Mad Men

Watching Mad Men is unlike any other show-watching experience I can recall, because the story, in my mind, isn't thrilling, and I don't really walk away from it wanting to see what happens next. It has a peculiar effect, one that I am ambivalent about. 

I found myself feeling waves of emotional discord at the treatment of women and the prejudices that the show presents so rifely. And the abundance of smoking scenes. Although I've only seen four episodes so far, the show hasn't yet presented much of an interesting story to me, yet its appeal is strikingly interesting. I'd rather call Mad Men a portrait rather than a story, because I found the small details of the design, from the board at the head of Don's bed, to the chord running to the phone in Betty's hand, to the haircuts, to the dresses, to the ties, the chairs, the offices... they're of another time, clearly, a time transitioning into consumerism.

It leaves me with a feeling, watching Mad Men. A feeling of being somewhere else other than in my armchair. Although I am there, as I walk back to my room, I still feel a little bit left inside the violin that plays the show's opening theme.