It was, perhaps, only coincidental that the shy, elderly, Olympic decathlon champion and Wheaties box icon ended up on the cover of America’s glossiest glossy magazine attended by a squadron of make-up artists, costumers, publicists, drapers, lighting designers, endocrinologists, agents, and managers under the direction of supreme photographic commander Annie Liebowitz. And, perhaps, another coincidence that the E! Network is producing an eight-part reality show (“docu-series”) on the journey of America’s new transgender sweetheart from sweaty, hairy, testosterone-jacked athlete to air-brushed pin-up “girl.” I guess fanfare is sometimes just the unexpected cherry-on-top of life’s big creamy cake.
But doesn’t it all raise the question: why is it so important for the nation’s cultural stage managers to make the case that a life of sexual confusion is the highest-and-best way of being in this world? It’s everywhere. A day does not pass lately when The New York Times fails to run a front-page story about the triumph of transgender life. One easy theory might be that old chestnut about folks out on the “cutting edge” always needing a new way to épater le bourgeois, shock and horrify the middle class (into the recognition of their pathetic, mind-numbing dullness.) Maybe the middle class doesn’t have enough to think about with keeping a step ahead of the re-po man, or being billed $30,000 to give birth in a hospital, or working 70 hours a week.
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