Mary Anna is a junior studying english.
Reviewer Todd VanDerWerff posited in his retrospective look at the pilot of “Mad Men” that the series strives to answer two questions over the course of its seven, now completed, seasons: “Who is Don Draper?” and “Why do we want what we want?”
Now that the series has concluded, can we answer these questions? Not entirely, no. The character of Don Draper—a man whose false name indicates doubly his tendency to hide who he is, with “don” and “drape”—remains as transient as ever. He strives for American ideals, fails to meet his own expectations and runs away when he can no longer ignore the growing hole in his chest. However, in the end, Don is a fully realized character because he maintains his own singular identity while also managing to embody our own propensities for self-loathing and self-immolation. Dick Whitman is the man himself; Don Draper is who we as a society collectively long for. His character is the result of his attempts to reconcile these conflicting identities.
“Mad Men,” at its core, wants to portray people, not characters. This is where it differs from most other television shows. It wants to understand why its characters do the things they do, and it allows events to happen organically. Plot points occur because the characters will it, not because the showrunners forcibly will them into action.
One of the most important things “Mad Men” does is treat its female characters as human beings rather than just women. Few shows tackle society’s inability to recognize women as human with such fervor. The series is almost certainly the most feminist of the prestige dramas. In fact, it’s likely one of the most feminist long-running shows to ever air on popular television. While some are quick to claim sexism because “Mad Men” frequently portrays misogynist people doing misogynist things, these people fail to detect the irony between the show’s personal outlook and the beliefs of its characters.
A show itself isn’t sexist simply because it somewhat accurately portrays the attitudes of its time period. This irony comes to the forefront of the show in season one’s episode, “Babylon,” in which a man describes seeing a woman come up with an idea to be like “watching a dog play the piano.” The misogyny in previous episodes, which was insulting but distant—in addition to not being dissimilar to attitudes still commonplace today—turns into something more repulsive, a dehumanizing sentiment that systematically reduces women to sexual objects. It is fitting that the conclusion of “Babylon” features a female character standing stationary while gripping a bird’s cage, a present she did not ask for, but was forced upon her nonetheless.
As “Mad Men” progresses, Peggy and Joan, our main female protagonists, confront obstacle after obstacle in the workplace because of their gender. Peggy, despite possessing a Don-like talent in advertising and frequently adjusting her identity to best suit her environment, is unable to emulate Don’s meteoric rise as a creative director. Joan, in actively presenting her femininity, gains status gradually, only to have it abruptly taken away from her when Sterling Cooper is absorbed by McCann. Though the men who were absorbed gain enviable positions and attention, Joan is shunted because her role is reset to what it was at the beginning of the series; the men resume treating her as a glorified secretary.
The series treats its female characters as people first and women second, while, true to the times, the characters around them do the opposite, at least initially. It does the same with its characters of color. Shirley, a black woman in a sea of white men, says to her boss when she gives her notice, “Advertising is not a very comfortable place for everyone.” In a society that treats people of color and women as fundamentally lesser beings, it is often uncomfortable to observe how closely these circumstances parallel our own.
Some view “Mad Men” as a sneering observation of the past, a remote slight against an easy target. I disagree. “Mad Men” eviscerates these attitudes, yes, but it also simultaneously reflects how we continue to perpetuate them in modern society. It tears down those ideals of the American dream and questions why we still want the same things today as we did back then. As we are now, we continue to make the same mistakes as Don; we chase after beginnings only to become disenchanted, though we might not always have his ability to escape. “Don Draper” is the manifestation of a hollow image, a physical advertisement that promises greatness only to collapse under the pressures of reality. We cannot fill that shell, as such ideas of perfection and happiness cannot exist in permanence. We cannot live within an ad.
The narrative of “Mad Men” is one that we need. It concludes that none of us can be Don Draper—nor should we want to be.