When Rory Gilmore Slept with Pete Campbell

Image Credit: AMC
Image Credit: AMC

This interview in Slate may not exactly win Alexis Bledel any points as a literary critic, but it does offer insight into the self-destructive femininity her Mad Men character represents, a character diametrically opposed to the supremely positive Rory Gilmore. Gilmore Girls was characterized by a female-centered universe where women controlled their destinies with relative ease. Rory—intelligent, assertive, kind—embodied the ideal daughter most parents could only dream of raising. I can’t help but wonder if her casting as Beth Dawes—a woman whose only form of protest is self harm—was meant not only to highlight the limitations of an earlier era but also to suggest that the ghost of Beth may still haunt today’s liberated young women.

Rory represents a form of progressive womanhood that would have been unthinkable for Beth, but Beth’s brand of self-defeating femininity has not exactly disappeared despite the myriad cultural advances made by women. While we may have an easier time getting a job or a divorce today, we often still express inner turmoil through cutting, anorexia, or other less obvious forms of self harm. These associations are fitting in an episode titled “Lady Lazarus.” Sylvia Plath could only conceive of creative action through self annihilation, which is best embodied in this ode to the art of suicide. Why cast an actress as the Lady Lazarus proxy when she is so commonly associated with the ideal of self-actualized young womanhood? Perhaps Bledel was just a bit of hipster stunt casting, but I’d like to believe Weiner used this pop cultural disconnect to imply that, unfortunately, self-destructive young women incapable of escaping rigid models of femininity are still alive and well in the age of Rory Gilmore.

Masculinity and its Discontents

Image Credit: AMC
Image Credit: AMC

Mad Men has now firmly entered the America of the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, a time when masculinity moved from grey-suited respectability to youthfulness, danger, and overt sexuality. Pete Campbell is pretty much the opposite of all these things. I suppose he’s still young, but his youth has always seemed less a marker of coolness and more symptomatic of his sniveling entitlement. Even though he is the only true WASP at Sterling Cooper Draper Price, this privilege only makes him squarer and less sexually appealing in the world of 1966. When Trudy—not Pete—is able to get Don to come to the country for a dinner party, Pete is embarrassingly excited as though the high school quarterback deigned to come to his thirteenth birthday party. He may believe this makes him cool by association. But it does not. He’s playing classical music at a party in Connecticut and bragging about it. We are a long, long way from Don’s white-carpeted loft and “Zou Bisou Bisou.”

The party further reinforces the distinctly physical allure of Don Draper—a raw sexuality characteristic of Mick Jagger, the Brit who was always more akin to the American Brando than the British Bond. Even though Don is older than Pete, he still appears more culturally relevant and thus more masculine simply because he looks so damn good with his shirt off. It’s not just that he is able to fix the faucet that Pete could only fiddle with (read: obvious sexual metaphor); it’s that all the women are clearly aroused just by his mere physicality. Pete will always be a blue blood, and Don’s identity will always be a lie. But in America, in 1966, this doesn’t matter. Masculinity has been severed from heredity, and sexuality is much less about class and more about primal sensuality and physical power. Continue reading “Masculinity and its Discontents”

Hurts so Good

Image Credit: AMC
Image Credit: AMC

Don Draper has always been an odd archetype of American masculinity. He is caught between the self-invention and desire for respectability of Jay Gatsby and the visceral, often frightening sexuality of Stanley Kowalski. Consequently, enlightened female viewers everywhere both despise what he represents and yet still want to fuck him. Not only does this episode explore this uncomfortable comingling of sex and violence but it also investigates the question of Don’s central decency and its relationship to the women in and out of his bed.

We begin with Peggy’s friend Joyce titillating the copywriting team with unpublished images of the Chicago nurses raped and murdered by Richard Speck in July 1966. When she describe details of the naked, bound victims as though she were telling a pornographic ghost story (echoed later in the super creepy narrative Grandma Pauline tells Sally), Joyce appears most interested in exciting Megan, who is clearly aroused. As the previous episode’s naked-cleaning-angry-floor-sex scene attests, a significant portion of Megan’s erotic attraction to Don is predicated on the same qualities that repulse her, which causes her constant pain outside the bedroom as evidenced by her clear annoyance at continually running into his former conquests. Continue reading “Hurts so Good”