Mad Men: season 5, episode 11

Female liberation: what would it take to make you a queen?

As the fifth season of Mad Men nears its conclusion and 1966 gives way to '67, we look back on a series that has largely done away with what was once its characteristic slowness, in which relationships would for the most part develop gradually and characters would reveal themselves, and their pasts, at a more glacial pace. It was inevitable that once many of the main protagonists' secrets - and more plainly, personalities - had come to light over six years, the show would have to compensate much of its intrigue-building for action. It appeared for a while that Season Five's narrative would be character based - here we have the Betty episode; now the Pete, then the Roger show - and one by one their public personas would seem more lacquered as the inner workings of every character were thoroughly and systematically mined.

But the writers of Mad Men are not so formulaic, and "The Other Woman", as much as any episode before it, invites our comparison between those three women it concerns. For all its shock happenings, too, it's an episode that develops themes from its previous one. In "Christmas Waltz" Jaguar was set up as the prize the agency has long desired, and that Don, for his own self worth, must achieve. Now it's not only the needed account, nor just the perfect symbol of American consumerism, but an unattainable woman - the other woman - "the mistress who'll do things your wife won't". Herb Rennet, the Head of the Dealership Association (with a name like an industrial farming product), calls it a "hot red number". But his eye isn't on the car - it's on Joan. She has become the material good: "You're talking about prostitution," she spits at Pete, who corrects her: "I'm talking about business at a very high level." Hence why she makes an appointment later to see him, and he confuses her "ability to perform" for the client with the creative's presentation. 

These two performances then play out simultaneously; we see Joan enter the man's hotel room wearing the fur stole Roger gave her in 1955, bought from a young Don Draper. It's a thoroughly depressing montage, with Don's narration on the worth of a beauitful object, the behaviour that would be forgiven for it - though in fact it's earlier, as Joan's initial fury at her male colleagues ebbs away, than we feel the most despair. Despite his Cleopatra allegory Pete is as foul as the client Herb, who has his own garbled tales of the Sultan of Arabia and Helen of Troy. And in their acceptance, once the price for her has been agreed, the other partners (bar Don) are just as implicted: Lane makes sure he needn't approach the creditors, Roger accepts but refuses to pay, and even Burt's "let her know she can still say no," presupposes Joan's consent. We recall Lakshmi from the previous episode, the Hare Krishna who has sex with Harry Crane "for the movement".  But it's a line of Don's, from when he visits Joan at her apartment, that rings out true: "If we don't get Jaguar, so what? Who wants to be in business with poeple like that?" The line is played twice - we hear Don speak it again when we learn his visit is too late. In her face there's the suggestion that Joan would have acted differently had she known Don was not complicit in the partners' barter. "You're a good one, aren't you?" she says to him. But the others in "the movement", this business she has just sold herself into, are not.

Joan's refusal to shake Pete's hand when she agrees to his offer strangely forshadow's Don's refusal to take Peggy's. Instead, in a most tender act, he kisses it for the longest time. Earlier in another reference to the prostitution of Joan, Don tells Peggy to get herself to Paris and throws money in her face. Now, he offers it sincerely to make her stay - but unlike for Joan, "there's no number" he can name. In the end she doesn't leave out of spite; it's "not a game"; she does it "for her career". And although she's moving on from the company, Peggy is still Don's protégé: doing what he would do, braving the future with a smile, and unresenting.

Which begs the question: will Megan, too, break free of Don when she finally gets a part in a broadway play? She already "comes and goes as she pleases," Ginsberg says, and in her audition dress Don he knows she acts for her confidence more than his pleasure. While Megan has sex with him in his office, her friend Julia helpfully acts another literal Jaguar, prowling on the boardroom desk. Which car is Megan: the Jaguar mistress, the beauty Don wishes to truly own? Or the wifely Buick, patiently parked in the garage?

Unlike Peggy, Megan says that between the man - Don - and her work, she would choose the man and resent him for it. Over the course of "The Other Woman" we see a group of women making a choice (though for Megan it is theoretical) against their heart and will, for the sake of their job. In Joan's case, as a single working mother, the notion of "choice" raises questions that persist to this day: how free is she in choosing not to buy for herself autonomy, in the form of a company stake at the cost of her body, that she would never otherwise be afforded? Is it altogether priceless, being made a queen?

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Peggy Olson in "The Other Woman". Credit: AMC

Alice Gribbin is a Teaching-Writing Fellow at the Iowa Writers' Workshop. She was formerly the editorial assistant at the New Statesman.

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Vinyl makes us happy, here's why we're buying more of it

This once retro format is no longer the preserve of hipsters and music heads. 

So, vinyl sales are up again, with data today showing that sales of records have exceeded that of downloads for the first time. The forces behind this are a combination of the rational and the fashionable, to quote my friend Jim, a Glaswegian music nut in his mid 40s with a family and a sideline in buying and selling records on online marketplace Discogs. He packages up records to men like him who spent a lifetime in clubs and record shops but don’t go out any more, and who crave the cultural connection and community that music offers. Jim’s Discogs sales spike on Friday and Saturday nights when aging music heads drunkenly add another of his vinyl gems to basket. Sales drop off in January, he hypothesises, because his buyers are too sober and broke to pick up that Can “Tago Mago” UK original pressing in envelope sleeve for £140.  

Music released on vinyl is purposefully, trenchantly niche. It celebrates the fact that music isn’t for everyone: a limited edition pressing of a few hundred copies on Bradley Zero’s excellent Peckham label Rhythm Section International may only have an audience marginally above that number. But that doesn’t matter because there are thousands of niches being covered by record labels and private presses releasing new vinyl onto the market, as well as a mixed economy of places to buy a Guadeloupian zouk reissue (highly recommended) or a limited split 7” from Savages. Established record stores like Rough Trade continue to thrive in parallel to their own digital operations. You can buy vinyl direct from the artist on Bandcamp. The Independent Label Market host events across the UK which transform independent labels into market stall holders where they can sell their fresh musical produce direct to shoppers who have record bags not wicker baskets. It might be pricey, but the high resale value of your new vinyl means you can’t really lose, even if you decide that you spent £20-30 on a duffer.   

There’s also a practical reason for releasing music on vinyl, simply because there’s no point putting niche releases on streaming services because the returns are so low. CD sales are falling – they’ve dropped 84% in a decade in the US – although that hasn’t stopped French band Justice from hedging their bets: their last release “Woman” came on a new format that was one side CD and one side vinyl.

A caveat: don’t take the figures at face value. Record sales are overtaking downloads – but that’s also because no-one buys downloads any more. Why would you when you can stream the new Solange album on Apple Music or get lost in the Bandcamp rabbit hole for happy hours at a time?

There’s also a caveat on the quality thing. People often say that music sounds better on vinyl, and there is some truth in it, particularly if you’re a fan of the warming tones of a lovely crackle – but the argument fails to hold water when you’re talking about buying music on high quality wavs. These files, which contain more musical information than MP3s, which are known as “lossy” files because they literally chuck out a tonne of the sonic information in order to create a smaller file, sound great. But they kill your storage and most laptops and phones start to complain pretty damn quickly if you buy too many – unless like the record-buying hardcore, you’re also shelling out on giga-massive external hard drives. The quality argument doesn’t explain the popularity of coloured vinyl and picture discs either, which audiophiles will tell you sound distinctly inferior to gold-standard 180g black vinyl.  Something else must be going on, and our desire for vinyl tells us something about what we’re missing.

“I think people are bored of a digital way of listening,” says Nina Hervé of Rough Trade. “People want community again. Vinyl is a way of sharing your music with people in a communal space or by sharing pictures of what you’ve bought on Instagram. Records are the opposite of listening to music on headphones, which is a way of not talking to people on a train or in the office. It’s communal.”

Essentially, vinyl is a type of plastic, made from oil-derivative ethylene. Plastic is basically compressed sunshine, the product of ancient forests and the sunlight they absorbed, transformed into a conduit for another ancient human need – music. No wonder it makes us happy, and no wonder we’re buying more of it right now.

Emma Warren is a freelance editor and journalist.