New York City, 1960. It’s not the psychedelic, protest-heavy era most people think of when they hear "the sixties." It’s colder. Grayer. It’s a world of heavy wool suits, thick clouds of Lucky Strike smoke, and the constant, rhythmic clacking of Selectric typewriters. When Mad Men season one first aired on AMC back in 2007, nobody really knew what to make of it. It was slow. It was dense. Honestly, it felt more like a short story collection by John Cheever than a prestige TV drama. But that first year of Don Draper’s life—at least the version of his life he let people see—set a template for television that we are still trying to copy today.
The show didn't start with a bang. It started with a research session. Don is sitting in a bar, trying to figure out how to sell cigarettes that everyone knows are killing people. It’s a cynical premise, but it’s also deeply human. We see a man who is a professional liar, working in an industry built on fabrication, living a life that is, itself, a total invention.
The Pilot That Changed Everything
Most pilots are messy. They over-explain. They scream at you to like the characters. "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," the first episode of Mad Men season one, does the exact opposite. It keeps you at arm's length. Creator Matthew Weiner spent years shopping this script around, and you can tell. Every line is polished until it cuts.
The big twist at the end of the pilot—that Don has a wife and kids in the suburbs—isn't just a "gotcha" moment. It’s the foundational lie of the series. We spent forty minutes watching this suave, bachelor-about-town archetype, only to realize he’s a commuter. He’s a dad. He’s Betty’s husband. The disconnect between the man in the Manhattan office and the man in the Ossining living room is where the real show lives.
The world-building here is staggering. You’ve got Pete Campbell, played with a perfect, sniveling ambition by Vincent Kartheiser, representing the hungry new generation. You’ve got Peggy Olson, the "fresh meat" who is much smarter than anyone gives her credit for. And then there’s Joan Holloway. Christina Hendricks played Joan with such a terrifying, effortless command of the office floor that she basically redefined what power looked like in a 1960s workplace. It wasn't about the title; it was about knowing where the keys were kept.
Why the "Carousel" Pitch is the Peak of TV Writing
If you ask any fan about the best moment in Mad Men season one, they’re going to talk about the Kodak pitch. It’s in the season finale, "The Wheel." Kodak wants to sell a projector. They think the "hook" is the technology—the wheel. Don, reeling from the realization that his family life is disintegrating because of his own infidelities and secrets, turns it into something else entirely.
He calls it the Carousel.
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He uses his own family photos—photos of a happiness he’s already sabotaging—to sell a piece of plastic. He talks about nostalgia. He mentions that in Greek, nostalgia literally means "the pain from an old wound." It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated brilliance and profound hypocrisy. He’s selling a version of the American Dream that he’s currently lighting on fire in his personal life.
The room goes silent. Harry Crane runs out crying. It’s the moment the show stopped being about advertising and started being about the vacuum inside the human heart. People remember the suits and the Old Fashioneds, but they stay for the devastating realization that even the most successful man in the room is deeply, fundamentally lonely.
Peggy Olson and the Glass Ceiling of 1960
While Don is the face of the show, Peggy is the engine. Her journey in Mad Men season one is arguably more important than Don’s. She starts as a secretary who doesn't know how to use the phones and ends as a junior copywriter with her own office.
It wasn't easy.
The casual misogyny of the Sterling Cooper office is brutal to watch now. It’s not just the comments about her weight or her clothes; it’s the way she’s invisible until she says something so smart they can’t ignore it. When she comes up with the "Basket of Kisses" idea for Belle Jolie lipstick, it’s a revelation. She understood that women weren't just buying makeup; they were buying a way to be noticed.
The season ends with Peggy in a hospital bed, a development that caught almost every viewer off guard in 2007. She didn't even know she was pregnant. It’s a harrowing, lonely conclusion to her first year in the city, and it binds her to Don in a way that defines the rest of the series. He’s the only one who visits her. He’s the only one who tells her to "move forward" because "it will shock you how much this never happened." That advice is Don’s entire life philosophy in a nutshell. It’s also a lie.
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The Myth of the "Golden Age"
A lot of people watch Mad Men season one and see a glamorous era they wish they lived in. They see the clothes, the mid-century modern furniture, and the fact that you could drink at 10:00 AM without anyone batting an eye.
But look closer.
Betty Draper’s hands are shaking. She’s literally numb. She’s a bird in a very expensive, very decorated cage. The show is careful to point out that this "golden age" was only golden if you were a white man with a certain paycheck. For everyone else, it was a minefield of social expectations and repressed trauma.
The historical accuracy isn't just about the props or the skinny ties. It’s about the mindset. The way people talked around their problems instead of about them. The casual racism, the "hidden" lives of characters like Salvatore Romano, and the absolute lack of seatbelts. It’s a portrait of a society that is incredibly polished on the surface and rotting underneath.
Technical Mastery: Lighting and Sound
We have to talk about how this season looks. The cinematography in the first season leans heavily into the "chiaroscuro" style—heavy shadows and bright highlights. Don is often silhouetted. He’s a shadow in his own home.
The sound design is equally intentional. The constant hum of the office, the ice clinking in glasses, the silence of the suburbs. There is very little "score" in the traditional sense. Most of the music is diegetic—meaning it’s playing on a radio or a record player within the scene. When R.E.M. or a period-appropriate pop song hits over the credits, it feels like a release of tension.
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Real-World Impact and Legacy
When Mad Men season one dropped, it didn't just win Emmys; it changed the way people dressed. Suddenly, J.Crew and Banana Republic were selling "slimmer fit" suits. Barware sales spiked. But more importantly, it proved that audiences had an appetite for slow-burn storytelling.
It paved the way for shows like Breaking Bad and Succession by proving that your protagonist doesn't have to be "likable." They just have to be interesting. Don Draper is a terrible husband, a negligent father, and a bit of a con artist. But we can’t look away.
What You Should Do Next
If you’re revisiting the series or watching it for the first time, don't binge it too fast. This isn't a "what happens next" kind of show. It’s a "why did he do that" kind of show.
- Watch the background. Notice how the office changes as the season progresses. The mess on the desks, the changing technology, the way people stand around Peggy versus how they stand around Joan.
- Track the "Dick Whitman" reveals. The show sprinkles in Don’s true identity (the impoverished farm boy who stole a dead officer's name) very sparingly. Pay attention to the hobo code symbols in the episode "The Hobo Code." It explains more about Don’s psyche than any monologue ever could.
- Listen to the silence. Some of the most important moments in season one happen when nobody is talking. Betty looking out the window, Don sitting on the stairs of his house after the Kodak pitch, Peggy staring at her reflection.
The brilliance of the first season is that it’s a closed loop. It starts with a man looking for an identity for a cigarette brand and ends with a man realizing he has no identity of his own. It’s perfect television. Plain and simple.
Take a Saturday. Turn off your phone. Pour something cold. Watch the first three episodes back-to-back. You’ll see that the 1960s weren't that long ago, and the anxieties Don Draper felt about being "found out" are just as real in the digital age as they were in the age of print.