In Defense of Tom Sandoval

Tom Sandoval’s arrival at The Traitors castle felt like when Sean Spicer popped up on Dancing With the Stars: distasteful, unnecessary, indulgent. “Do you see who it is?” wrestler Nikki Garcia asked former Bachelor/ette favorite Gabby Windey as the cast filed out of vans in the premiere. “Yeah,” Windey said, turning away, “I’m not saying hi to him.” The sentiment echoes what many Traitors fans presumed from the moment the cast was announced: Sandoval, a man made globally famous for cheating on his longtime partner with their reality-TV co-star, wouldn’t remain in the game long enough to be worth acknowledging. It’s no wonder the other contestants kept their distance from his wandering eyes and expanding pit stains.

But as the season winds down and the number gathering at the roundtable nightly shrinks, Sandoval — he of few allies, even fewer victories, numerous fuckups, and, most recently, a Freudian slip when he suggested “women are better cheaters” sparked a full-blown group pile-on — has outlasted nearly all of his Bravo comrades. Intentions aside, the “cheaters” moment (he claims he meant to say “Traitors”) crystallized his role in the castle, on the show, and in society: Sandoval is Pagliacci, The Traitors’ tragic clown and long-suffering jester.

Consider the ways in which Sandoval suffers. He is desperate for levity and compassion, yet he is the butt of every joke. He lopes through the house with shame, his burden heavy and hilarious. He sweats; he cries wolf. He takes everything so seriously such that he enjoys nothing, and no one wants to include him in any fun. We never see Sandoval playing badminton or goofing around on the grounds. Instead, he roams the hallways of the castle as if the task of uncovering Traitors physically pains him. He’s taking this all extremely seriously — and it’s hilarious.

Does Sandoval’s agony make him sympathetic? That’s beside the point. Each week, he endures like no man, except maybe Rodney Dangerfield, has ever endured: He gets no respect. It doesn’t matter if he humiliates himself on behalf of his fellow Faithfuls, singing backward lullabies into the phone to add money to the winner’s pot, or if he humiliates himself by attempting entry into a conversation where he’s instantly dismissed. The result is the same. Even when he does something really well, like nail a challenge or oust a Traitor, the victory is short-lived. By breakfast the next morning, everyone is back to hoping he got murdered and subsequently rolling their eyes when he walks through the door. While his castmates may have grown tired of him during the show’s abbreviated shoot, fans have only grown fonder over the weeks the season airs. His emergence as an alternative sort of fan favorite — neither hero nor villain — cements an undeniable legacy: Tom Sandoval is good TV.

The Traitors, like a number of reality shows, can be an exercise in reputation laundering. By appearing in a slightly different context, once-maligned figures can gain a second wind with which they’ll then bargain for the Instagram sponsorships needed to power their lifestyle going forward. While Sandoval is perhaps taking advantage of this in the most bald-faced way on The Traitors, he’s joined by the likes of Sam Asghari, Britney Spears’s mysterious ex-husband, and Ivar Mountbatten, a minor royal who used to work for the parent company of Cambridge Analytica. In the most recent episode, the duo paired up to target the remaining women based on Asghari’s hunch that, because the two Traitors eliminated were men, at least one other would have to be a woman. Though this hunch isn’t wrong, Mountbatten and Asghari approached it with a sly misogyny, asserting that Boston Rob and Bob the Drag Queen, “two quite powerful Traitors,” prevailed on convincing a weaker player — Summer House’s Ciara Miller — to get into a coffin to divert suspicion, thus cementing another Faithful’s banishment by episode’s end.

That Sandoval is the public enemy and resident misogynist of the castle feels like a misnomer, especially when only a few weeks ago, Faithful Wes was banished, in part, for how he spoke to women. Has Mountbatten spoken to any woman in this house in weeks? Sandoval, in comparison, sneers and simpers to no success whatsoever; his bad behavior, on and off The Traitors, yields nothing. His previous lying and cheating may be nasty, but his own incompetence outweighs whatever harmfulness he inflicts. His uglier moments are undercut by his own clownishness — he is never not stepping on a rake. This is not a person to take seriously; therefore, it’s easier to let him off the hook and enjoy what he brings to the castle week after week.

When a handful of contestants went to the cathedral to face their possible murder in person, each at-risk player said a small prayer. “If I die, I die a happy man!” Sandoval cried out into the belly of the church. He’d seen his first victory that episode — identifying and ousting Boston Rob to the cheers of his fellow castmates. Sandoval would have died a happy man had he been murdered the night after Rob’s elimination. The Traitors, however, killed Chrishell, who was “too faithful,” prolonging Sandoval’s abject misery. To watch Sandoval at breakfast each episode is to watch the light drain from someone’s eyes in real time. He barges through the door, proud and elated to have made it another night, only for a quick aside or muttered jab to knock the wind out of his sails. With each new episode, I can only hope Sandoval survives another night. The more he suffers, the better the show is.