Mad Men: A Sartorial Gift to America
Sadly, Mad Men is on too late for me, a woman of a certain age who is usually up before the birds. Considering that I never watch it, I might not be the best observer of how the so-far enduringly hit series is helping a country whose greatness is teetering on a precipice of history. But I did see one episode -- with its unforgettable opening theme song, “Come On, Bay-BEE, Let’s Do the Twist.” And after all, one can’t avoid the fairly prolific references to the show with accompanying pictures of characters in their full, mid-century regalia.
There are two kinds of people watching Mad Men. Some viewers are old enough to actually remember all those ties, vests, dresses with long zippers at the back, unseen garter belts holding up thigh-high silk stockings and hair that’s been in curlers all night. The others are not. But everyone is drooling over those peter-pan collars, cinch belts, trousers with creases, and even the ashtrays. Few cultural phenomena appeal to both young and old. For younger people, since there is an inevitable reactive character to generational change, it is enough that their Boomer parents have been slumping around for decades in faded jeans and bulbous running shoes.
To be fair to us Boomers, it should be remembered that we were not recently born into an instant, mysterious state of being 60 years old, having no clue that an old plaid shirt is not the path to sartorial splendor. Older Boomers remember with nostalgic clarity dressing right out of Mad Men for our first office jobs. Some older female viewers have, as it were, Joan’s and Peggy’s dresses in the backs of our closets or at least in attics. Our men, whose necks were cinched in ties many years before the Millennials were a gleam in anyone’s eye, feel that they have earned the right to wear jeans to work. Unlike a critical young peacock now looking down his scrubbed nose at his father’s questionable raiment, we have witnessed the deterioration in dress standards from Rat Pack suits to dirty pants that reveal a fat-fanny crack when the plumber bends over in front of the sink.
Nevertheless, in our long-reigning, “I don’t care, I’m gonna be comfortable” culture, there is a certain longing for the dress standards that are so central to the appeal of Mad Men. It is very hard to believe that the show would be such a hit if its characters went through their paces in shapeless T-shirts and sweats. Dress shops that went out of business in the 1990’s because a “dress” seemed like a relic of the old cocktails-and-moonlight generations, should try again now. If young men in 2009 are more interested in sharp dressing than their female counterparts, it may be partly because the days when success was assured if one was male are gone. Unlike their fathers and certainly their grandfathers, they have to work hard and try hard just to get anywhere. For women it’s a little more complicated because we are still rejecting centuries of hoop skirts, “bodices” and other mandated female attire that condemned us to ornamental status. That may be why girls will need more than the spectacle of Betty Draper to stop wearing pajamas to the grocery store.
Dress standards don’t evolve in a vacuum. They reflect important – if not always desirable – changes in society. With the Baby Boomer rise to demographic power came, among other things, rock music and the clothes that went with it. Jeans, which formerly had been worn only by farmers, became a widely popular item of clothing. As Boomers grew older and disparaged everything their “conformist” parents stood for, casual clothing supposedly became a hallmark of a genuine person, a generational conceit that found its ultimate expression in the writhing of bodies in Woodstock mud. Still, with all those World War II, Depression-raised parents, seeds of respect for suits and success were planted in Boomers during young childhood. We later became famous for possessing food processors and driving BMW’s with “Baby on Board” hanging in the rear window.
Nor is Mad Men set in contemporary times or in a vaguely identified era. The setting is a time when American power and domestic economic wellbeing were unparalleled. The Kennedy Administration didn’t have to worry about securing a chicken in every pot for Americans so it fixated on rockets and plans to put men on the moon. The great tragic mistake of Vietnam had not happened. Terrorists did not yet possess the power to reek destruction and indiscriminate cruelty around the world. It may have been a time when children were disciplined rather than praised but, in general, we look back on it as a time whose desirable aspects we wish we could duplicate now. Since that is not possible, dressing the part is always an option.
Much can be engendered by a rise in the general standard of dressing. When we dress better, we feel better about ourselves. Our posture improves. People respect us more. We set good examples for the young. A whole population can feel that the country is changing for the better. Sustained weight loss is more likely to be successful because we want to fit into all those nice clothes in our closets. We feel more like going to a museum instead of collapsing in front of the TV in our underwear. In the gorgeous Stanley Donen film, “Indiscreet,” (1958, of course) Ingrid Berman is coaxed by sister Phyllis Calvert to snap out of her bad mood and go out on the town. “You’ll feel much better in a girdle.”
Nobody who knows anything about 1960 really wants to return to it. Special Education was not available for children who desperately needed it. With rare exceptions, women in business couldn’t get out of the secretarial pool. Disabled people were “cripples” kept in back rooms. No one who was not a child or participant in the Tour de France rode a bicycle. Girdles.
Still, some of us can’t help but feel that the nightmare of a declining America could be reversed by getting up in the morning, dressing up like one of the characters in Mad Men, and striding forth out to work on some exciting new alternative-energy project. It’s worth a try. We have nothing to lose but our crocs.
