I finally watched “Jane the Virgin.” 

I know the series released nine years ago. I know it has a predominantly Latine cast, an accomplishment for American television at the time. I know it’s set in my hometown, Miami, and that the three most prevalent characters — Jane Villanueva, her mother Xiomara and her abuela Alba — are Venezuelan, like me. It’s the exact show I’d want to see. 

I just couldn’t get around to watching it because of its unfamiliarity. 

There is no shortage of TV shows set in Miami. A couple of the first Miami shows I learned about were “Miami Vice” and “CSI Miami” while I was in elementary school. They were just pop culture references in my mind. No one would let a child watch a detective or police show, especially when said child had nightmares for a month after watching one of the Chucky movies. The first Miami show I sat down to watch was Disney Channel’s “Austin & Ally.” 

When it first aired in 2011, I was ecstatic. We made it on Disney. Every time the scene would cut to the b-roll where they would feature shots of colorful lifeguard towers on South Beach, I tried spotting the same towers when my family made the 30-minute drive from Doral (minus traffic). 

Even though the setting looked familiar, there was something off about the show. Maybe it was the classic-and-ever-omniscient-Disney laugh track, or the bright yellow Mall of Miami, or the upbeat Disney-style pop songs that sounded eerily similar to the other upbeat Disney-style pop songs.

Then I realized: Trish De La Rosa is the only visible, recurring Latine character in the show.

Trish is useful as comedic relief. Her job: Ally’s best friend. The token best friend who identifies and presents as a person of color was a common television trope then. It was useful. On the “black best friend” trope, critic Eric Deggans writes, it “[made] the cast of a TV show or film look diverse, while ensuring non white characters never really steal the spotlight for long.”

But wait! Trish is also a professional! She’s Austin and Ally’s manager! And that’s not the only job she has! She has many, but nearly all of them seem to be minimum-wage jobs that she often gets fired from because she’s a “terrible” employee and she “lacks discipline”! And they are funny jobs at funny companies that make her wear funny costumes! “Sausage cart,” “Suzy’s Soups,” Meatballas,” “Mailboxes and So Forth” — do you get the joke? Do you?

Alas, it’s not “Austin & Ally’s” responsibility to be authentic. After all, they could have changed the setting and nothing in the storyline would have been impacted (I don’t think any musical artists are concerned whether Austin and Ally’s experience of breaking into the music industry is authentic either). What makes me critical about “Jane the Virgin” is the fact that Miami and Venezuela are characters in the show, but they sit in the background. 

“Jane the Virgin” doesn’t subscribe to any tropes except that of the telenovela, which it does so intentionally and with comedic and dramatic effect. It doesn’t scream “Hey, did you know these characters are Venezuelan? Because they are and you should know that they are sooo Venezuelan.” I respect that. 

Apart from using certain phrases and mentions though, the show doesn’t put much effort in leaning into Venezuelan culture. From the show’s first scene, it’s clear Jane loves three things: her “family, God and grilled cheese sandwiches.” Oh, and abuela’s arepas, but that’s revealed later in the first season (can’t get more Venezuelan-American than that). I remember Alba saying the word “chévere” in the way it’s used in Venezuela once (which isn’t exclusively Venezuelan, but I was still surprised). And throughout the entire show, it is never forgotten that Alba immigrated from Venezuela. The fact that she arrived in the U.S. undocumented is a major plot point in her arc. Where specifically, you ask? I wonder the same thing. 

Behind the camera, the representation is not much better. The three actresses that portray these strong, determined Venezuelan women are Puerto Rican. I’m not saying that only Puerto Ricans can play Puerto Ricans and Venezuelans must play Venezuelans. That is a different conversation that I think depends on the production and its resources. My play, “Mango,” has Venezuelan characters. Although it had a predominantly Latine cast the time it was read for the Yale Playwright’s Festival, only one actor identified as Venezuelan. 

But for a show that seems to have the budget to include celebrity cameos like Isabel Allende, David Bisbal, Juanes, Britney Spears and Bruno Mars, I find it hard to believe that there is a lack of talented Venezuelan actors perfect for the roles. The only Venezuelan actor I can name whom I think Americans would recognize from TV is Fred Armisen, who played a Venezuelan parks department vice director in “Parks and Recreation.” That’s a problem. 

It’s not enough to say that the show “proves diversity is more than skin deep,” as a 2015 Atlantic headline reads, and give the showrunners a gold star for Latine representation that feels complex and human. When a show presents characters that identify with underrepresented cultures in American media, it is key to treat that culture with intentionality, respect and the specificity that it deserves. Our culture is more than skin deep. It’s in our blood.

ISA DOMINGUEZ is a current co-editor for the Opinion desk and a staff columnist for the News. Originally from Doral, Florida, she is a senior in Timothy Dwight College majoring in English. Contact her at isa.dominguez@yale.edu.