It's a Mad, Mad World

Don Draper is starting over.

The pilot episode of AMC's Mad Men put me to sleep. I was puzzled at just how hyped up audiences were over a period drama about advertising. Too slow-moving, I thought. Too dated. Who is this Draper guy and why should I care?

That very question-- "Who is Don Draper?"-- is the show's focal point and a major part of what pulled me into the world of Mad Men. Season 4 premiered earlier this week, and I'm itching to see what's in store for Don and co.

Throughout the past few months, I caught up on Seasons 1-3 thanks to the magic of DVD. By the end of Season 1, my mother, father and I were all pulled in. Mad Men is one of the only shows currently on television that the three of us actually want to sit down and watch together (in addition to Parks and Recreation, Glee and Idol.)

After that pilot episode, I was too quick to write off Mad Men as a mess of smoking, drinking and philandering. But the endless parade of cigarettes, whiskey and women add gritty realism to the artfully crafted storylines and compelling characters. Most notably, the actors portraying the various mad men and women breathe life, depth, and believability into them. The casting is perfect: Jon Hamm's charm and sensitivity help make Don a likeable womanizer. Christina Hendricks as Joan is just as multifaceted: a headstrong office queen bee with a subtle layer of wisdom and warmth. They all feel real, and it's not just the beehive hairdos and steel gray suits that do it. The dialogue shows rather than tells what's going on between these characters exceptionally well (the Mad Men writers particularly excel at conveying the greatest possible meaning using the fewest number of words), and the acting is of the highest caliber.

My father nearly idolizes Don Draper for his talent, cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor and devotion to his children (let's exclude the infidelities and that little habit of operating a motor vehicle after one too many martinis). While my mom and I frequently find ourselves yelling at Don through the TV screen, we don't hate him. Don is no ordindary protagonist, but an anti-hero whose life reflects both the highs and lows of the American Dream. He's made his way up from squalor to wealth and success while coping with the ghosts of an unbelieveably dark past, not limited to: orphanhood, poverty, abuse, wartime, and a near-death experience. That very experience turns out to be Don's most life-changing moment, enabling him to cast his old identity aside for good (or so we think). Viewers see just how much Don Draper is a character he's created for himself, which is why may never get a sufficient answer to the "who" question-- he's writing his own story, making it up along the way.

I didn't think I'd connect to Mr. Draper, and to the show as a whole, as much as I do. My ambitions to earn money, build a career and travel up the social class ladder make up my own version of the American Dream. And advertising, a field I'd never even remotely considered in the past, is now more relevant than ever as a possible career option. Creative writers and thinkers seem destined for copywriting. Is it too much to want to be the next Peggy Olson (Mad Men's sole female copywriter, whose skill is discovered on a whim)? Raw talent goes a long way in the computerless offices of Sterling Cooper, and I'd like to hope it still does in today's techological whirlwind of a landscape.

One of the best quotes of the entire series comes from Episode 13 of Season 1 entitled "The Wheel," in which the team must pitch Kodak's new slide projector model. At the client meeting, Don knocks the pitch out of the park, but must reach deep into the pit of his emotional sufferring in order to do so:

"Nostalgia - it's delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek, 'nostalgia' literally means 'the pain from an old wound.' It's a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn't a spaceship, it's a time machine. It goes backwards, and forwards... it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It's not called 'The Wheel,' it's called 'The Carousel.' It lets us travel the way a child travels - around and around, and back home again, to a place where we know are loved."

If that isn't brilliant, I don't know what else is. Here's to a new season of Madison Avenue madness.

Woman Vs. Shoe

The silent-but-deadly culprit.

I hate high heels.
That's right ladies, I said it.

Ask anyone who knows me. Two pairs of heels sit in my closet. I don't even wear the second pair (a hand-me-down from a college buddy). Instead, sneakers (Converse, New Balance) and flip flops (Reeboks, Reefs) litter the floor of my room. Carrie Bradshaw would be appalled.

My rejection of an icon of femininity has now been brutally exposed. But what sparked it, and why?

For starters, I was born with relatively flat feet. The word "relatively" is employed here because something resembling an arch can be found on the inside of each foot, albeit barely there. Heels-- shoes built to emphasize the curve of a woman's foot-- are exponentially more difficult to fit into for flat-footed females like myself. Why put myself through the torture?

Second, I've got rather large feet. Size: 10W. The shock and horror! Hold back your gasps. My feet grew at a rapid rate for as long as I can remember, and they've certainly added an element of clumsiness to my life (which actually worked for me on the ultimate frisbee field of yesteryear). It's uncommon to see a shoe store stocked with loads of women's shoes over a size 9. Having always had less to choose from, I found these stores frustrating and unimpressive in the first place. Sizes 10 and up are the outcasts of estrogen-heavy Shoetopia.

Third: I'm fairly tall (5'6), so I don't feel the need to add a few inches to my height when I'm going out. Heels, pumps, platforms, none of them are necessary. (Perhaps if I were more severely vertically challenged-- a friend of mine stands at 4'11-- I'd feel a tiny bit differently.)

But perhaps most importantly, I'm a product of my environment. My mom was never too heel-crazy herself. I wasn't raised to worship shoes, and this is a financial relief I must thank her for. Such an obsession would be just another extra expense of daily living. I can barely keep up with all of the New Jersey Transit tickets, concerts and drink purchases that have come to define my post-college lifestyle.

However, I do understand that there's a time and place for everything. Obviously I'm not going to show up to a job interview wearing neon green, ripped Chuck Taylor All Stars. This is why I own the perfect pair of all-purpose heels. They can be worn to work, to a wedding, to the bars, wherever. Solid black, standard closed toe with a short heel. The LBD (little black dress) of shoes, if you may. I also comprehend the feelings of empowerment that come with a pair of heels. I dig my LBS (well, they're not exactly "little"). This energy, however, is not exclusive to the wearing of heels alone. It's not just what you or I wear, it's how we wear it (which means even sneakers can be sexy... when utilized appropriately).

To all the Gucci lovers out there who may misunderstand my lack of shoe passion: simply put, I am a person who, for the most part, values comfort over style (or rather, what's currently in style). This is a widely acceptable life philosophy for most guys (or at least most of my male acquaintances), yet it comes across as ridiculous when women express similar sentiments. God forbid somebody might call us frumpy. It all boils down to the pressure to look good, and by "good" I really mean girly. Being feminine/sexy/attractive equals status equals power.

I'm not advocating protests outside DSW or the public burning of Manolo Blahniks. But to my female readers: how about the next time you find yourself on a shopping spree, try out a slightly less sky-high pair that you wouldn't normally buy? Go ahead, blur the edges and toe the line of those gender norms. Your feet will thank you for it.

Rites of Passage

Careful what you say, New Yorkers.

I'm excited (maybe a bit too excited... oh who am I kidding, I deserve it!) to report that a conversation I submitted to Overheard in New York was officially deemed humorous by Team Overheard and published on the site. Go to the main page, scroll down to the posts dated 7/11/2010, and you'll find my little nugget of an exchange between a mother and her daughter on the subway.

 

Now Quit Whining and Drink Your Cappucino

Little girl: I'm gonna be 4!

Mom: In December.

Little girl: In December!

Mom: And you're gonna be this short forever. You're not gonna grow.

Little girl: Whaaa-aaaat?

--Q Train

Overheard by: Brigid

 

FYI regarding OINY submissions: the reader sends in the quote, and Team Overheard writes the snarky title. In this case, I think they did a fine job. I'd like to thank God, my parents, and the crazy people on the Q train for making this Gothamist's dream come true.

 

On the note of accomplishments, today marks one year since I officially sold my soul joined the working world. I could say something obvious like "Time flies!" or "Where does the time go?" but I won't. Looking back on a major life event almost always puts us in awe of how fresh the event still feels in our heads. On July 13, 2009, dressed for success and fifteen minutes early, I was shaking like a chihuahua in that elevator on my way up to Orientation Day 1. And a year from now, I'll be open-mouthed and wondering how RWY2 (Real World Year 2) will already have come and gone. So it goes.

 

Anyway, one year of waking up at 6 AM, hour-plus subway commutes within my own borough, and working for the man five days a week deserves a personal pat on the back. One down-- a few more to go.