‘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

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“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.

