* 𝚗 𝚘 𝚜 𝚝 𝚊 𝚕 𝚐 𝚒 𝚊 .

𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 . . .

[madvertising]

#madvertising — independent,  private  writing blog for  donald draper  of   mad men  brought to you in part by cat, creative director.  ( they/them, twenty-six, eastern standard ).   sideblog to @yellowbrckrd.  please read the rules on the main before interacting.

featuring creative ideas in topics such as:  wanderlust, knowing people better than they know themselves, modern problems requiring modern solutions, nostalgia, gospel of wealth, living two lives, sweeping your past under the rug, advertising, and more.

[bathylychnops]

guy who listens to spotify when he works but its one ad after another and you think theres going to be a song eventually but its all ads and you catch a glimpse of the playlist title and its "ads to relax and listen to"

[badbird]

madvertising​:

cecil’s cabaret—- a unique atmosphere, the perfect place for him to soak his brain for the night, immerse himself into something larger than himself, spiral into the brassy delight of detroit nightlife … an opportunity that arises once every blue business trip. do not be fooled … don draper is not here for the temptation of exposed skin, nor for the prospect of a cheap laugh. research, he calls it, fingering the cultural pulse—- always watching life from within his glass box like the little wooden boy he is … he’s not watching the performance. he’s watching the people, their reactions. and he has plenty of opportunity; the place is packed … not a seat in the house left on a thursday night, which is interesting … because this strip of detroit was filled with every variation imaginable of this same idea in different sizes, colors, themes, etc. and they’re all half as full … which begs the question, why this particular cabaret? was it for the entertainment? the grandiose feel, the excitement, the thrill of bright lights? the feeling that arises before one is compelled to applaud? or could it be the antiquated feel … the feeling you get like you’ve been there before, like you’ll be there again just to savor the feeling? ‘TRADITION.’ he jots the word down on a napkin, carefully dissecting his own handwriting with his eyes … it’s an idea, but it’s not the right idea.

he hardly notices the blonde at his shoulder ordering a drink. he’s seen @badbird​ before, this he knows, but where … ?   ❛ you’re the cabaret girl. ❜   he recalls loud enough for her to hear, stamping out his cigarette into his ashtray and discarding the butt among the others. smoke curls from his nose in ribbons, temporarily obscuring his face from view. and when it reappears, he is still just as expressionless as when he hadn’t recognized her at all. then, matter of factly, with a furrowed brow, he concludes,   ❛ —- you were good. ❜   

this  night  was  vexing.   round  tables  sat  full  of  boisterous  out  of  towners  ,  greedy  men  who  pawed  at  the  girls  in  their  sequined  costumes  whenever  they  ventured  too  near.  regulars  knew  how  to  conduct  themselves ;  something  people  who’d  never  stepped  foot  into  cecil’s  or  any  place  like  it  did not. birdie  wasn’t  having  any  of  it.  she’d  warned  the  girls  one  at  a  time  before  sending  them  into  the  lions  den  ,  knowing  more  than  one  would  end  up  with  hurt  feelings  &  runny  mascara.  grabbing  a  flute  of  champagne  from  a  waiters  tray  she  downed  it  without  a  second  thought  as  she  stamped  towards  the  packed  bar ,  knowing  that  something  with  more  kick  might  be  the  very  trick  to  get  through  this  obnoxiously  packed  thursday  night.

“   huh   ?   ”   distracted  by  the  chaos  that  surrounded  the  bar  she’d  hardly  heard  the  gentlemen  at  her  shoulder  speak  up.  his  approach  had  sent  a  shiver  down  her  spine  ,  not  because  he  was  handsome ( he  was )  but  because  he  was  unexpectedly  close.   “ i’ve  seen  you  here  before   ,   ”   she  sends  a  radiant  smile  in  his  direction  ,  blue  eyes  giving  him  a  very  thorough  once  over  before  redirecting  to  the  bar.  “  name’s  birdie…  been  dancing  here  for  a  while  ,  must  be  what  makes  me  so  good  at  it.   ”

[madvertising]

it’s a polite smirk he offers as a response to her keen observation.   ❛ i’m not exactly a frequent flyer. ❜   he lilts knowingly, folding the newspaper he was clutching in his hand as his makeshift thesaurus---- looking for key words that may help him piece together the mystery of explaining this place on paper. eyes meander along the entrails of the establishment to confirm what he already knows: he hadn’t come far. it was loud, endearingly antiquated, unprincipled . . . unhinged the lobes of his brain in a new way. he just needed to forget about it. the idea would come to stare him in the face eventually.   ❛ ‘birdie, the cabaret dancer’ . . . sounds like something out of a noir. no offense. ❜   it’s not even a jab. but no matter how many advertisement ideas he came up with, he could never be sure what he said wouldn’t offend.

he settles in his seat to look at her, maybe for the first time. it wrings a crease in his brow, sprinkling more ambiguity into an already ambiguous expression.   ❛ don draper . . . ❜   he declares more than he introduces, gesturing toward the bartender for another old-fashioned. he takes the final, diluted chug like a champ before setting the glass against the bar. not a hair out place on that thick, plastic head of his.   ❛ i’m in advertising. ❜

[madvertising]

[gothabilly-kitty]

[madvertising]

cecil’s cabaret—- a unique atmosphere, the perfect place for him to soak his brain for the night, immerse himself into something larger than himself, spiral into the brassy delight of detroit nightlife . . . an opportunity that arises once every blue business trip. do not be fooled . . . don draper is not here for the temptation of exposed skin, nor for the prospect of a cheap laugh. research, he calls it, fingering the cultural pulse—- always watching life from within his glass box like the little wooden boy he is . . . he’s not watching the performance. he’s watching the people, their reactions. and he has plenty of opportunity; the place is packed . . . not a seat in the house left on a thursday night, which is interesting . . . because this strip of detroit was filled with every variation imaginable of this same idea in different sizes, colors, themes, etc. and they’re all half as full . . . which begs the question, why this particular cabaret? was it for the entertainment? the grandiose feel, the excitement, the thrill of bright lights? the feeling that arises before one is compelled to applaud? or could it be the antiquated feel . . . the feeling you get like you’ve been there before, like you’ll be there again just to savor the feeling? ‘TRADITION.’ he jots the word down on a napkin, carefully dissecting his own handwriting with his eyes . . . it’s an idea, but it’s not the right idea.

he hardly notices the blonde at his shoulder ordering a drink. he’s seen @badbird​ before, this he knows, but where . . . ?   ❛ you’re the cabaret girl. ❜   he recalls loud enough for her to hear, stamping out his cigarette into his ashtray and discarding the butt among the others. smoke curls from his nose in ribbons, temporarily obscuring his face from view. and when it reappears, he is still just as expressionless as when he hadn’t recognized her at all. then, matter of factly, with a furrowed brow, he concludes,   ❛ —- you were good. ❜   

[madvertising]

❛ yes . . . of course. mister herschel-gold. pleasure to finally put a face to the name. ❜   his three o’clock is punctual. he extends his hand for a handshake, a dashing grin adorning the sculpted musculature of his face.  ❛ you can leave your coat with my secretary, i’ll give you the grand tour . . . unless you’re on a tight schedule.❜  / @khaloymes​ liked this.

[madvertising]

cue don’s entrance — from stage left, in through the cardboard cutout of his front door, his cookie cutter home located just outside of the big apple. a testament to his creative directing capabilities— a polished family man, well-to-do ad exec . . . his façade was spackled more than once over, i’s dotted, t’s crossed, a fixed ratio of one parts charisma, two parts mystery  ( served as neat as the drink he’s just finished ); yes, donald draper was more than some poster boy. he was a magazine cutout with all its respective properties: glossy and captivating, thin and flimsy----- as real as the fingers on your hand though his name, his title is as bloated and outlandish as a mythical creature.

enter don, peering reflexively over at the seat closest to his blocking cue to see @wildhecrt, his wife, a barbie doll, a beacon of compassion, a rose to adorn the lapel of his freshly pressed jacket for all to see . . . ❛ hey. ❜   he coos, leaning over her chair to stamp a kiss to the top of his wife’s head, hands coiling to caress the lithe contours of her shoulders from behind. and then, as soon as one would ever realize he had even been there at all, he’s gone again, receding into the shadows of the kitchen, just out of reach.   ❛ the kids are already in bed? it’s still light out. ❜

[olstocky]

[winterswake]

MAD MEN — The Jet Set