Marcia Gloster's Blog - Posts Tagged "marcia-gloster"

The finale of Mad Men is the talk of the town. It’s hardly surprising—Entertainment Weekly has called the show, “the TV-taste status symbol of the moment.”

So what is everyone saying? In a tribute to Mad Men’s impact on its industry, Ad Week quotes Stuart Elliott, the recently retired New York Times advertising columnist: “Half of the people I talk to from that era are very hard-core fans of the show and say that it is exactly what it was like then. And half say the show was completely phony and drummed up for dramatic purposes.”

I’ve thought a lot about the specifics of the Mad Men era—it is the setting for the novel I am currently writing—and I find myself with a foot in both camps. While there are times when details or situations seem exaggerated for dramatic effect, overall, the show is wonderfully evocative of my early days in New York.

“The boys in the bullpen”

In 1964, just out of Rhode Island School of Design, I was determinately in search of a job as an assistant art director in New York.The women in my class had been warned that, despite being artists, we would likely have to start (and hopefully not get trapped) as someone’s secretary. I vowed that would never happen, and it didn’t. But I interviewed extensively before being hired as assistant to the art director at Bride’s magazine.

At one large ad agency I was informed they couldn’t possibly hire me because “the boys in the bullpen,” where all assistants typically began, would feel inhibited about cursing in front of a girl and, as a result, their work would suffer. The bearer of this news was a senior partner at the agency and the perfect image of the Mad Man of the era. At the time I didn’t even realize I had been discriminated against; I doubt the word was even in my vocabulary.

Sexy and sexist

In the mid 1960s, hemlines were rising rapidly and all the young women I knew and worked with shortened their dresses on an almost monthly basis. Each time I see Peggy, I’m dismayed at her outfits. The girls walking by in the hallways are far more representative of the time than the women with speaking parts, who by the way, seem to be based on Barbie dolls. I have no recall of anyone, especially of Peggy’s age, repressed or not, dressing quite like her. While the older women I knew, mostly editors and writers, dressed conservatively, they were far more stylish and never looked as dowdy as Peggy.

Since the show began, I’ve had many people ask me about the sexism. While it’s a fact that men’s attitudes towards women were condescending, I never experienced anything like what happens to Joan, nor did I know anyone who encountered anything so blatantly overt. True, Joan’s an imposing and sexy figure, but the mean spirited jibes she receives are exaggerated. That men spoke that way was, and is still, obvious. I heard plenty of innuendos, though nothing so extreme as Joan’s treatment by the men at her meeting (with Peggy) at McCann. Nevertheless, as in Joan’s meeting with the president of McCann, it is true that they were routinely chauvinistic, crass and dismissive.

Most of us managed to shake off unpleasant remarks with humor. One of my bosses at a fashion magazine liked to walk potential advertisers past the art department whispering, “Have a look at my art director.” Did he think I didn’t hear him? And yet we kept our comments to ourselves. There was no other way; men were in charge. That said, they could be easily influenced: in those years, I wore mini skirts whenever I was interviewing with a man, and more often than not, all presentations being equal, I got the job. (My apology to feminists.)

The advertising business was at its creative peak in the 1960s and Mad Men portrays it well. For me, the “Lost Horizon” episode that aired on May 3rd could have been a perfect ending: Roger and Peggy alone in their shattered and abandoned office blitzed on Vermouth. Roger zoned out and playing the organ as Peggy, with unexpected grace, circles him on roller skates. A surreal scene for a surreal story of a surreal profession.

—Marcia Gloster, author of 31 Days: A Memoir of Seduction

I woke up slowly, feeling Bill’s hand gently stroking my hair. Outside, it was just becoming light; the only sound the subtle staccato of rain hitting the window. Warm and comfortable in the softness of the bed, I moved closer to him. My eyes barely open, I saw him looking at me with an unusual intensity, his eyes amber in the reflected glow of dawn. As he slowly began making love to me, I relaxed in his arms. It was a transcendent moment of perfection beyond time and place—ethereal yet fleeting in a pure expression of desire and affection.

~ ~ ~

It was light outside when we awoke again, this time to Kraks making noise in the other room. Alarmed, I looked at Bill. He laughed and looked at his watch. It was after eight. “It’s late,” he said, kissing me. “Get dressed and I’ll get him out of the way. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” I said, gathering up my clothes.

He put on his pants and left the room. I dressed quickly, cautiously opened the door, and peeked out. Seeing Kraks’s door was partially closed, I ran into the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, I laughed. I looked happily disheveled. Splashing cold water on my face, I rinsed my mouth with toothpaste and took a comb out of my small bag, running it through my hair until I was presentable. I looked out again, hearing Bill and Kraks talking in the other room. Letting myself out of the flat, I ran down the stairs, thinking I should have just faced Kraks. But after such a perfect night I didn’t want him bellowing at me.

~ ~ ~

The morning was bright but cold after last night’s rain. As I shrugged on my sweater, I couldn’t stop thinking about the afternoon and night. From his asking me to help choose the drawings to what he had said after we made love, Bill had been beyond affectionate, even loving. My only problem was that the intimacy of our hours together was making it almost impossible to control my emotions—emotions I had managed to keep in check for most of the summer. Meanwhile, the pragmatic part of my mind recognized that while the romance was lovely, it was at best momentary. It was the rest of the relationship that was still the problem and always would be. While I consciously savored those moments, I was also aware that it would end all too soon. I would always wish that the fantasy could have become the reality.

But today was for being happy and allowing myself to love him, if only for the moment. I didn’t want to think beyond this week. I put on my sunglasses and practically ran back to the flat, arriving just as Kate was about to leave.


Excerpted from 31 Days: A Memoir of Seduction by Marcia Gloster, published by The Story Plant. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Copyright ©2014 Marcia Gloster. All rights reserved.