Every Sunday night for the past couple of months, I have been going back in time. I have been in the early 1960s. Sharp suits, womanly curves, and hair that went one way or went the other, and damn well left a line if it changed its mind. I’ve been watching the drama Mad Men on BBC4, and I’ve been gripped.
Not so much by the plot. More by the general ambience. Don Draper and his crew are advertising men on Madison Avenue, and they ooze a certain style. They make you want to mix drinks at lunchtime and grab the secretary’s arse. Stick a hanky in your top pocket, folded razor straight, and tie your tie backwards with the thin end down. They all look so gleamingly good that you can almost smell the Brylcreem.
Except, of course, you couldn’t. Not if you were actually there. All you would smell is stale smoke.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in