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Emmy Week 2011: Here There Be Sexism?: ‘Game of Thrones’ and Gender

I recognize that there’s a difference between displaying sexism because it’s the time period and condoning said sexism. But this IS a fantasy, not history, meaning the writers can imagine any world they wish to create. So why imagine a misogynistic one?

Written by Megan Kearns, cross-posted from The Opinioness of the World

When I watched the premiere of Game of Thrones, I almost choked on all the rampant misogyny. I kept watching, lured by the premise and intrigued by the complex plots, curious if things for women would improve. Throughout the first season, which just aired its finale last night, women are raped, beaten, burned and trafficked. I suppose you could chalk it up to the barbarism of medieval times. And I’m sure many will claim that as the show’s defense…or that the men face just as brutal and severe a life. I also recognize that there’s a difference between displaying sexism because it’s the time period and condoning said sexism. But this IS a fantasy, not history, meaning the writers can imagine any world they wish to create. So why imagine a misogynistic one?

Based on the best-selling A Song of Fire and Ice series penned by fantasy author George R.R. Martin (who interjected a hefty amount of research into the books, including warfare, swordsmanship and medieval life), Game of Thrones takes place in a medieval land, where kings, queens, lords, ladies, warriors, knights, servants, priests, priestesses and prostitutes all play a role in a political battle of wills. Becoming an overnight sensation, the show dubbed “The Sopranos in Middle Earth,” (or fantasy for people who aren’t really into fantasy) packs every episode with political intrigue, compelling characters, subtle acting, rich dialogue and suspenseful plot twists. These are the reasons I love this complex show. But it’s hard for me to ignore all the sexism. Luckily, a multitude of strong, ferocious women DO inhabit this bleak fantasy world.

One of the most complicated characters, Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke), the meek, docile sister of her creepy pervo pimping brother, accused of having a “gentle heart,” becomes queen, the Khaleesi of the Dothraki. Watching her transformation into a caring yet steely, powerful queen (from standing up for herself against her douchebag brother Viserys Targaryen to defending women healers in a battle and rallying her people), has been one of the most enjoyable parts of the show for me. While she’s one of my fave characters, massive misogynistic problems still exist with her role. Viserys asks his sister:

Viserys: So tell me, sweet sister, how do we go home?

Daenerys: I don’t know.

Viserys: We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo’s army. I would let his whole tribe fuck you–all 40,000 men and their horses too if that’s what it took.

Oh, rape and sexual exploitation all in one. How fucking lovely. Daenerys falls in love with her husband, who her brother sold her off to, the warrior king Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa). Newsflash, no woman would fall in love with the man her bought and raped her. Doreah, one of Daenerys’ handmaidens, teaches her how to seduce Khal Drogo and gain his respect with her sensuality. Oh, that’s how women earn respect?? Silly me, I forgot about good old stiletto feminism.

Played spectacularly (if a bit underutilized) by Lena Headey (whom I loved, loved, LOVED in The Sarah Connor Chronicles and was the only redeeming thing about 300), Queen Cersei Lannister is the shrewd, manipulative Queen of the 7 Kingdoms, obsessed with power. A cunning and scheming survivor, she orchestrates political machinations. In the book (which I haven’t read), she’s annoyed by the constraints of her gender which don’t allow her greater political power. She also utters the line to Lord Eddard Stark (Sean Bean) that becomes the title of the show (and first book in the series):

“In the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.”

Lady Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley), is the wise and graceful wife to Lord Eddard Stark, mother of the Stark brood. Yet she’s not afraid to speak her mind and help her son strategize and negotiate in battle. Wherever she goes, particularly in the region of the North, she’s revered and respected. She is the one, almost single-handedly, who’s brokered and negotiated every deal which brings all of the clans of the North together, unifying them in war.

Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner), daughter of Catelyn and Eddard, differs from many of the depicted women for she only cares about dancing and getting married (at 13?!) as she simpers and worships douchebag Prince Joffrey (Jack Gleeson). But we eventually begin to see a different side of Sansa after she witnesses a horrific tragedy, brought upon by her poor judgment.

My fave gender-bending character, Arya Stark (Maisie Williams), Sansa’s little sister, is a sword-wielding badass…at the age of 11. A feisty tomboy, Arya is spunky, resourceful and outspoken. One of my fave scenes consists of Arya and her father Eddard Stark when she asks him about becoming a leader. He tells her about the man she’ll marry some day and how she’ll give birth to sons who’ll become lords. Refusing to be defined by gender roles or by her relationship to a man, she retorts, “That’s not me.” My only problem is that Arya is still a child, not yet a woman. Too often, films and TV shows are uncomfortable with authoritative women, depicting female empowerment through teens and young girls instead.

One of the rare times the show passes the Bechdel test (and of course it’s debatable if it actually does pass it in this scene as it’s spurred by the illness of Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo) is in the season finale when Mirri Maz Duur (Mia Soteriou), the enslaved sorceress/healer and Daenerys speak. Daenerys, furious at Mirri Maz, proclaims that she saved her. But Mirri Maz replies that by the time she was “saved,” she’d already been raped by three Dothraki men, her temple burned down, and townspeople she befriended slain. So she questions what exactly Daenerys saved her from? I thought this was an interesting scene depicting the power of perspective. It disappoints me though that when two women talk with one another on-screen, which doesn’t happen very often, the plot usually pits them against one another, a common trope in films and TV shows.

In addition to Mirri Maz, there are other secondary female characters who we don’t know much about (yet): Ros, Armeca and Shae (sex workers); Jhiqui, Irri and Doreah (Daenerys’ handmaidens); Osha (a wilding – person living north of the Wall – and slave of Winterfell); and Septa Mordane (a priestess who sacrifices her life to protect Sansa).

Many of the women navigate the sexist landscape by playing their parts yet asserting themselves when they can by speaking their minds. Although they are quickly put in their place, with a fist or harsh words, if they speak too boldly, reminding them of where they exist on the social ladder. SPOILERS!! –> When Cersei’s son Joffrey becomes king, it seems that she’s finally going to be able to rule, with her son a mere figurehead. But after he flagrantly disobeys her command, calling her (and Sansa) “soft-hearted,” it’s clear who’s in charge here. Despite all of Catelyn’s strategies and bartering, when it comes down to who will lead the army against King’s Landing, all of the clan leaders proclaim her son Robb Stark the “King of the North,” rather than Catelyn the “Queen of the North.” Arya has to go into hiding, as a boy, to evade the wrath of the king. UBER SPOILER!! -> In the penultimate scene in the finale, we see Daenerys burning a funeral pyre. She frees the Dothraki slaves, proclaiming to them and the Dothraki who’ve remained by her side that they will be her new khalasar (band of people) if they swear allegiance to her. A pivotal scene as she becomes the first female ruler of the Dothraki, marking the first time a woman asserts her power and leadership in such an overt manner. In the final scene, after entering the fiery flames, we see Daenerys survive, only to emerge with the three dragon eggs hatched, the three dragons skittering over her body, resting on her hip, ankle and shoulder. While I was thrilled she survived, my elation quickly soured as I realized the actual implication here: that a woman could not be a powerful ruler on her own merit, she had to have supernatural blood course through her veins with monster minions bolstering her power.

I know I’m being hard on the show. Despite its gender problem (and race problem – very few people of color are characters, except for the Dothraki who are depicted as “primitive” and “savage,” a common racist trope) it is absolutely fantastic and amazing. By the 4th episode I was hooked, eager to see what would happen next. But a show so meticulously made of such stellar caliber shouldn’t suffer from so much sexism. I shouldn’t have to overlook excessive misogyny in order to watch TV. The show seems to remain incredibly faithful to its source material. Interestingly, George R.R. Martin wrote the first book, entitled Game of Thrones, from the perspective of 9 different characters (Will of the Night’s Watch, Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen), half from the vantage of the female characters. As delighted as I am with myriad strong heroines, a show devoid of female writers (save for Jane Espenson who co-wrote one episode), directors or producers, can’t help but feel like a testosterone extravaganza.

It would be one thing if the show made a commentary on the sexism that pervades society, a la Mad Men. But that doesn’t appear to be what’s happening here. The women are subjected to misogyny and patriarchy (hmmm…sounds like modern times!). But none of them challenges it, even subversively. When the one female character acts authoritatively, asserting her will and seizing power, she’s diminished by her supernatural powers. Even the women who are bold and strong on the show, except perhaps Daenerys, are tethered to a short leash, ultimately deferential to the more powerful men surrounding them. For a TV show borne of fantasy, it’s time we imagined better.

Megan Kearns is a blogger, freelance writer and activist. A feminist vegan, Megan blogs at The Opinioness of the World, where she writes about gender in pop culture, sexism in the media, reproductive justice and living vegan. Her work has also appeared at Arts & Opinion, Italianieuropei, Open Letters Monthly, and A Safe World for Women. She earned her B.A. in Anthropology and Sociology and a Graduate Certificate in Women and Politics and Public Policy. Megan lives in Boston with her diva cat and more books than she will probably ever read in her lifetime. She contributed reviews of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, Something Borrowed, !Women Art Revolution, The Kids Are All Right (for our 2011 Best Picture Nominee Review Series) and The Reader (for our 2009 Best Picture Nominee Review Series). She was the first writer featured as a Monthly Guest Contributor.

Emmy Week 2011: Glee!

Not since E! has any one thing on television been so damn exclamatory. Glee! celebrated its everyman song-and-dance style before its slushy flying face-offs ever aired. After a Journey-style breakthrough and myriad episodes featuring pop music gone oh so right, the show ended its first Emmy award-winning season and began a second. Can the plotlines featuring teen pregnancy, teen love, and a bitter gym teacher make it with a little Britney Spears mixed in? The answer is: yes. However, following the line of Britney logic, all its women have had to suffer in the meantime: bitches be crazy (e.g. writing underdeveloped characters who become caricatures of themselves, ending in a mockery of those whose very geekiness Glee attempted to celebrate).

In the beginning Glee made a brand out of celebrating the insecurities, joy, and passions of a group of social outcasts. Quickly, however, Glee called into question its treatment of women, prompting the New York Post to ask “Does Glee! Hate women?” In season one alone a woman is shown to be conniving enough to fake a pregnancy to “keep her man” and another, this time a teenager, grappled with pregnancy until, poof, the storyline magically disappeared. Luckily Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach” was able to get into the mix first, or I would have been pissed.

Besides the stereotypical portrayals of women-as-girls-as-GQ-cover-models-being-schoolgirls that this show offers, Glee goes further by, perhaps unintentionally, mocking its characters. Vitriolic gym teacher Sue Sylvester (who eerily resembles my elementary school gym teacher) relies on her bitter use of the pretty girls and exploitation of the token special needs child as a means to succeed to her ultimate end. As their most fully fleshed-out character (and perhaps most accomplished actor) Jane Lynch does a great job being angry but does nothing for the stereotype of the angry lesbian gym teacher taunting kids to make herself feel better. Coach Beiset’s introduction furthered this by presenting this gem of a storyline: no man wanted to kiss her so what was a woman to do but become an angry, middle-aged football coach: the better to scream at you, my dears.

Mixed in with the older women who suffer to fall in and keep love and affection, the teens of Glee keep the teenage dreams coming faster than Katy Perry’s hits. Puck, the number one misogynist/baby daddy/Neil Diamond Crooner and the show’s resident sometimes Gothic sometimes snarky, always shown eating or wrestling, Lauren, are just one of many unconventional couples Glee has drummed up. Lauren’s morbid obesity might once have proven to be a means for character slander, as Puck himself proclaimed when he said to then pregnant Quinn “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just saying please stop super-sizing because I don’t dig on fat chicks.” Now, however, it is the stuff of fetishistic pop preening. First, Puck serenades his new love interest with a rendition of “Fat Bottom Girls” and, shock, she finds it offensive. To make it better he sings the original number “Big Ass Heart” because it is okay for the organ that pumps our blood and, symbolically, falls us in love to have a “big ass” even though a heart has never won a pie eating contest or needed two seats in an airplane. We get it–there’s a size difference here.

Having a character on TV who does not fit into the mold of being a perfect Westernized ideal of beauty would, in someone else’s hands, be refreshing. Glee, however, focuses on the extremes of women, enjoying the overt and campy hyperbolization of its characters which, in essence, detracts from actual storylines and only serves to render the women flat and one-dimensional: Jewish starlet, slut, dumb blonde, conniving cheerleader, sassy black woman, an Asian, and, now, a full-fleshed female. Glee has a recipe with every ingredient, but stirred together it’s one big lump of heterogeneous stereotypes. I’m not saying this couple should not exist; I am simply implying that it may have been beneficial to give her a love interest that does not appear to be ten seconds from dumping pigs blood over her head at prom.

Two other prominent female characters central to Glee’s narrative arc are slutty Santana and dumb blonde Britney. These two rarely have lines, and, when they do, it is solely to enforce these two personas. What they do have, however, is a girl on girl on glee make out session. Of course Glee would need to have two of its beautiful, popular women fall in love and make out, why not? Glee loves Katy Perry and she kissed a girl and, damn it, she liked it. The issue is not girls kissing girls; it is the exploration of lesbianism in a trite and frivolous manner.

The trials and tribulations girls in high school are facing today are by no means easy. From eating disorders to bullying, the very struggle of learning who you are as a woman, inside, out, sexually, emotionally, is a process. Women today are barraged with images of who they should be, how they should act, and whom they should kiss. Glee, in an attempt to make it okay to be whomever you are, has simply created an hour of sing-along to the pain and pleasure of all the versions of themselves that girls see when they look in the mirror. We are all sexy and scared, stupid and skinny, fat and fabulous–but fleshing out these various facets to frivolous plotlines and self-mocking monologues is akin to giving every girl a Barbie with adjective occupations. Women deserve more than this style of characterization.

Cali Loria is a thug with unbelievable scrabble skills. She is mother to a King and a lover of film, food, and feminism.

Mad Men and the Role of Nostalgia

The cast of Mad Men — aren’t they lovely?

There are two significant moments in Mad Men when nostalgia is overtly discussed. The first comes in season one, episode thirteen (“The Wheel”). Don/Dick has just learned that his brother committed suicide, and he brings his feelings about his own past—particularly his strong desire to construct a past that erases the Whitmans—to sell a product. In a pitch to Kodak, for a campaign to sell a storage device that holds slides and allows you to click through them, he says,

Technology is a glittering lure, but there’s the rare occasion when the public can be engaged on a level beyond flash, if they have a sentimental bond with the product. My first job, I was in house at a fur company with this old pro copywriter–a Greek, named Teddy. Teddy told me the most important idea in advertising is “new.” It creates an itch. You simply put your product in there as a kind of calamine lotion. But he also talked about a deeper bond with the product: 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.

It’s a lovely pitch (which sends Harry, who was recently kicked out of his home for cheating, out of the room in tears) and an effective one: Don seals the deal. (Watch the clip here.)

In season four, episode six (“Waldorf Stories”), Don–drunk on booze and ego after his CLIO award win–recycles his “nostalgia pitch” for Life Cereal and the proposed “Eat Life by the bowlful” campaign.

But I keep thinking about, you know, nostalgia. How you remember something in the past and it feels good, but it’s a little bit painful. Like when you were a kid.

One can surmise, if at all familiar with Don’s state of mind and lifestyle at this point, that this pitch doesn’t go as well. The meeting is a mess, and Don inadvertently pitches someone else’s idea as his own. (I couldn’t find this clip available online.)

These are two brilliant, meta moments in a show that is, in some ways, all about nostalgia. If we think of the show itself as a product, it works on both levels described in Don’s eloquent pitch. For viewers who didn’t live through the sixties, the show provides a uniquely detailed window on an era we never experienced and may only vaguely know, and the culture has produced plenty of “calamine lotion” for this group. For those who lived through the sixties, the show itself can be the Kodak carousel–taking viewers to that place they may ache to go again: their own past.

Surfaces are everything in Mad Men. In response to Mad Men’s critical and popular success, Brooks Brothers and Banana Republic have launched “Mad Men” clothing collections, so you can dress like Don or Betty. If you’re a woman with curves, you can buy the “Mad Men-inspired” bra to “banish those unsightly bulges” (not that the model pictured has bulges anywhere). You can style your hair like the characters of Mad Men and go retro. You can serve Mad Men-inspired cocktails or have an entire Mad Men-themed party (if you’re a guest, you can buy the host a Mad Men-inspired gift). If it’s the interiors that excite you, Woman’s Day magazine–which finds “the show’s visuals even more spectacular than its storylines”–will help you out with its “Mad Men-Inspired Home Decor,” and if you have money to burn, you can buy CB2’s Draper Sofa. If you’re the bookish type, here’s a Mad Men-Inspired Summer Reading List. If you really can’t get enough of the era, tune in this fall to The Playboy Club or Pan-Am.

The above barely scratches the surface of the cultural and commercial impact of Mad Men. You could virtually live your life as a Mad Men character. But why?

A major theme in Mad Men is gender, and it is one of the few shows on television that overtly critiques institutionalized sexism—and we can even, justly, call the show feminist. Here’s what I fear may also be happening: in a culture that claims to be post-feminist, post-ironic, and even post-racial, in which social justice movements lack unity, and even many educated people believe women have achieved “enough” equality (enough, at least, to no longer fight for our basic rights like access to health care and equal pay), aren’t people also maybe a little bit, even unconsciously, nostalgic for a time of clearer definitions? While I would never argue that anyone would want to return to gender and/or racial dynamics of the early 1960s, shouldn’t we attribute at least some of the show’s success to the conservative desire to ‘return to a simpler time?’ Is it not possible that we have an unconscious (or even subconscious) desire to return to a place where we can clearly point to a behavior and call it like it is: Sexist. Racist. Homophobic. Wrong.

In a culture where third-wave conflicts with second wave, where there is a conservative-led war on women’s access to health care and bodily autonomy that the liberal party largely ignores, in which the celebrity status of a couple of female politicians (who happen to hold extremely regressive positions on issues affecting women) passes as achievement of gender equality, in which women have suffered greatly in a recession dubbed the “Mancession” by media, wouldn’t it be nice if things were a bit clearer? Doesn’t our society wish we could call it in real life like we call it on that show? And don’t we also enjoy that feeling of superiority–that we’re oh-so enlightened compared to the barbarous behavior of those characters–when in reality things haven’t changed as much as we’d like to think?

In a show that quietly argues that sexism and misogyny severely harm women and men, what do we make of all the damn cultural imitation? Where and how do we draw the line between admiring and desiring the surfaces (the clothes, the decor, the general air of coolness), and wanting what’s underneath?

Mad Women: The Secretaries in Mad Men

This cross-post originally appeared at Fem Threads.

Allison didn’t last long, but managed to
throw something at Don on the way out.

Ed. Note: This post is part of FemThread’s “Mad Women” series. We also write about Joan, Peggy and Betty. Enjoy! –TC

It was a code of Don’s from the very first episode of Season One: Don’t get involved with your secretary. Your daughter’s schoolteacher, clients’ wives, clients themselves (hello, Rachel Mencken!)—these are all fine flings to have, but not the woman posted outside your office. Peggy Olson learned this right away. Jane Siegel was on every other Sterling Cooper male’s radar, yet Don baldly told Ken Cosgrove that he’d never so much as look at a new secretary until they’d managed to last a month on the job.

And then we got to Season Four.

It almost felt as though Matthew Weiner has been building to this story arc since S1E1. We had Peggy, the off-limits secretary who rose to copywriter and Draper protégé, fighting for respect at every turn. At the complete opposite end of the spectrum we had Jane, the seemingly off-limits secretary who flirted her way into the hearts of the boys, out of the good graces of Joan, and finally into the heart (well, sort of) and home of Roger Sterling.

In the characters of Allison and Megan, we see flashes of both Peggy and Jane—Secretary 2.0. Allison was shut out of the Jane path by Don—although Allison’s affection for Don was genuine and idealistic until after the Christmas party fiasco; she was never as calculatingly feminine as Jane. Following the humiliation of being treated essentially as an office prostitute by Don, Allison does her best to cope, remaining in touch with her own complicated feelings and emotions only to have them shot down by Peggy, who’s channeling her inner Draper. Realizing the damage she’s doing to herself staying in Don’s SCDP, Allison seizes control of her life and makes the move to the “women’s magazine.”

Jane seemed like she always wanted to end up here.

I’m not sure this decision got the attention it deserved. Peggy and Faye have thus far been the poster children for the women’s movement, while Allison was written as a bit of a weepy yes-sir type. For her, of all people, to break out of the mold and stand up to Don and his asshattery (hurling the most succinct condemnation ever at him in the process: “I don’t say this easily, but you’re not a good person!”) is quite something. Plus, she got to throw an ashtray and break things on her way out. Nice!

The departure of budding feminist Allison eventually (rest in peace, Miss Blankenship) brings us to Megan, the Montreal beauty with the unfortunate teeth (although truth be told, I never noticed anything awry with her teeth until a male friend of mine pointed it out). Megan, who is taking the Jane route while apparently wanting more to do with the Peggy route. Megan, who hasn’t yet seen Don at his worst (as Peggy and Allison have), and loves the man she thinks he is and could be—and yes, I do think she’s in love with him (at least, the version of him that she’s familiar with). She seemed to genuinely enjoy being part of his life on the California trip, but from that slight look of panic in her eyes when Don proposed, she also knew (unlike Don) that vacation is vacation and that once the trip ended things should have gone back to normal. After all, Megan had already flatly stated before their first tryst that she separates work and personal life.

What does the future have in store for Megan?
Only Season Five will tell.

How could she say no, though? She’ll have financial security and, doubtless, job security as well–I don’t think Megan will be a stay-at-home wife. She’ll be with a man she thinks she loves, and that she’s been interested in for an eternity. If it weren’t so utterly warped (poor Faye!), this story could be a fairy tale.

And for his part, Don Draper will be with a woman who’s great with kids (she likes being around children! How strange for a Mad Men character…), fluent in French, attentive to everything (the Clio thanks her), humble (self-deprecating to a fault, actually), young, attractive…frankly, Megan might be too good for Don. The power dynamic between the two is a bit uncomfortable to watch, and I’m not sure what will happen should Megan discover Don cheating on her (as you know he will).

But then, there’s always the chance that Megan is in fact the most calculating of all the aforementioned women, playing a part to the hilt to get exactly what she wants—in which case she’d be the female Don Draper. Season Five just got a lot more interesting.

Ivy Ashe is thrilled to have moved on to the world of blogging after spending the past several months finishing a master’s thesis. When not working as a photojournalist for the Martha’s Vineyard Gazette, she spends an inordinate amount of time mapping out road trips she will probably never take and keeping track of Boston sports teams. Ivy is currently on a quest to own a pair of pants in every color in the Crayola No. 24 box.

"Limit Your Exposure": Homosexuality in the Mad Men Universe

This post contains spoilers about the first four seasons of Mad Men.

1960s America saw its share of emerging social and political movements—the civil rights movement, second wave feminism and anti-Vietnam activism, just to name a few. And in June 1969, the modern gay liberation movement was born. The Stonewall riots resulted in gay people rushing out of the closets and into the streets in the hopes of gaining equal rights. For the first time, gay men and lesbians were able to express their attractions openly, build communities and mobilize activist efforts. None of the recent advances in LGBT equality would have happened over the last four decades were it not for the bravery and chutzpah of the Stonewall Inn’s patrons on that fateful summer evening in 1969.

Unfortunately, in the world of AMC’s Mad Men, it is still the first half of the decade. There was no gay liberation movement between 1960 and 1965, the years during which the first four seasons of the series take place. On the contrary, homosexuality was still considered a deviance by mainstream society and an illness by the medical community. There was certainly no such thing as gay pride—the great majority of closet doors were locked tightly. This makes it harder for Mad Men to address the experiences of gay people than to address those of women and people of color, as it’s a challenge for such a dialogue-driven character drama to address a topic that was rarely discussed openly. But that doesn’t mean that the effort isn’t made.

Despite the complete lack of visibility of gay people in the early 1960s, there is a surprisingly high amount of explicitly queer characters on Mad Men. Only one—Salvatore Romano, Sterling Cooper’s Art Director—is substantially developed, but a half dozen gay characters have passed through the Mad Men universe over the course of four seasons. All of the characters are unique, with distinct personalities and significantly different approaches to navigating same-sex desire in a hostile climate. And while Mad Men steers clear of making profound statements about the nature of gay identity in the 1960s, the characterizations it does present do have a few interesting things to say about gender identity and the ability to out oneself.

To discuss the depiction of homosexuality on Mad Men, one first needs to look at Salvatore. To the 21st century viewer, Sal reads undeniably as gay, yet no one at Sterling Cooper seems to notice this. Certainly, he isn’t out, nor does he intend to be. In season 1, he is a bachelor; in seasons 2 and 3, he is married to Kitty, a sweet and completely naïve woman who is either unaware or in denial of her husband’s internal struggles. Though Sal is an outwardly confident, charismatic and good-looking man, one who attracts the attention of men and women alike, he constantly lives in fear of his identity and the possibility that someone might discover it.

Salvatore and the bellboy

For the most part, the only people who catch on to Sal’s secret are other gay men. He is sexually propositioned by men on three separate occasions: by Elliott, a representative from Sterling Cooper client Belle Jolie Cosmetics; by an unnamed hotel bellboy in Baltimore; and by Lee Garner Jr., the owner of Lucky Strike, Sterling Cooper’s most lucrative account. Only in the case of the unnamed bellboy does Sal decide to give in to his desires. In that instance, he is with a man who he doesn’t know in a professional context, in a city he is only visiting for one night. The stakes are minimal, and his arousal is palpable, so when the bellboy leans in for a kiss in the privacy of Sal’s hotel room, he gives in. The scene is short—Sal is only granted a steamy make-out session and a crotch grab before the hotel fire alarm goes off— but it serves an important purpose. It is the only moment in the series when the audience is able to see Sal authentically satisfied. As the bellboy removes Sal’s clothing, a leak from an exploded pen is visible on Sal’s shirt—as blatant a symbol of unabashed excitement and premature ejaculation as one is likely to get past network censors. As the bellboy kisses and caresses his body, Sal emits heavy, hiccuped breaths and repeated moans of “Oh, God” and “Oh, Jesus.” The intense degree of passion he exhibits makes it clear to the viewer that this is his first sexual experience with a man. Though we never see Sal in an intimate situation with a man again, this scene represents a clear turning point in Sal’s comfort with his own identity.

A layer of complexity is added to Sal’s tryst when Don Draper, evacuating the hotel after the alarm blasts, runs down the fire escape, makes eye contact with Sal and notices the bellboy putting his clothes back on. Sal quickly looks away, ashamed and perhaps even scared of losing his job. Don doesn’t fire Sal on the spot, nor does he even directly broach the topic with him. Instead, he proposes a new campaign for London Fog raincoats that uses the slogan, “Limit Your Exposure.” When Don says this to Sal, his message is clear. And, ultimately, it becomes his undoing.

Lee Garner, Jr. propositions Sal

Sal’s interactions with Elliott and Lee are less fruitful than his night in Baltimore. In both instances, as soon as Sal realizes that he is being propositioned, his body tenses, a look of terror and sadness crosses his face and he declines the gesture. With Elliott, there are no consequences—Sal merely excuses himself from the bar where they had been sitting together. With Lee, though, the rejection costs Sal his job at Sterling Cooper. Lee’s proposition to Sal is abrupt, almost threatening; when Sal bristles at being grabbed around his chest, Lee just smiles and says, “I know what I know.” Still, Sal rejects the overture; embarrassed by the rejection, Lee sees to it that Sal is fired. He meets with Don to try to win back his job, appealing to the fact that Don knows his secret. But it doesn’t work because, in Don’s mind, Sal has violated the only piece of wisdom he was able to give him.

After Don fires Sal, we see him talking to Kitty from a phone booth, telling her not to wait up for him. We are to infer that Sal is going to go off on a night of cruising in the park, and this ultimately reads as more troubling than liberating. We know Sal has only had one sexual experience with a man before, and he certainly doesn’t have the language for discussing his sexual desires, let alone his identity. He is taking Don’s advice to limit his exposure, but at what cost? This is the last time we see Salvatore, and it’s an unsatisfying ending for such a beloved, complex character.

Joan and Carol

Though Sal is the gay character with which the audience spends the most time, the two (briefly appearing) lesbian characters are just as nuanced as he. Those characters are Carol, Joan Holloway’s roommate in season 1, and Joyce, Peggy Olsen’s friend at Life Magazine in season 4. Unlike the gay male characters, who, with one exception [i], only voluntarily come out to other gay men, Carol and Joyce both come out to straight women. Carol confesses her love for Joan in a beautiful monologue before they go out on the town for a night to meet men. As they dress and put on jewelry and make up, Carol confides in Joan, “I did everything I could to be near you, all with the hope that one day you’d notice me…Just think of me as a boy.” Joan pretends not to understand what Carol is talking about, and she gently brushes her words off. As hurtful as that may be for Carol, it’s certainly not as negative a response as it could have been, given the era. And it’s clear by Joan’s soft, attentive facial expressions and the look of compassion in her eyes that, even if she doesn’t acknowledge it, she appreciates what Carol is telling her. It may confuse her, but it doesn’t scare her, and she won’t let it change her relationship with Carol, someone who has been her friend for years. Though sad, there is a bit of sweetness in Joan’s rejection of Carol.

Joyce and Peggy

Joyce and Peggy have a similar, if far less dramatic, exchange. After meeting in the elevator of the building where they work (Joyce works for Life Magazine), Joyce visits Peggy at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce and invites her out to a party. At the party, Joyce kisses Peggy on the side of her face. Peggy giggles and backs away, leading her to tell Joyce that she has a boyfriend. Joyce responds, “He doesn’t own your vagina,” but Peggy counters, “No, but he’s renting it.” Joyce laughs—she takes this as a perfectly reasonable response, even if she did have designs on Peggy. Although Peggy rejects Joyce, it is not (or, at least, not directly) because she’s a woman. Peggy might very well be willing to reciprocate Joyce’s interest, but not while she’s in a relationship.

Both Carol and Joyce are able to say things to their straight love interests that Salvatore can’t say to his. In season 2, Sal develops a crush on Ken Cosgrove, going so far as to invite him for dinner in his home. Though he spends dinner hanging on to Ken’s every word and completely ignoring Kitty, Sal never dreams of explicitly coming out to Ken (or coming on to him). By contrast, Joyce is a blatant flirt. In addition to crushing on Peggy, she loiters by secretary Megan’s desk, chatting her up just like any of the men in the office would do. And during the season 4 finale, she visits Peggy’s office with another friend—a beautiful model named Carolyn. Though they aren’t a couple, Joyce and Carolyn have a definite butch/femme dynamic, as evidenced by the way they sit together and the way Joyce chivalrously puts her arm around her. It doesn’t matter to Joyce if it’s obvious what she’s doing— she is self-confident enough to own her sexuality, even if it isn’t socially acceptable for her to do so. Joyce hasn’t been a part of Mad Men for very long, and I certainly hope she’s back in season 5, continuing to make straight women blush wherever she goes.

It remains to be seen how far into the 1960s Mad Men will travel. Perhaps it will go all the way through 1969. Perhaps we will see a Stonewall episode, in which Peggy and Joyce are caught up in the riots, and Peggy sees Sal with another man somewhere in the crowd. Perhaps we’ll see less gay content, and homosexuality will take a backseat to other social issues, particularly as the Vietnam War heats up. But if the first four seasons are any indication, we’ll continue to see gay characters pop up every now and again, and while their full political and social histories may not be documented, we will continue to see the ways in which they limit—or, in some cases, enhance—their exposure.

[i] That character is Kurt, a member of Sterling Cooper’s art department during season 2. The scene in which he comes out in front of the likes of Ken Cosgrove and Harry Crane is rather funny, but due to space constraints I won’t get into it here.

Carrie Nelson has previously written about Precious, Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire and The Social Network for Bitch Flicks. She is a Founder and Editor of Gender Across Borders and works as a grant writer for an LGBT nonprofit organization in NYC. Her favorite Mad Men character is Sally Draper.

Mad Men and Sexual Harassment

This cross-post originally appeared at The Sociological Cinema

Click here for video

Summary: Cultural Anthropologist, William M. O’Barr (2010), notes of the popular television show, Mad Men, “[It] is a world of heterosexual, white, male privilege.” O’Barr further observes that “Gender displays recur. The social structure of the office—men in professional positions, women as their assistants—rings true of pre-Feminist Movement America in the 1960s. Every woman is either a Jackie or a Marilyn and every man wants them both—or at least most of the men. The admen direct the lives of women, not just those in the agency, but those in the entire society. It is a world in which men are dominant and women are subordinate and sexualized.” O’Barr draws on a number of clips to make his argument, but one in particular (Season 1, Episode 12, “Nixon Vs Kennedy”) struck me as a useful supplement to a discussion on sexual harassment. The clip features an adman chasing and wrestling a woman to the ground during an office party. Pinning the woman to the floor, he demands to see the color of her panties. The scene is a relatively unambiguous example of sexual harassment, but students might object that the woman who was tackled seems to be participating and even laughing. Here, it might be helpful to note the two women in the clip who were uncomfortably observing the incident and to encourage students to think about sexual harassment as a form of gender discrimination, which creates an unequal work environment for all women. Irrespective of the tackled woman’s outward expression, the incident clearly reinforced for everyone the ideas that women in the ad office are first and foremost valued for their capacity to sexually titillate, and they can be made to submit to the demands of their male colleagues.

Submitted By: Lester Andrist

Mad Men Week: Mad Motherhood

I used to think that I would be the type of mother like Claire Huxtable from The Cosby Show. Calm and together. Beautiful and smart. Making time for a fulfilling career and still having an impromptu musical number complete with costumes in order to illustrate an important life lesson. If my life were a musical I would feel more like Miss Hannagan from Annie. Everything around me is little…

I would like to think that I will never be like Betty Draper from Mad Men. We look at her through our take on modern feminism and feel bad for her. Poor bored Betty. Thank God that we have all been liberated from only having such choices. Betty Draper going to therapy because she can’t talk to anyone about how trapped she feels. How alone. How bored and guilty she feels about the role she has no choice about in her own life. Everything from the way the birth is treated to daily choices within the home. The constant undercurrent is that of limited choices. This is not an antiquated idea. As a mother, I know how it feels some days to count the hours until bedtime. Or to not be able to wait until my husband takes two steps in the door before I am telling him about the terrors our offspring have been that day. Yes, like Betty Draper I relish having a glass of red wine at the end of the day and talking to my friends. Other mothers and caregivers in the trenches with me.

Is that why we feel bad for Betty Draper? Because we know someone like her? Our own mothers? A sister? A friend? Or does she hit a little too close to home for some of us? It is the judgment of her that I have to wrestle with. Poor Pampered Betty Draper. A housewife with a maid and nothing to fill her days but shopping. High class problems indeed. Instead of dumping our kids in front of the black and white TV with three channels, we now have the Wii in monster 65-inch color, surround-sound, high definition. Is spending hours on Etsy so much different than at the department store? Hiding from our children. Hiding from who we are. Betty being so afraid of her own sexuality that her daughter ends up in therapy for “playing with herself.” I am sure all of us have had to confront some issue with our children that we have never anticipated. “Did you really just wipe boogers on the wall?” “Is that a fish stick under your pillow?” “No, I don’t know why trees don’t talk back.”

Parts of my life are not that different from what I can imagine for a 1950s or 60s housewife. Yes I am from the Midwest. Yes I got married at 20. Yes I was pregnant at said event. I still do laundry almost every day. I still wash dishes. For the most part, I have stayed home with my children. But I like being with my kids. I like who they are. I enjoy just being with them and seeing them discover how to navigate this world. The difference now is that so does my husband. He makes more dinners than I do. It is the expectations that are different. Not the reality. I think he would fear for his life if he came home and demanded his dinner. Our house will NEVER be as clean as the Drapers’. We don’t have a maid. We can’t afford it. The choices we have made allow me to stay home. Would we be more financially secure if we had two incomes, of course. Are there mothers out there who do not have this option, absolutely. But more and more I realize that it is other women who are our greatest obstacles. No matter what a woman’s choice is, it should be supported as valid by other women. Too frequently it is not. Working mothers think that stay-at-home-mothers are lazy or spoiled, and stay-at-home-mothers think that working moms are selfish or should be riddled with guilt.

Women are our own worst enemies. Inside our own heads and out. We hear our mothers, our friends. We feel judged as mothers from the time we discover we are pregnant. Keep the baby, or not? Home birth? Water birth? C-section? You will be judged. Breastfeed? Co-sleep? Crib? You will be judged. Vaccinate? Circumcise? You will be judged. Cloth diapers or disposable, home school, or public. You will be judged. Having these choices to begin with is what we should be thankful for. I get it. But that is only half of the equation. Having choices has to be balanced with having the freedom to get to be happy with the consequences of that choice. As Don Draper put it, “If you don’t like what is being said, then change the conversation.”

Look at Peggy. Was it her choice to have a baby? Was it her choice to give it up? Was she allowed to be, if not happy, at least at peace with her decision? She was pushing so hard against the idea of being a woman that she ignored the ultimate difference between men and women: our ability to give birth. Her birth experience was glossed over and not unlike Betty’s out-of-consciousness birth, we are left amazed. We have all known someone whose birth did not go as planned. A home birth that was transferred, or a vaginal birth that had to be a c-section. Women carry around those scars, physical and emotional, for the rest of their lives.

Then Joan. We all want to be more like Joan. She is much easier to take. More modern. Career woman. Waiting until her 30s to get married. Even her physical appearance is more realistic than teeny Betty Draper. But even with all of those curves, she has chosen to be childless. With all of that sex, and two “procedures,” she is still living on her own terms. Fertile. Ready for anything. Her femininity a blatant contrast to all of the men around her.

The female characters of Mad Men bring up feelings for everyone who sees them … either we envy or pity them. Or both. But until we realize that either emotion has validity and is mirroring something about our own mothering, history is bound to repeat itself. Women need to strive to respect one another and support one another. Only then can we feel less isolated like all of the women in the show. Then we can show our children that we are the mothers they want us to be.

Olivia London-Webb writes for herself as therapy. When not writing she likes to cook, drink, stare at art, and chase her children.

True Camaraderie: Don, Peggy, and Something to Prove

Don Draper and Peggy Olson

For me, the most endearing element of Mad Men is the humorous and detailed portrayal of developing friendships. Amidst the drinking, cheating, and general woes of the ad agency is the story of office camaraderie. There have always been back stories on different relationships that developed at Sterling Cooper, such as the friendship between Roger and Joan, but season four spends a great amount of time further delving into those relationships. It paints a picture of a time where business loyalty meant a commitment from both sides.

Now that the operations are smaller, there is an even closer knit of relations in the office. Season four gave us such delights as Don and Lane taking in New Year’s Eve, as well as offering a closer look into the drunken camaraderie between Don and Roger. Indeed, Don is a man of many women and men, but of all his office friendships, none compare to his kinship with Peggy. From early in the show, Don and Peggy had a professional and personal spark. Don gave Peggy an opportunity to nurture her talents, and while their story isn’t always happy, they are able to understand each other in a way that surpasses all other office duos. In spite of their differences, Don and Peggy share a common fight to be where they ought not be. It is in this fight for survival that the two trade-off dishing out tough love and gentle support.

Don and Peggy’s friendship did not develop overnight and there are clear and present power dynamics that complicate affairs. There are the obvious gender roles at play and the fact that Don is Peggy’s superior. Don also has a short temper and a tendency to project onto Peggy a lot of his own feelings of inadequacy. And while Peggy is hurt by Don’s verbal outbursts she is engaged in self reflection, and mostly welcoming of his mentorship.

It seems obvious to me that Don’s interest in Peggy is directly related to his own struggles with entitlement. Don wasn’t born with money or a name. He didn’t inherit his position in the company or marry into an account. He used his creative “genius” to con his way into a job and rise to the top of his field. This both limits him and gives him strength. He has less to lose, and that allows him to take greater risks. Don sees the way Peggy takes risks and admires her dedication to the work they do. In the episode where Marilyn Monroe dies, Don asks Peggy how she is doing and is surprised (if only for a quick side-glance of a moment) when Peggy responds, “It’s a good thing we didn’t go with Marilyn/Jackie ad. We would have had to pull everything indefinitely.” While others in the office mourn the loss of a role model, Peggy’s eyes are clearly focused on her career. She does not falter for a moment because she can’t afford it. Don gets that because he too knows that he can’t quit running. They share a common fear and subsequently, a common strength of self.

From the moment Don appears at Peggy’s bedside, the two have shared a level of intimacy that isn’t mirrored in any other professional relationship on the show. In fact, the only time we’ve seen Don be this honest with someone is in his relationship with Anna, and Don turns to Peggy when mourning that loss. In “The Suitcase,” Peggy is the only one in the office brave enough to confront Don’s destructive path. She walks into his office and, with concern asks, “How long do you intend to go on like this?” Moments later she reassures him that he didn’t lose the only person who knew him. Don and Peggy have provided each other with gentle support in a violent world and that support will surely be needed again as the company hangs by a thread. And even as the future of the agency hands in the balance, Don and Peggy march on. While the other partners and employees of Sterling, Cooper, Draper, & Pryce cry into their highballs, Peggy and Don put their nose to the ground and keep fighting for accounts and taking risks.

As the show progresses, I expect to see more conflict between Don and Peggy’s friendship. Peggy has thus far tolerated Don’s destructive side out of admiration and loyalty. I am curious to see how the quickly changing world of the sixties will effect her perceptions of the friendship. I am also curious to see how Don’s engagement will affect the level of admiration that Peggy has previously given him. In “Tomorrowland,” Don proposes to his secretary and we have yet to see what that means for his developing character, but one thing is clear: neither Peggy nor Joan is the least bit pleased about the engagement. As the progressive movement of the sixties marches on, the unspoken gender issues in the office are coming full head. Don and Peggy share the same drive and are invested in the friendship, but they still stand on different levels of the patriarchal power structure. Can their friendship sustain the changing social climate? What will happen as Peggy continues to embrace the rebellion of the sixties youth movement? I am certain that whatever happens, Don and Peggy will continue to be deeply passionate characters whether they have each other’s support or not. I once wished for the destruction of Don Draper. Now, I only want him to be saved. I’m just not sure that it’s Peggy’s (or any other woman’s) responsibility to save him, and I’m not certain that Don isn’t just chasing another dream.

Katie Becker studied at Luther College where she earned a Bachelor’s degree in Communication Studies. She loves saying what’s on her mind and asking inappropriate questions. She recently found the time to start writing again.

Mad Men Week: Is Mad Men the Most Feminist Show on TV?

Written by Megan Kearns, cross-posted from The Opinioness of the World.

So I arrived very late to the Mad Men party. As a self-proclaimed TV connoisseur and a feminist, I’m picky about the shows I choose to let into my life. But due to the urgings of my boyfriend Jeff and my girlfriends Lauren and Sarah H., I finally succumbed to its siren song and watched, catching up on all 4 seasons. I want my TV shows to possess fully formed female characters, crackling dialogue and twisting plots…if they imbue social commentary, all the better. Much to my delight, (and if you’re already a fan, you know what I’m talking about) Mad Men bursts with all of these. The show about an ad agency in Manhattan in the 1960s is also incredibly meticulous and historically accurate with its cigarettes, mid-day cocktails and skirt-chasing. So what’s a feminist’s take on this show and its sexist themes?

In the Washington Post, Professor Stephanie Coontz passionately writes about feminism and the historical accuracy of Mad Men. She asserts,

Historians are notorious for savaging historical fiction. We’re quick to complain that writers project modern values onto their characters, get the surroundings wrong, cover up the seamy side of an era or exaggerate its evils — and usually, we’re right. But AMC’s hit show “Mad Men”…is a stunning exception. Every historian I know loves the show; it is, quite simply, one of the most historically accurate television series ever produced. And despite the rampant chauvinism of virtually all its male characters (and some of its female ones), it is also one of the most sympathetic to women…But in 1965, feminism wasn’t a cultural option for most women. It would be another year before the National Organization for Women, the group that gave so many women the legal tools to fight discrimination, would be founded. Newspapers still ran separate want ads with separate pay scales for female jobs, seeking “poised, attractive” secretaries and “peppy gal Fridays.”

Coontz calls Mad Men the most feminist show on TV…and I couldn’t agree more. Most shows either don’t have female characters or have them as love interests or sex symbols. Battlestar Galactica delighted me because it had a multitude of female characters. Mad Men does too. But I’ve rarely seen a show that tackled sexism in such an overt way. Murphy Brown and Roseanne did…but that was back in the 80s and 90s. Many shows today ignore that sexism still exists. Now of course Mad Men takes place in the 60s. Yet creator and writer Matthew Weiner told the NY Times that he pulls ideas from many situations that have happened to people in this decade.

Peggy Olson (Elizabeth Moss), the show’s most brazen feminist, diligently climbed her way up from working as Don’s secretary to the only female copywriter and then to head copywriter with the capacity to fire people. In season 1’s episode “Babylon,” sweet and ambitious Peggy comes up with the “Basket of Kisses” campaign for Belle Jolie lipsticks, as she rightly counters that “no one wants to be one of a hundred colors in a box,” the original campaign for the cosmetics. I love her, even as I sometimes want to shake her for bad decisions (like sleeping with Duck). In the beginning of season 2, we see that she gave up her baby. Peggy continually chooses to focus on her career rather than on getting married and settling down, bucking societal standards. In season 4’s episode “The Beautiful Girls,” Peggy discusses civil rights and feminism with Abe, a friend of a friend, at a bar. She poses,

“But I have to say, most of the things negroes can’t do, I can’t do either. And nobody seems to care…Half of the meetings take place over golf, tennis, and a bunch of clubs where I’m not allowed to be a member or even enter.”

Abe sarcastically responds that maybe we should have a “a civil rights march for women.” Peggy astutely voiced the frustrations many women faced; they simply were not (and still aren’t) treated equally.

Bombshell office manager Joan Harris (formerly Holloway), my fave character along with Pete Campbell (whom I simultaneously love/hate), is played by the phenomenal Christina Hendricks. When I first started watching, I was worried she would merely be eye candy. But I was pleasantly surprised as Joan is intelligent, assertive and articulate. She possesses an impressive lexicon and knowledge of history, as well as doling out fashion tips (not too much cleavage) and social mores (no crying in the break room!). But it was when Joan read TV scripts for Harry in season 2 in the episode “A Night to Remember,” when it was apparent that she excelled at a job beyond managing secretaries. Yet rather than offering her the position, they hire someone else, never giving her, a woman, a second thought. Her reaction to this news broke my heart. In season 4’s episode “The Summer Man,” when Joey and Joan clash, he dismisses Joan to Peggy, not recognizing her value in running the office. A raging chauvinist asshole, Joey issues an offensive insult to Joan,

“What do you do around here besides walking around like you’re trying to get raped?”

Swell guy…not sure who’s worse, him or Joan’s husband McRapist. As Coontz writes,

there wasn’t even a word for the sexual harassment the character Joan experiences.

Yet Joan is furious at Peggy when she fires him for his misogynistic remarks. Joan may not be a stereotypical feminist or self-righteous like Peggy. And yes she married a rapist. But she’s a feminist nonetheless; she just maneuvers the terrain differently. Rather than coming at the situation head-on (something I would want to do like Peggy), Joan realizes that will just reinforce the men in the office’s perceptions of women as difficult bitches. Sadly, she may just be right.

Joan’s decision to not go through with her abortion this season stirred up controversy. In an article at RH Reality Check, Sarah Seltzer argues,

“Mad Men” is known for being excruciatingly period-specific. Joan was not at a modern-day abortion clinic and she was not privy to a modern-day abortion debate. She had followed a specific plan which involved breaking the law and risking arrest–which speaks to a strong determination to begin with. There were no protesters and no one to tell her what she did was immoral. Sure, by the standards of her time she was a “loose woman” but there was no pro-life movement calling women selfish babykillers…It’s realistic for her character, the time period, and the plot for Joan to have had the abortion. The show’s writers and the many viewers who think “she didn’t go through with it” are imagining a modern-day conception of abortion fueled by iffy anti-choice tropes found in movies like “Juno” or shows like “The Secret Life of the American Teenager.

I agree with Seltzer; too often abortion isn’t shown as an option that rational women decide. But there’s something to be said for storyline and character development, as Eleanor Barkhorn in The Atlantic counters,

The real reason so many fictional characters choose to keep their babies may be much simpler than any of these theories: Babies advance plotlines, whereas abortions end them. As Ted Miller, a spokesperson for NARAL Pro-Choice America, said, “The history of abortion storylines has been mixed. The very personal circumstances are often lost in the pursuit of dramatic or sensationalized storylines.” An abortion can carry a single episode, or a few scenes in a film, while a baby provides fodder for seasons’ worth of material…Sure, Weiner could have found other ways to teach us more about the characters he’s created. But Joan’s decision on Mad Men—and Miranda’s on Sex and the City, and Juno’s in Juno, and so on—show that on screen, advancing the plot is more important than making a political statement.

Obviously Joan is not anti-abortion as she’s had two previous procedures. Barkhorn points out that some say screenwriters don’t want to show abortions as “they don’t want their heroines to appear unsympathetic.” While 1 in 3 women in the U.S. will have an abortion in her lifetime, it’s so rare for a film or TV show to depict that choice. Only a handful of shows have portrayed a character having an abortion including Maude, Private Practice and Friday Night Lights. Barkhorn also points to characters on Sex and the City (Samantha and Carrie) both of whom had abortions in their characters’ past. But when Miranda becomes pregnant and resigned to have an abortion, she backs out at the last moment. While some characters have gone through with abortions, it makes it seem that it’s a decision that young people choose, not successful adult women.

Had Mad Men not shown the conversation with her doctor saying that she wanted to start a family, I would have had a much bigger problem with Joan’s decision to not go through with an abortion. Also, Irin Carmon at Jezebel raised the question as to whether or not Joan’s concern over not being able to conceive after multiple abortions was a reasonable worry in 1965. Turns out, it was. As it was illegal, it wasn’t regulated. Also, sharp implements were used, rather than the suction that is utilized now. There’s also the issue with her age as writer/creator Weiner points out. As a 34-year old woman, she knew her biological clock was ticking. Yet it would have been great for a bold show like Mad Men to show one of their main characters choosing an abortion.

Dr. Faye Miller (Cara Buono), a psychologist and marketing research analyst, is another strong independent woman on the show we’re introduced to in season 4. Peggy isn’t the only one who puts her work first. Dr. Faye has a conversation in which she tells Don that she chose to focus on her career rather than have children and she doesn’t feel her life is lacking. These are choices that were very real for women in the 60s but women still contend with today. It’s interesting to see just how far we haven’t come. When Dr. Faye says goodbye to Peggy when she leaves the firm in the episode “Blowing Smoke,” Peggy says to her,

“You do your job so well. They respect you and you don’t have to play any games. I didn’t know that was possible.”

To which Dr. Faye replies, “Is that what it looks like?” But obviously Faye did play games as she wore a faux wedding ring just so she wouldn’t have to contend with men’s sexual advances.

But what about the women who do choose marriage and children over a career? Betty Draper (January Jones), now Betty Francis, is the archetypal housewife, and probably the most controversial of the show. In the beginning of the series, many viewers pitied her due to Don’s philandering ways. Besides possessing beauty, Betty is educated, earning a college degree in anthropology (although upper-class women were often expected to go to college with the intent of snaring a husband). Before she married Don, she had a modeling career, making her own money, and traveling around the world. In the episode “Shoot” in season 1, Betty gets a taste of her former independent life as she models again briefly. We also see how much she represses (or rather doesn’t when she starts shooting defenseless birds). Now she’s the character everyone loves to hate. She’s mired in misery, spewing bitterness at everyone around her, especially her children. And speaking of her children, her 10-year-old daughter Sally (Kiernan Shipka) has already exhibited her feisty, independent ways…perhaps a feminist in the making.

And of course no commentary on Mad Men would be complete without a mention of charismatic ladies’ man Don Draper (Jon Hamm), the flawed hero and reluctant conscience of the show. Despite the bed-hopping alcoholic’s missteps, he continually does the right thing, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing so: promoting Peggy to copywriter (even if it is to spite Pete), opposing Betty’s corporal punishment of their children, standing up to big tobacco (even if it is a publicity stunt to garner attention for the firm). He also surrounds himself with intelligent, driven and complex women: Peggy, Anna Draper, Rachel Menken, Midge Daniels, Bobbie Barrett, Dr. Faye Miller, Megan and yes, even frustrating yet tragic Betty. And while we often see them through his broken, tortuous eyes, they certainly hold their own.

Despite the male protagonist and sexist scenes, the show continually passes the Bechdel test, a measure that a film or TV show portrays two women talking to each other and not talking about men. One example is in the season 4 finale “Tomorrowland,” when Betty and housekeeper Carla (sadly, the only character of color on the show) argue about Sally and what it means to be a good mother. But my favorite scene in that episode, and one of the most kick-ass of the whole series, shows Peggy and Joan discussing men marrying their secretaries and how they’re treated at work.

Peggy: “You know I just saved this company. I signed the first new business since Lucky Strike left. But it’s not as important as getting married…again.”

Joan: “Well I was just made Director of Agency Operations, a title, no money of course. And if they poured champagne it must have been while I was pushing a mail cart.”

Peggy: “A pretty face comes along and everything goes out the window.”

Joan: “Well I learned a long time ago to not get all my satisfaction from this job.”

Peggy: “That’s bullshit.”

Then they giggle knowingly.

With their commentary on unequal treatment and pay at work, this conversation could just as easily have taken place in 2005 rather than 1965. In season 4’s episode “The Beautiful Girls” which echoes the theme of the 2nd season (my fave!) which told the stories from the women’s perspectives, at the very end, Joan, Peggy and Dr. Faye all end up in the elevator together. Three different women, different paths but all with the same goals: to be valued for their minds and their work and to achieve success in their careers.

Some aspects of society have obviously changed since the world of Mad Men. Coontz describes how in the 1960s the term sexual harassment wasn’t even coined yet; how Joan being raped by her boyfriend (now husband) Greg was not so uncommon as marital rape wasn’t defined by the courts yet; how Peggy giving up her child for adoption was something many women did; how Faye choosing her career over having children is what many women chose as companies could fire women for getting pregnant; how Betty slapping Sally or using television as a babysitter for Sally and Bobby were routine parenting techniques. Coontz writes,

We should be glad that the writers are resisting the temptation to transform their female characters into contemporary heroines. They’re not, and they cannot be. That is the brilliance of the show’s script. “Mad Men’s” writers are not sexist. The time period was.

With the backlash writer Aaron Sorkin rightly received for the sexist portrayal of women as fuck trophies and sex objects in the film The Social Network, it’s an interesting question as to whether the time period and events portrayed are sexist or if the writers’ depictions are sexist. A writer does choose what to show (and not show). This has been one of the valid criticisms of Mad Men, that there are so few people of color on the show. But with regards to sexism, the writers (7 of the 9 writers are women) continually convey the feelings, attitudes and perspectives of how the female characters contend with their sexist surroundings, which invalidates the notion that the writers are sexist. If they were, they would never depict complex, fully developed characters; they would never let us see the thoughts, hopes and fears of the women on the show.

Some may try to write Mad Men off as chauvinistic but the show begs you to look deeper, analyzing every word, every gesture, to shatter the façade, crack the layers and see what’s actually going on behind the veneer of perfection. The show forces us to examine our flawed history, but also our flawed selves. We are still haunted by the specter of sexism. Women still don’t earn equal pay, and sexist ads clutter up magazines and billboards. Rarely does a show tackle institutional sexism so overtly. Even rarer is the show that not only features a variety of strong, independent women, but actually champions them. Mad Men depicts feminism in many different ways through myriad characters. Beyond being a visually stunning, flawlessly acted show, it should be a reminder, a warning to us that the past is not so distant. We shouldn’t congratulate ourselves on how far we’ve come yet; we still have far to go. In the meantime, I’m going to let the intoxication of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce linger…

Megan Kearns is a blogger, freelance writer and activist. A feminist vegan, Megan blogs at The Opinioness of the World, where she writes about gender in pop culture, sexism in the media, reproductive justice and living vegan. Her work has also appeared at Arts & Opinion, Italianieuropei, Open Letters Monthly, and A Safe World for Women. She earned her B.A. in Anthropology and Sociology and a Graduate Certificate in Women and Politics and Public Policy. Megan lives in Boston with her diva cat and more books than she will probably ever read in her lifetime. She contributed reviews of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, Something Borrowed, !Women Art Revolution, The Kids Are All Right (for our 2011 Best Picture Nominee Review Series) and The Reader (for our 2009 Best Picture Nominee Series). She was the first writer featured as a Monthly Guest Contributor.

Things They Haven’t Seen: Women and Class in Mad Men

Towards the end of the first season, Peggy Olson goes out on a date set up by her mother. The guy, Carl, drives a potato chip delivery truck, and makes it clear that he doesn’t think too highly of Peggy’s chosen profession. “You don’t look like those girls,” he tells her. Peggy storms off, snapping at Carl, “They are better than us. They want things they haven’t seen.”

I don’t agree, at least not when it comes to the main women of Mad Men. Joan and Betty are victims of both their class and their gender, and the only thing they would seem to aspire to is what they know and what they see: the comforts of an middle-to-upper class existence.

One element that has always fascinated me about Mad Men has been the element of class mobility and class-based constraints. The women, in particular, embody the opportunities and limitations of class during the 1960s. Looking at the characters of Peggy, Joan, and Betty, it becomes clear that if the people who live in Manhattan want things they haven’t seen, they are limited in being able to attain those goals by their class and class constraints.

Peggy Olson

From the beginning, Peggy is presented to us as a girl in her dress and her manners. She tells Joan that she attended “Miss Devers Secretarial School,” and while Joan reveals that it is one of the best, it isn’t a college education. We also see her small and simple apartment, later learning she is from the Bronx and, during the second season, Catholic. Her sister’s husband has been hurt on the job and unable to work, and their rather large family is living in a small apartment. All of this indicates that Peggy comes from a working-class background.

The episode mentioned above is an important moment for Peggy; in the same episode, Peggy has a successful pitch for the “Electrolizer.” Peggy is able to somewhat comfortably talk about the fact that the machine is a vibrator. Juxtapose Peggy’s ability to articulate the benefits of the Electrolizer versus Betty’s experience with the washing machine in the same episode. One embraces the freedom the machine can/could provide for women, while the other has to make do.

Betty Draper Francis

Betty came from both class and means; her family is wealthy, and from the descriptions of her mother, quite proper in terms of gender and class norms. Her mother disapproved of her brief career as a model after Betty had graduated from Bryn Mawr College. All of her married friends seemed to have attended one of the “Seven Sister” schools and traveled extensively in Europe.

For her, her marriage is her goal. She was raised to want to look pretty in order to attract an acceptable husband. She might be unhappy in her marriage to Don, but she has no idea how to escape or to fulfill herself. I saw her holding a rifle, smoking a cigarette, and shooting her neighbors birds not as a symbol of a woman rising up to defend her family, but of a woman who couldn’t bear even a reminder of freedom. Like the birds, she, too, would always come home.

Joan Holloway Harris

Joan, too, is the picture of elegance. She has gone to college and has moved up as far as she can professionally, enjoying being single while looking for a husband. She finds (and problematically marries) an aspiring surgeon. While it isn’t clear what kind of background Joan comes from, it is clear that she possesses the proper credentials for a woman who came from class or means.

Joan’s rape has, obviously, generated a lot of debate. I read it, however, as a type of class sacrifice; in order to “keep” her professional and respectable husband, she has to stay silent about her rape. It is never made clear if Joan truly loves Greg, or views him as her last chance at class respectability. Joan also quits her job at Sterling-Cooper once she is married because it is no longer necessary, but also no longer socially acceptable. But it isn’t just that. When she has the opportunity to read scripts and make valuable contributions to the newly-formed television department, Joan doesn’t speak up when an inexperienced man receives her job. Contrasted with Peggy’s courage to ask for Freddy Rumsen’s old office, Joan would seem to be trapped not just by the constraints of her gender, but the constraints of her upper-class upbringing.

One could also read the competition between Joan and Peggy as a competition between two women from different socio-economic class; Peggy doesn’t know the rules, doesn’t “look” the part, and Joan tries to help her “fit in” as an women with middle-class aspiration. But Peggy isn’t interested in marrying up; her ignorance of the rules is her biggest strength as she is not limited by the gender pressures of middle and upper-class expectations.

Peggy, in her quote about wanting things they haven’t seen yet, could be referring to the women that Don Draper consorts with throughout the first two seasons. Midge Daniels is a bohemian, for class seems to hold no allure or power. Rachel Menken has managed to transcend class (and racial/religious) boundaries and become a power-driven professional woman. The same goes for Bobbie Barrett, who manages her husband’s show biz career with savvy and ruthlessness. Each of these women is successful at eschewing the limits placed on them by class expectations.

It is interesting that when Don is faced with a choice between a non-traditional woman (Dr. Faye Miller) and his secretary (Megan), he chooses the latter. Faye and Peggy are, ultimately romantically punished for their non-traditional interpretations of class and gender norms. It remains to be seen how Faye bounces back from Don’s rejection, but Peggy is certainly doing better than either Betty or Joan when it comes to personal and professional success.

Call it the limitations of an upper-class upbringing; sometimes we can only want what it is we see.

Lee Skallerup Bessette has a PhD in Comparative Literature and currently teaches writing in Kentucky. She also blogs at College Ready Writing and the University of Venus. She has two kids, and TV and movies are just about the only thing she has time for outside of her work and family.

‘Mad Men’ Week: Hey, Brian McGreevy: Vampire Pam Beats Don Draper Any Day

This cross-post by Tami Winfrey Harris previously appeared at Fangs For The Fantasy and What Tami Said.

Vampire Pam saying, “He can do it; I’m wearing my favorite pumps.”

How much gender fail and homophobia can one pack into a brief online essay? Screenwriter Brian McGreevy takes a break from doing keg stands at the frat house to show us. In a guest blog for Vulture, McGreevy, who is currently adapting Bram Stoker’s Dracula for Warner Bros., complains that modern vampire books, film and TV shows have “taken the Romantic vampire and cut off his balls, leaving a pallid emo pansy with the gaseous pretentiousness of a perfume commercial.”

*side eye*

The problem, according to McGreevy, is “the female gaze.” It has given us vampire stories that are mere “pornography for tweens.”

Just as the Frito-Lay Company has created virtually nutrient-free vehicles of corn syrup and salt that make our youth fat, slow, and indiscriminate, the Castrati vampire is a confection that has the same impact on the psycho-dramatic imagination of today’s youth. Think of the message here: What is the consequence of falling in with a Romantic vampire? Death, either yours or his. What is the consequence of falling in with the Castrati vampire? Long and torturous (at least to everyone around you) conversations about feelings. This is not what really happens when you fall in with attractive monsters.McGreevy isn’t feeling Stephanie Meyer’s sparkling undead abstaining teens. But he has equal disdain for the sexed up vamps on True Blood, which, in his words, is “like Tennessee Williams fucked The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” See, blood suckers should be real men “ideal men” like Mad Men’s Don Draper.

McGreevy isn’t feeling Stephanie Meyer’s sparkling undead abstaining teens. But he has equal disdain for the sexed up vamps on True Blood, which, in his words, is “like Tennessee Williams fucked The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” See, blood suckers should be real men “ideal men” like Mad Men’s Don Draper.

What?

Yes, McGreevy reckons Don Draper is a far better vampire than any of Twilight’s or True Blood’s.

Of course I refer to Don Draper on the AMC series Mad Men, the purist’s vampire of choice for our time. This one has teeth. And adding an extra layer to the mystique is his position as an advertising executive. A more elegant embodiment of the metaphor could hardly be asked for: He is an engine of want, creating the illusion of fulfillment while sucking you dry. No is not in his vocabulary. Neither is yes—yes is implicit. He knows this, he is past needing to hear you say it. He knows the private and unmentionable place that cries “yes” when the bottom drops out of an amusement park ride and suddenly you are in free fall, and, like the ideal man, he is listening.

When Mad Men first premiered, much of its appeal was attributed to novelty factor: What a different time it was, when the American male was an unrecognizable breed of scandalous, id-driven malefactor; heedless, rapacious, just waiting to slide off his doe-eyed secretary’s pencil skirt and show off his executive account.

…

Men are predators at heart. Any refutation of this is also a refutation of evolution, or the common sense conclusion of observing a typical 3-year-old boy at unstructured play, his wake of destruction the envy of a Visigoth. It is a killer’s heart that is the motive force of masculinity and predation its spirit. This is not to suggest nature is immutable, or that one ought to act in blind obeisance to it, but that “ought” is not in the vocabulary of want, and choosing is meant to have consequences.

Vampires should be real ideal men. Ideal men are amoral. Ideal men kill and destroy things. Ideal men don’t think; they do. Ideal men don’t take “no” for an answer, especially from women. Ideal men are always rampaging heterosexuals, by the way. We can’t argue with this. McGreevy says it’s evolution.

Of course, if Mad Men is any indication, sometimes, under the weight of all those expectations to be sufficiently rapacious and manly, ideal men become sad, functional alcoholics, living in dim and depressing walk-up apartments, alienated from their children, following the dissolution of their soul-destroying marriages to beautiful “house cats.” Or maybe, like Roger Sterling, who McGreevy quotes to close his piece, ideal men become aging party boys, useless but for a last name that once held some power, and trapped in wedlock with the doe-eyed secretary, who, it turns out, wasn’t such a good idea after all.

There is so much wrong with McGreevy’s diatribe that it is hard to know where to start. Let me identify a few problems:

A person who is working on an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula really ought to have a better understanding of vampirology. McGreevy’s pet version of the vampire is but one of many incarnations. The idea of the vampire can be found all over the world and there is little agreement on what these mythical creatures are like. For instance, Nosferatu, the mother of all vampire films, released in the 1920s, reveals a ratlike creature more monster than man. The idea that Bram Stoker’s is the definitive vampire and that Twilight and True Blood are some affront to the canon is silly—even sillier for someone who is adapting the Stoker story for Leonardo DiCaprio. I’m not sure about the casting for this project, but DiCaprio better not be playing the Count. He’s not fit to carry Gary Oldman’s bat makeup:

McGreevy also conveniently forgets Anne Rice’s vampires. Lestat was in love with Louis, could wear the hell out of some breeches and was also dangerous as fuck. If, as McGreevy states, vampires are stand ins for the ideal man, it’s good to remember that some real men don’t wear tailored suits or chase skirt.

It’s a ridiculous notion, anyway—this “ideal man” business. It’s a good thing that we as a society, save McGreevy, Scott Adams and possibly some members of the men’s rights movement, are letting go of it. Women have undoubtedly been oppressed by the culture of manly manness, but the thing is, so have men—a lot of good men who don’t fit McGreevy’s paradigm. And I would venture to say that most men don’t. And thank goodness for that.

And since when are all vampires MEN? One doesn’t need a penis to be a deadly creature of the night. Catherine Deneuve in The Hunger? Deadly little Claudia in the Rice series? Stoker’s Brides of Dracula and Lucy Westenra? And True Blood’s Pam? Pam would eat Don Draper for lunch. Literally.

To use Lafayette’s vernacular, here’s what I’m putting down: McGreevy’s thoughts on vampires, manliness and gender roles? Hot buttered horsepucky. All of it. If the writer is bringing this sort of regressive ridiculousness to his screenplay, then his version of Stoker’s Dracula is one I can surely miss.

Tami Winfrey Harris writes about race, feminism, politics and pop culture at the blog What Tami Said. Her work has also appeared online at The Guardian’s Comment is Free, Ms. Magazine blog, Newsweek, Change.org, Huffington Post and Racialicious. She is a graduate of the Iowa State University Greenlee School of Journalism. She spends her spare time researching her family history and cultivating a righteous ‘fro. She cross-posted her review of Sucker Punch at Bitch Flicks.

(95) Minutes of Pure Torture: 500 Days of Summer, Take 2

Perhaps my expectations were too high, or perhaps my eternal lust for an intelligent romantic comedy (think Juno) got the better of me. We all loved Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 10 Things I Hate About You, and Zooey Deschanel was one of the reasons Almost Famous was such an awesome movie. The commercials telling us that (500) Days of Summer was not “a love story” made us interested—we went to see these two beloved actors fall in love.

It starts out boy meets girl—but the irritating voice of the narrator tells us that it is not a story about a boy meeting a girl. This is supposed to be hip and ironic.

Zooey Deschanel, as Summer Finn, is an enigma, or that’s what the filmmakers want us to think. She tells Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) in an awkward office-endorsed drunken karaoke night (I want to work there!) that she doesn’t want to be “anyone’s anything” and that commitment is far off in her future. She is then told that she is a “guy” by the goofy best friend. Alas, it is impossible for a woman to want anything less than a diamond engagement ring and a June wedding at the Plaza (you’ve got us pegged, boys!). After a random, highly erotic copy room make out session (again, I want to work there!), she tells Tom she isn’t looking for anything serious. With his nauseating puppy-dog look, Tom agrees, saying he’ll keep it casual. The next sequences go back and forth between their miserable days with each other and their occasional mediocre ones, which Tom thinks are the best and most meaningful days of his life.

He follows her around like an obedient dog and spends most of his time analyzing why she didn’t smile when he held up a certain record and how she didn’t listen to his mix CD (8th grade anyone?). He loves everything about her, alternately hates everything about her, goes to his pre-pubescent sister for advice and survives off Twinkies, whiskey and orange juice for approximately twenty days straight after their breakup. Though he works at a greeting card company, he owns a spacious apartment in Los Angeles and was training to be an architect but gave it up for mysterious reasons, though he lovingly sketches some buildings on her arm in one scene, babbling about light capacity. I’m not sure if this means anything; in fact it never actually becomes clear what his interest in architecture means. The movie prefers to center around his self-absorbed dealings with a female who does not seem particularly interested in him and his repeated attempts at stalking her.

Summer, though she detests relationships, continually flirts with Tom, thereby stringing him along for the entirety of the movie. The only interesting things about Summer are her fabulous vintage dresses (kudos to costume design) and huge blue eyes. Of the things we’re supposed to think are cool about her: she likes Ringo Starr, The Smiths, and she has read The Picture of Dorian Grey. That’s about it. She is a secretary, has no visible ambitions, was called “Anal Girl” in college (because she was neat) and has of course, a gorgeous apartment. One night she admits she had a dream about flying and tells Tom: “I’ve never told anyone that before.” Yawn.

This movie was said to be refreshing by many critics, but really no parts of it are invigorating, and little of it resembles real life. The dialogue is halting, and an awkward undercurrent plays throughout the entire movie, punctuated by my uneasy giggles to lessen my extreme discomfort. No sparks fly between the main characters—there is none of the chemistry that occurs in an actual relationship. That might be because neither character has much depth. Sure, they have some slapdash pseudo-idiosyncrasies, but they boil down to two hipster stereotypes.

The supposed draw of this movie is that it is about an independent woman who does not want to be tied down in a relationship. However, in the end, Summer gets married to someone else. When Tom questions her about this, she explains it away by the fact that she just knew this other guy was The One. So everything she said about not wanting commitment didn’t mean anything; it just boiled down to the fact that she didn’t really like Tom all that much.

Wow. I wasted $10 and an hour and a half, and it is now confirmed to all male audience members that all women really do want commitment.

Deborah Nadler is a freelance writer and feminist finishing up her degree in Comparative Literature from Smith College, after which she hopes to become a physician. Despite her father’s claim that “doctors don’t write books,” she has aspirations to become a published novelist.