How does one measure the impact of a show whose most fervent fans are the people paid to talk about it? Along its way, Mad Men has hit all markers of full Zeitgeist penetration. It earned a (typically unfunny) SNL parody; The Simpsons did an episode-length riff on it (in 2011, when such things were already a bit passé); President Obama name-checked it in a State of the Union speech (“It is time to do away with workplace policies that belong in a Mad Men episode,” he said addressing the equal-pay issue). Banana Republic and Brooks Brothers rolled out clothes inspired by the series; CB2 marketed the “Draper Sofa” (best not imagine the tincture of booze and bodily fluids that would be soaking one). But the ratings show that most of these jokes, allusions, and products were aimed at a population that has never seen the show itself.
The first half of Mad Men’s seventh season averaged 3.7 million viewers, once seven-day DVR ratings were factored in, while the penultimate episode earned 3.1 million (with three days of DVR accounted for so far), making it the second-most-watched scripted show on cable that night, behind Game of Thrones. Of course, an untold number of us also watch it in an untold number of ways (TiVoed, on DVD, downloaded from iTunes, streamed on Netflix, and outright stolen). Still, Mad Men’s audience has declined in the last few years, and its numbers relative to most broadcast shows has always been small. They pale next to cable’s biggest hits — Game of Thrones, American Horror Story, the recently expired Sons of Anarchy, and The Walking Dead. Yet I’m not seeing a line of Brooks Brothers zombie suits. The media has always ignored ratings for the things it loves (otherwise there’d be nothing but NCIS and Criminal Minds stories), but this inclination reaches a new level of snobbiness with Mad Men.
Join the conversation as a VIP Member