"You Might Look Like a Woman"
The Sartorial Self-Fashioning of Peggy Olson
“Be a woman, it’s a powerful business when done properly.” – Bobbie Barrett
“If you pull your waist in a little bit you might look like a woman.” – Pete Campbell
Since its premiere in 2007, Mad Men has received high praise from television critics and consumers, who enjoy the show for its clever writing, gorgeous cinematography, tongue-and-cheek representations of the past and dynamic characters. While the characters are multifaceted, they also represent historical archetypes from the 1960s and 1970s like the suave advertising man, the flamboyant homosexual, the helpless housewife or sexy secretary. The women of Mad Men especially seem unable to resist classification, and principle characters Betty Draper and Joan Holloway – the aforementioned housewife and secretary – struggle to assert their independence within their patriarchal society. One character, however, manages to carve a different path for herself. Peggy Olson exists in her own lane as she neither tries to imitate the curvaceous seductress or domicile housewife; yet, she initially struggles to recognize the life she does want, partially because she is devoid of female role models to imitate. As a result, identity crises define the first half of Peggy’s character arc as she fluctuates between loyalty to the feminine and masculine work spheres. These identity crises are made manifest through Peggy’s early wardrobe, which consists largely of shapeless smocks, Peter Pan collars and muted plaids. The turning point for Peggy comes in season four where, after undergoing a sort of Lacanian identification process, Peggy decides to commit to her hybrid feminine masculinity – she decides to “be a woman” (“The New Girl,” 2.5) in a man’s world. This new selfhood is represented through a sartorial evolution, and Peggy’s wardrobe in the later seasons features both masculine and feminine silhouettes. Employing Kaja Silverman’s theory that “clothing is a necessary condition of subjectivity – that in articulating the body, [clothing] simultaneously articulates the psyche” (191) and “the endless transformations within female clothing construct female sexuality and subjectivity in ways that are at least potentially disruptive” (192), we can then see how Peggy’s clothing – and her constant makeovers – reflect the destabilizing potential of her gender identity in an era when social codes were fixed. In this way, studying Peggy’s sartorial evolution as a manifestation of her emerging selfhood more broadly reveals the advancing feminism of the 1960s, as Peggy’s changing retro clothing conjures what Silverman describes as “the images that have traditionally sustained female subjectivity” (195).
WORK, SEX & GENDER IN THE 1960S
Season one of Mad Men begins in the year 1960 – three years before Helen Gurley Brown wrote her advice manual Sex and the Single Girl and Betty Friedan penned The Feminine Mystique. Subsequently, feminism in the early seasons of Mad Men might be considered less of a wave and more of a ripple, with the female characters largely prescribing to their assigned gender roles. Betty Draper and Trudy Campbell represent the demure domestic housewives who turn blind eyes to their husbands’ infidelity and occupy their time cleaning, cooking and attending to local political affairs. Joan Holloway, on the other hand, differs from Betty and Trudy in the way she bravely asserts her sexuality and infiltrates the workplace, though she also expresses a desire to find a husband and settle down in the suburbs. The two main models of femininity offered in the early 1960s – domestic dolls and sexy secretaries – assumed that a woman’s priority was to find a man and keep him happy. The fashions of the early 1960s reflect this assumption. Mabel Rosenheck describes the contrast between Dior’s 1947 New Look, which “highlighted the female form with a structured bodice, fitted waistline and voluminous skirt,” and the sheath dress that “shows off the legs and rear by following the line of the hip into the knee rather than standing away from it” (Rosenheck 167, 171). The common denominator in both garments is a tight top and fitted waist, i.e. a lack of comfortability or mobility which mirrors the lack of independence and economic access for women at that time. For Rosenheck, Betty embodies the immobility of the New Look because “her functional value is not linked to her labor so much much as it is linked to her appearance” (167). The silhouette of Joan’s garments also reflects her societal position because it is sexual yet confining. She writes, “Joan’s fashion and body suggest both a traditional expectation for women to find husbands, not careers, and a feminist or proto-feminist embrace of female sexuality on a woman’s own terms” (175). Though Rosenheck suggests that fashion might be a source of liberation for Joan and Betty, she communicates later that beauty and sexuality were also disruptive when it came to being taken seriously. Both women’s “prospects are limited by [their] very femininity” (Rosenheck174). Adherence to either model, then, was liberating only to a certain extent; Betty and Joan’s models of femininity could only facilitate a miniscule amount of freedom and pleasure. Yet, Betty and Joan are not the only models of femininity offered in Mad Men; the emergence of the young, bright-eyed career girl Peggy Olson symbolizes a cultural shift sweeping not only the advertising offices on Madison Avenue but workplaces around the country toward the middle of the 1960s. That is: the aspiration for more than just a husband.
When Helen Gurley Brown published Sex and the Single Girl in 1962, she introduced the radical notion that women should not have to choose between having sex, having a job or having a husband. As Julie Berebitsky explains in her overview of Brown’s feminism, “Brown’s calculus was clear: if you worked and earned like a man, you, too, were, entitled to a degree of sexual autonomy” and “a sexy attitude and the calculated application of femininity could help a woman on the way to professional success” (Berebitsky,187-188). Her work also emphasized the importance of maintaining one’s womanhood in the workplace, i.e. women should not aspire to be more masculine but rather they should embrace their sexual difference. Berenbitsky writes:
Brown believed that all women should work, that employment was the foundation from which women would achieve equality and economic and sexual liberation. She also believed that work should not make women into men and offered up a highly gendered model of heterosexuality to ensure that it would not. (196)
In this way, Brown encouraged female sexual liberation while reaffirming the binary between the male and female sexes. Within the Mad Men universe, Joan is the most Brown-esque figure. When season one opens, Joan has already established herself as a respected office manager at the Sterling Cooper advertising agency. She has power over the younger female secretaries and knows how to use her sexuality to influence her male colleagues. As the seasons progress, Joan manages to become a partner at Sterling Cooper. However, Joan is always associated with her sexuality to the extent that she is only able to advance to partner after agreeing to sleep with the head of Jaguar. Thus, while Joan’s embrace of sexuality and career aspirations might appeal to modern-day feminists, Joan’s feminism is not complete because, like Brown’s feminism, it is rooted in traditional ideas of gender difference.
One year after Brown published Sex and the Single Girl, Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique, which challenged the notion that marriage, children and domestic duties were enough to satisfy a woman. She argues that “the feminine mystique” problematically implies that women must be defined in relation to their husband and children, and that this societal definition is a source of profound unhappiness for women. Betty and Joan might be read as victims of the feminine mystique, for they have been conditioned to see themselves the way men see them and to place their happiness in the obtainment of a husband. Friedan, however, asserts that the key to a woman’s liberation is in her creativity and choices, not in confinement to gender roles. She writes, “The only way for a woman, as for a man, to find herself, to know herself as a person, is by creative work of her own” (Napikoski). Peggy is a character who represents this pursuit of her own creativity. Though she enters the show in its first episode – three years before Friedan published The Feminine Mystique – she embodies second-wave resistance to prescribed gender roles. When she does attempt to assert her sexuality and femininity, she appears uncomfortable and her efforts are not well-received; yet, Peggy knows that she cannot, by definition, copy what men do. In this way, Peggy offers a different kind of feminism (indeed Elizabeth Moss, the actress who plays Peggy, labelled Peggy “a different kind of feminist”) that is not one-dimensional.[1] Unlike Betty and Joan, who are confined by antiquated notions of femininity, Peggy is a character who, as Friedan explains, “is free to become herself” (Martins Lamb, 4) meaning that she continuously constructs her identity so that by the Mad Men series finale, Peggy Olson emerges as a woman reminiscent of a new feminism. The following three portions of this essay analyze Peggy’s fashions as manifestations of her evolving selfhood and emerging feminist consciousness.
NEITHER A JACKIE NOR A MARILYN
Peggy Olson joins the cast of Mad Men in the first episode when she becomes Creative Director Don Draper’s new secretary. As the new girl, she immediately draws unwanted attention as the men of Sterling Cooper take it upon themselves to comment on her long shapeless skirt and her mustard yellow sweater; she is obviously attractive, with soft blue eyes and gentle brown curls, though she seems to care little for appearances. When he first meets her, Pete Campbell asks her if she’s Amish and proceeds to tell her, “You’re in the city now, it wouldn’t be a sin for us to see your legs. And if you pull your waist in a little bit you might look like a woman” (“Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” 1.1). Pete’s objectification simultaneously signals Peggy’s attractiveness and her unattractiveness. His comment implies that Peggy has desirable feminine qualities like a petite figure and long legs, though she is hiding them under her skirt. Later in the episode, Joan makes a similar comment when she remarks, “You have great legs, I bet Mr. Draper would like them if he could see them,” (“Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” 1.1) implying that Peggy’s primary objective should be to seduce the men around her. Together, these two comments establish Sterling Cooper’s sexist and sex-laden work environment as well as establish Peggy as other within that environment. Toward the end of the episode, Peggy, following Joan’s cues, attempts to seduce Don, but he rejects her; her first effort to join the ranks of her fellow seductive secretaries fails – she is not like them. Thus, this first episode of Mad Men establishes Peggy’s body as a site of difference both within the walls of Sterling Cooper and within the workplace society of the early 1960s.
Because Peggy is different, i.e. because she does not subscribe to the same sexual codes and standards of appearance as the other secretaries, she struggles to establish a workplace identity; this crisis of identity formation consumes Peggy’s character throughout Mad Men’s early seasons. Perhaps surprisingly, Peggy does not throw away her shapeless clothing and return in episode two with a new wardrobe; rather, Peggy continues to resist Joan et. al’s definitions of femininity with pastel yellow sweaters and A-line skirts. Initially, Peggy’s lacklustre style does not prevent her from career success. In the episode “Babylon,” she impresses the all-male copy team with her assertion that a garbage can full of lipstick-stained tissues resembles “a basket of kisses,” (1.6) and she is recruited to help conjure ad campaigns for feminine products. Even as she gains weight in season one – the result of an unknown pregnancy – and is the butt of office jokes, Peggy manages to be promoted to a junior copywriter at the end of the season. Having asserted that “[no one] wants to be one of a hundred colors in a box,” (“Babylon,” 1.6) referring once again to the Belle Jolie lipsticks, Peggy seemingly is able to break free from the secretarial box and establish herself as more than just a pretty face. Peggy is presented with the opportunity to quit her job and raise her illegitimate child, but Peggy chooses an alternative path. Resisting identification with the masses, Peggy chooses work; she turns away from the feminine sphere to embrace a masculine one.
Peggy’s decision to return to Sterling Cooper post-pregnancy is only the beginning of her self-actualization process. Though she has been promoted, Peggy is not yet fully entrenched in the masculine workplace environment and she struggles to gain the respect of her male superiors, partially because her shy demeanour and reserved style render her nearly invisible. This reality reaches a head in “Maidenform” (2.6), when the ad men develop a campaign for Playtex over drinks one night, from which Peggy is excluded. Expressing her frustration to Freddy Rumsen, Peggy claims, “All I had to do was be in that bar,” to which Freddy responds, “Believe me you didn’t want to be in that bar” (“Maidenform,” 2.6). Freddy cannot understand why Peggy would want to be included in after-hours work activities because he is unable to separate her gender from her workplace contributions. She is an asset to the team because she is a woman, but because she is a woman she is not granted access to certain spaces.
Peggy’s struggle for recognition is reflected in the Playtex ad campaign from which she is excluded. When pitching his idea to Don, Paul Kinsey explains, “Jackie Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe. Every single woman is one of them,” (“Maidenform, 2.6) implying that every woman can be classified and that there are only two models of femininity. Ironically, Peggy’s presence at the pitch troubles Kinsey’s hypothesis; when she asks whether she is a Jackie or a Marilyn, the men reply that she more closely resembles Gertrude Stein or Irene Dunne. Once again, Peggy is portrayed as existing outside of a feminine binary; yet, Peggy is not able to embrace her individuality because it is not well-received. She is not lusted after or gazed upon, she is not a distraction in the workplace; nor is she hyper-masculinized or adopted by her male colleagues. Thus, the beginning of “Maidenform” iterates that Peggy’s attempts to blend her masculine and feminine selves have failed and communicates a need for Peggy to once again reinvent herself and fashion a new identity.
Peggy’s wardrobe in “Maidenform” reflects her identity crisis. During the pitch, Peggy wears a grey loosely-fitting tweed dress with a pale Peter Pan collared shirt under it. Though the dress has a straight cut, it is not form-fitting like Joan’s signature sheath; it is not, as Rosenheck puts it, connected to the body as if to signal sexual experience (172). The straight lines and heavy fabric might evoke masculinity, but that masculine energy is downplayed by the childlike collar. Furthermore, the garment’s colors are dull and do not draw the eye. Mad Men costume designer has explained that there is a purpose to Peggy’s earthy color palette: “Yes, [mustard] is an ugly color but it tells the story of this girl who is earthy, not in fashion, and it’s not the most flattering color. I see Peggy being very down to earth and earnest. I also used a lot of navies, greens, rusts, and other yellows” (Muller). Thus, Peggy’s muted wardrobe is intended to signal her as outside of fashion and femininity, which in turn sets her apart from the other women in the office. The women who Kinsey labels as Jackies or Marilyns wear vibrant colors and form-fitting skirts; Peggy, with her subdued shapeless garments, is set apart – but not in a good way. When Peggy goes to Joan later in the episode to complain about her exclusion, Joan points out the flaws in Peggy’s appearance and tells her to “stop dressing like a little girl” (“Maidenform, 2.6), drawing connections between Peggy’s appearance and respectability. Indeed, Peggy is dressed like a little girl in this scene; she wears a plaid blue dress with yet another rounded collar and topped off with her signature curly ponytail. Though Joan’s advice may seem shallow, numerous social psychologists have studied the role of clothing as a form of communication; for example, Stone (1962) found that “appearance is at least as important in establishment and maintenance of the self as verbal communication” (Johnson, Lennon and Rudd, 19). Thus, while Peggy believes that she has proved herself as equal to her male colleagues through her copywriting, Joan’s words bring attention to the dissonance between Peggy’s form (fashion) and function (labour).
When she does not receive an invitation to join the Playtex clients and creative team for drinks at a strip club, Peggy attempts to correct the dissonance between her appearance and her capabilities through complete adoption of feminine heterosexual modes of dress. At the end of “Maidenform,” Peggy arrives at the club wearing a turquoise blue satin dress with a bejewelled bow at the waist and glittering earrings. Her signature ponytail is gone; instead, her hair is half-up half-down. Hot pink lipstick sits on her lips. Here Peggy is undergoing what Katherine Karl and Joy Peluchette call “impression management,” which is when individuals “are motivated to construct an image to change or influence others’ perceptions” (49). Having received feedback that she appears childlike and frumpy, Peggy attempts to construct a new desirable image of herself. She is not only trying to convince the men that she is attractive and worthy of respect, but she also wants to prove to herself that she belongs with the men at that strip club. Unfortunately, Peggy’s attempts to assimilate here fail; she is looked at with lust and contempt, but not respect. Rosenheck writes:
Peggy wants to be seen as sexual and attractive here, but her performance of femininity is uncomfortable and uncertain, like the fake diamonds she is wearing. Even in her sexy dress, she fails to be either a Jackie or a Marilyn, a Bobbie Barrett or a Joan Holloway, and her sexuality has little real power (176).
Having been told by Joan to “stop dressing like a little girl,” Peggy uses a provocative dress to gain respect from her male colleagues, but her performance has the opposite effect. The Playtex client treats her as his personal plaything, inviting her to sit on his lap, and her former flame Pete Campbell regards her with disgust; furthermore, as Rosenheck illuminates, Peggy herself looks uncomfortable with her overt display of sexuality. Still, this moment is crucial for Peggy’s identity formation, for only in donning the provocative dress does Peggy confirm that it doesn’t suit her. Throughout “Maidenform,” Peggy resists the idea that she cannot be a Jackie or a Marilyn, but by the end of the episode she returns to “Babylon,” for even as she tries to adapt to her culture’s conceptions of femininity, she still feels out of place. Ironically, her bright colorful dress reminds her that she does not have to be “one of a hundred colors in a box.” Thus, the blue satin dress acts as a symbol of Peggy’s emerging feminist consciousness and her identification outside the “binary femininity of her era” (Rosenheck, 176), an identification which reaches its fulfilment in season four of Mad Men.
THE (WO)MAN IN THE MIRROR
The first three seasons see Peggy struggle to find a balance between masculinity and femininity, work and play. According to Stone, when an individual’s feelings about his/her appearance do not match others’ reactions to his/her appearance, the individual is likely to feel that their “announced identity is challenged… and [their] conduct may be expected to move in the direction of some redefinition of the challenged self” (Johnson, Lennon and Rudd, 19) – that is, to move toward the construction of a new identity. In the first three seasons of Mad Men, Peggy moves through several phases of redefinition as her gendered performances are met with continued criticism. Both her shy secretarial self and her performance of brazen sexuality are received poorly, so Peggy must embark on a third journey of selfhood to gain confidence for herself and respect from others.
Gradual modifications to Peggy’s appearance signal her identity formation throughout seasons two through four. In season two Peggy asks her gay co-worker Kurt, “What’s wrong with me?” and he bluntly responds, “You’re wrong style” (“The Jet Set, 2.11). He then gives Peggy a haircut, chopping off her babyish ponytail and replacing it with a fashionable bob. The removal of Peggy’s ponytail not only symbolizes her slow embrace of fashion and femininity but also marks the shedding of her past self. The next time we see her in the episode, she is wearing a vibrant pink shirt-and-skirt set with cuffed sleeves and subtle bow details under the bust and at the nape of her neck; thus, the garment draws attention to her female figure without being overly sexual. A simple satin headband tops her new bob and the ends of her hair have been flipped. She holds a cup of coffee and crowds around a television with her male co-workers. Compared to the pitch scene in “Maidenform,” in which Peggy sits facing her male co-workers, several feet removed from them, the Peggy of “The Jet Set” stands confidently next to her male co-workers. After Pete comments that Peggy “looks different,” Peggy replies, “It’s my hair” (2.11). But of course, it is not simply a new haircut that draws Pete’s eye, but rather Peggy’s new attitude, posture and disinterest in Pete’s lustful gaze. For once, Peggy is acknowledged as a woman though she is surrounded by men.
After her satin dress experiment, Peggy’s haircut might be considered the first step toward her identity formation, which culminates in “The Suitcase” (4.7) when she chooses to work rather than attend a romantic birthday dinner with her boyfriend and her family. The episode begins with Peggy and the creative team presenting a pitch for the luggage company Samsonite. Don hates the pitch and tells Peggy, “I’m glad that this is an environment where you feel free to fail” (4.7). This moment is markedly different from the moments discussed previously, because here Peggy is alone with Don; she has gained respect from her co-workers, as indicated by her participation in the pitch, but she still craves recognition from her direct superior. This pursuit of recognition is what prompts Peggy to stay late after work instead of leaving to attend the birthday dinner. After she shows him the rest of the creative team’s sketches, Don berates her: “I gave you more responsibility and you didn’t do anything.” Peggy does not accept defeat, however, for the Peggy of “The Suitcase” is determined – her skin is as thick as the Samsonite luggage she is trying to sell. Rather, Peggy takes off her coat and her hat and gets to work. Eventually, Peggy becomes irritated with Don’s dismissal of her suggestions and, for the first time, she vocalizes her anger at him for profiting off her ideas. Accusing him of taking her Glo-Coat copy and turning it into an award-winning commercial (without acknowledging her), she screams, “You never say thank you!” to which Don replies, “Everything to you is an opportunity. And honestly you should be thanking me every morning when you up” (4.7). Don’s remarks cause Peggy to cry, not because he hurts her feelings – she is used to his antics – but because in hearing them, Peggy realizes that she might never be good enough, that she might never win the respect of the men at Sterling Cooper despite all she has done for them. For a short time, she believed that her work was her work and she took pride in the sacrifices she had made, but Don reminds her of the reality that in a patriarchal society a woman hardly ever works for herself. When Peggy runs to the bathroom to cry, she looks in the mirror and sees a naïve woman beaten down by a man. Understanding Peggy’s mirror moment in Lacanian terms, Peggy can only see herself from “the gaze that is outside” (Silverman, 186); in this case, that gaze comes from Don, who represents the limitations faced by working women in the 1960s. Peggy thought that she had managed to escape male objectification only to find out her brain, not her body, was the new site of that objectification; thus, Peggy’s self-image is once again fractured. This fracturing is confirmed when Peggy, post-catharsis, sits in Don’s office and tells him, “I guess I’m back to square one” (4.7).
Though Peggy claims that she must return to square one, she is much closer to cementing her identity than she realizes. In the next phase of the episode, Don and Peggy go to a bar where they finally bare their insecurities to one another. Peggy admits to feeling unattractive and tells Don that everyone thinks she slept with him to advance professionally. She says, “They joke about it. Like it’s so funny because the possibility was so remote” (“The Suitcase, 4.7); Don responds, “It’s not because you aren’t attractive. I have to keep rules about work” (4.7). Though ironic given Don’s sexual history, his words validate Peggy’s sexuality and her copywriting abilities; by calling her attractive, Don acknowledges Peggy’s feminine self but he also validates her masculine self by firmly planting her in the work realm. While Peggy is attractive, she stands out in Don’s eyes because she is creative, witty and talented – she is not a helpless housewife or a seductive secretary. Compared to the crude comments Peggy is used to receiving about her appearance, Don’s words grant Peggy the validation she has longed for since season one.
Though Peggy craves validation from Don, it is his vulnerability that ultimately enables her to embrace her new identity. The episode begins with Don behind his desk, yelling at Peggy for failing to do her job and presenting poor work, but it ends with Peggy taking care of Don after he has had too much to drink. As they stumble up to the bathrooms at Sterling Cooper, Peggy, propping Don up, must decide whether to enter the women’s or the men’s bathroom and she chooses the latter. This moment is significant, for her entry into the men’s bathroom represents her demolition of the gendered binaries which had previously stunted her self-fulfilment. Earlier in the episode, Peggy runs to the women’s restroom to cry because of Don; by the end, she is in the position of power – standing in the men’s bathroom while Don is bent over the toilet vomiting. This scene completes Peggy’s Lacanian identification process. Peggy is not reflected in the men’s mirror, though she seems to stand in front of it, and this lack reflects Peggy’s resistance to a foreign gaze, her inability to be defined by the outside totalizing image; she sees herself in the women’s mirror because she is a woman, but she can still enter the male restroom in a position of power. Jane Gallop describes the mirror stage as a “turning point in the chronology of the self” but also “the origin, the moment of constitution of that self” (121). Peggy’s first mirror moment represents a turning point in her self-awareness and a fracturing of how she thought she was perceived, but her second mirror moment cements her new womanhood. It is the moment of constitution of her non-binary femininity and her feminist consciousness. As Peggy moves from feminine to masculine spaces, she realizes that she is sexual, she is powerful and she is capable.
Peggy’s outfit in this episode symbolizes her newfound selfhood. Her dress is fitted at the top, nipped at the waist and circular on the bottom, resembling one of Betty’s New Look ensembles. Once again, a skinny bow on the chest evokes femininity, but the earthy mustard and brown color palette is more masculine and harkens to Peggy’s less fashionable days. The floral pattern of the dress, too, is significant – Bryant often mixed patterns and textures to convey Peggy’s “layered personality” (Muller). Peggy’s outfit is also framed by a white hat and black sling-back stilettos, so that the presentation of a polished head-to-toe ensemble marks a far departure from her mismatched outfits of the early seasons. In this way, Peggy’s dress symbolizes her acceptance of her unique female identity – an identity that escapes classification. Rosenheck writes, “Far from the mousy secretary of season 1, Peggy is now a reminder that models of female identity go far beyond the easy silhouettes of Marilyn, Jackie, and June Cleaver, or Betty Friedan, Helen Gurley Brown, and Gloria Steinem” (179). In “The Suitcase,” Peggy realizes that there is no one way to “be a woman” and that it is possible for her to confidently pursue her feminine sexuality and her masculine career. Having come to this realization, Peggy spends the show’s final seasons relentlessly chasing her career aspirations, and her fashions reflect her newfound confidence.
STOP DRESSING LIKE A LITTLE GIRL, START DRESSING LIKE A MAN
Once Peggy embraces her existence outside the feminine binary, her professional life flourishes and her wardrobe mimics her confidence and success. In season five, when the competing advertising agency Cutler, Gleason and Chaough offers Peggy a job with a higher salary, Peggy wears a chic v-neck navy blue dress with orange piping and gold buttons down the front with a matching orange silk scarf around her neck. The navy color and button details communicate professionalism while the scarf draws attention to her décolletage, highlighting her feminine features. Ted Chaough’s pitch to Peggy during the meeting, too, symbolizes her career success. He tells her, “Everybody else is going to want to know if you’re married or planning on having a baby. And then they’re gonna want to know how much you want to be paid” (“The Other Woman, 5.10) and then communicates that CGC is interested in her work, not her womanhood. Of course, Ted’s pitch appeals to Peggy because she strives to be seen as an excellent copywriter and not as a female copywriter; plus, he offers her a salary of $19,000 – one thousand more than she initially requested. When Peggy goes to tell Don that she is accepting CGC’s offer, she wears purple – the color of royalty – and once again her posture mimics her elevated self-worth, as Don sits in his chair looking up at her. Hurt, Don asserts that he is responsible for “every good thing that has ever happened to [Peggy],” (5.10) but he no longer has a hold over her; her talents have been recognized beyond the walls of Sterling Cooper, so she decides to leave. Once again, Peggy has the power.
Then, in season six, she wins a CLIO – an advertising award – for her Heinz Baked Beans campaign, though she no longer works for Sterling Cooper. The episode opens with a shot of Peggy standing in an empty apartment as a realtor goes over its dazzling features, thus signalling Peggy’s professional and economic ascent. She dons her signature mustard yellow – a reminder that the woman before the camera is the same Peggy from season one, only now she is confidently pursuing the life she wants. When her boyfriend Abe shows up, the realtor assumes that he is the buyer, but Abe boldly claims, “It’s not my decision” (“The Flood, 6.4). The apartment is Peggy’s, a symbol of her economic independence and growth as an individual. This growth is further emphasized by Peggy’s interactions with Megan, Don’s new wife who also worked on the Heinz campaign, at the CLIO awards. Throughout Mad Men, Peggy is hardly seen socializing with women, but she and Megan joke about the advertising industry and Megan congratulates Peggy on her apartment. The moment indicates Peggy’s mastery of her masculine and feminine identities; she has infiltrated two mostly-male ad agencies and received recognition for her work, but she has also fostered female friendships. Her dress, a vibrant hot pink-and-green number with a bow at the waist and embroidery on the bodice, symbolizes her feminine growth. While most of Peggy’s fashions blend feminine and masculine influences, Peggy’s CLIO dress is firmly planted in female fashion as indicated by the bright colors and large bow; furthermore, the floral embroidery on the bust conjures traditional associations of the female body with nature and literally depicts Peggy’s growth and blossoming individualism. Remembering Stone’s assertion that dress and appearance communicate aspects of one’s identity (Johnson, Lennon and Rudd, 19), Peggy’s feminine fashion communicates her acceptance of and comfortability within her female body even as she is rewarded for her work in a male-dominated industry.
Peggy’s professional ascent reaches its Mad Men peak at the end of season six when she essentially replaces Don Draper as the head of creative at the newly merged Sterling Cooper and Cutler, Gleason & Chaough. After his excessive drinking leads him to bomb meetings with Sheraton and Hershey’s, Don is placed on an indefinite leave of absence; meanwhile, Ted Chaough, Peggy’s former boss and love interest, leaves New York to head up a new office in California. With both Don and Ted gone, Peggy becomes the creative voice of authority. As Don goes down the elevator, a shot which symbolizes that he has hit rock-bottom, Peggy inhabits his office, telling a co-worker, “it’s where everything is” (“In Care Of, 6.12). It’s hard not to read Peggy’s use of the word “everything” as a call-back to Don’s assertion in season five that he handed Peggy “every good thing” that has happened to her. Don profited off Peggy’s ideas for years; in taking his office Peggy sends the message that she alone is responsible for her success, simultaneously asserting her agency and claiming the advertising agency for herself.
Just as important as where Peggy is at the end of the sixth season is what she is wearing – a pantsuit. The CLIO dress confirmed Peggy’s femininity but now Peggy claims a man’s fashion just as she claims a man’s job and office. In season one, Don told Peggy to “act like [a man]” (“Indian Summer,” 1.11), and she does so when she wears pants in the workplace. Yet, the coloration and tailoring of the pantsuit allow Peggy to retain her femininity even as she performs masculinity. Underneath the suit – which is red, black and white – Peggy wears a bright red turtleneck topped by red lipstick. Besides the association of red with sexual prowess, Hill and Barton also indicate that “wearing red is consistently associated with a higher probability of winning” (293). Thus, red is the perfect color to represent Peggy’s dual femininity and masculinity as it communicates the possibility that, compared to the other men and women of Sterling Cooper, Peggy comes closest to having it all.
Many critics have underscored the importance of Peggy’s pantsuit in the context of her own professional journey but also in the broader context of second-wave feminism. Korhonen writes: “Peggy is also able to reinvent the masculine suit in a way that suits a woman and reinforces her femininity, which thus aptly symbolizes her work journey as well: she indeed is a woman in a male dominated workplace, but is able to stay true to her gender although she is expected to act like a man.” Simply put, the pantsuit is the ultimate symbol of Peggy’s ability to “define a third path between femininity and feminism” (Rosenheck, 178), i.e. her resistance to the binary. For costume designer Jamie Bryant, Peggy’s pants represent her liberation. “When we see her in the office, it really is that moment of ‘I am empowered. I will survive,’” Bryant said in an interview with EW. “I wanted to see Peggy in pants to illustrate that she had come so far. It was such strong expression of empowerment” (Scharf). Peggy is empowered because, after years of manipulation and misogyny, she has the upper-hand. Peggy’s pants point to the disruptive potential of female fashion posited by Silverman. After “the endless transformations within [Peggy’s] female clothing,” Peggy manages to “construct [her] sexuality and subjectivity in ways that are at least potentially disruptive” (Silverman, 191). What she disrupts is the notion that femininity is one size fits all. When Peggy puts on pants, a garment not considered feminine in the 1960s, she takes ownership of her destabilizing femininity and her multifaceted identity.
Friedan writes, “The highest value of and the only commitment for women is the fulfilment of their own femininity” (Friedan). While Friedan posits this fulfilment in a way that implies that women are chained to their appearances – a notion which was certainly true for some women, like Betty – Peggy forms a model of femininity that is liberating and unique to her. The Peggy who struts down the halls of Sterling Cooper one last time in season seven wearing a form-flattering navy blue skirt and vibrant striped top, cigarette dangling from her lips and sunglasses covering her soft eyes, is, in many ways, years removed from the innocent schoolgirl we saw in episode one. She has risen in the ranks from secretary to copy chief, found happiness with a man who respects her talent and intelligence, and most importantly, she has grown comfortable with her hybrid masculine-feminine self. In the case of Peggy, the clothes didn’t make the woman; rather, Peggy’s fashions from season one to season seven reflect her resistance to binary femininity and the formation of her feminist consciousness.
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