.
By late July, they’re impossibly
sweet (I would call it ambrosial,
but my editor would call that
hyperbolic) and brimming with
green seeds and juices and a
special je ne sais quoi, especial-
ly if you leave them out on the
counter for a few days (Never
refrigerate tomatoes. Ever.).
You can eat them like an
apple with a saltshaker on a
porch if you want to. You can
arrange slices of them on a plat-
ter with avocado slivers, a gen-
erous drizzle of olive oil and a
squeeze of lemon, or roast them
until they’re these gem-like
orbs sublated to their sweet-
est, tartest essence with a bit-
ter trace of caramelization — or
you can do the best of these
and make a tomato sandwich.
It’s so simple, yet it is the epi-
curean embodiment of ingre-
dients transcending the sum of
their parts. This is the sand-
wich I dream of during the cold
months of dusty root vegetables
with nary a vermilion sphere in
sight, and now is the peak time
to make it.
Here’s what you do. Go to
Ann Arbor Farmers Market,
Saturday or Wednesday. Buy
a tomato — heirloom, plum,
beefsteak, red, green, yellow,
zebra — anything that’s haz-
ardously soft to the touch and
speaks to you. I have a working
theory that ugly tomatoes are
the yummiest and it has yet to
fail me. Other people (read: less
informed) are more squeamish,
but the ones with busted seams,
all misshapen, the outcasts of
the nightshade world are the
ones to zero in on. Make sure
it’s teetering on overripe so you
get all those vital juices.
Buy rye bread. Some pur-
ists insist on Wonder Bread but
I swear by the deep, slightly
sour taste of Jewish rye. It cuts
through the tomato without
being too distracting. Mayon-
naise is yet another disputation.
Southerners swear by Duke’s.
Others are fine with Hellman’s.
Only blasphemers use Miracle
Whip. I personally use my own
profane brand: vegan. Hear
me out, Just Mayo, Hampton
Creek’s version, is amazing. So
amazing, it beat out regular car-
nivore mayo in a Serious Eats
taste test. No artificial ingre-
dients, soy-free, blah blah blah,
but most importantly, free of any
sweetness like other conven-
tional ones, and tart.
Toast the bread, slather on the
mayo of your choice, and slice the
tomatoes into thick slabs. Don’t
you dare core it — the seeds are
the best part. Salt and pepper
judiciously. Eat it over the kitch-
en sink or do like I do and put it
on a plate and grab a wad of nap-
kins so you can sink into bliss at
your own convenience.