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Peter Campbell and Owning Your Okayness

He's just this guy, you know?

Peter Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser) is the man with no talents. The ironic thing about him is that if you pull back far enough and look at his entire arc across Mad Men, you realise that he could have thrived in the exact same way in any time or place; initially, he seems like an embarrassing fool fumbling at doing what comes to Don Draper (Jon Hamm) completely naturally. His initial attitude is an almost robot-like replication of behaviours but neither fully understanding the context of those behaviours nor the intelligence and experience to pull them off (I often think of his early line, “The president is a product. Don’t forget that,” and cringe). It’s through sheer bloody-mindedness that he manages to build a real career, learning from his experiences and eventually molding himself to the industry.

What initially looked like lack of talent was in fact the vacuuming up of behaviours and experiences; the thing about having a black-and-white understanding of the world in which Tab A fits into Slot B is that, coupled with sufficient curiosity, one builds up quite the system of tabs for any conceivable slot. One could picture Peter Campbell landing in Greenwich Village with aspirations of becoming a folk singer and, while not becoming Bob Dylan, probably becoming Donavon; one could picture him landing in California in the 1840’s, not becoming Samuel Brannan but perhaps owning a popular corner store.

Accepting this is, of course, the central nature of Pete’s character arc. All he really wants is to be liked by the people around him; he believes the only person worth being is the guy at the top, which just happens to be Don, and assumes connection between the behaviours Don exhibits and the emotional context he sits in. Which, of course, is what makes Mad Men one of the most American shows of all time. If America is special and different in any one way, it’s taking the Western idea of individualism far further than the rest of us ever wanted to, right down to her conception of the self-made man.

The thing about the self-made man – a man in control of himself and his environment, both hypercompetent and entirely driven by rationality – is that, as Tony Soprano pointed out, there can only really be one of them, to which the rest are subservient. There are a lot of cracks in the American psyche, and one of them is the rejection of the divine right of kings in all practical senses but an apparent deep belief in it when you swap ‘king’ for ‘businessman’. Don shows the problems with that myth from the inside; the all-encompassing loneliness and inability to process emotions in a healthy way. 

Pete shows the problems from the outside, where the Top is a space you’ll never, ever have access to. You’ll always be at least a little on the outside, a little less capable than someone else, a little less interesting. The constant seething resentment at seeing someone else live out your impossible dream. And then, one of the other cracks in the American psyche is that this ideal is limited and goes against the very nature of human beings; regardless of one’s personal experiences or even desires, the fact is that people as a rule want to take care of each other and want to connect to each other, even if we all express that a little differently. A system that depends entirely on one genius is not a very good system; perhaps the same can be said of philosophies.

Pete begins to thrive when he lets go of this ideal and accepts that he’s a mediocre man who is, within certain contexts, well-liked. It’s funny to say that Americans yearn for kings and social castes and rigid social rules and other very anti-American concepts, but I think it’s more accurate to say that Americans want what most people want and have always wanted – the sense that people around them love them and that they contribute something meaningful to the world. One does not need to be a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist to do this.