Mad Men dives into 1960s life at a New York City ad agency. It’s all about identity, gender roles and changes in society. Characters deal with cultural shifts and political drama. You’ll laugh, you’ll cringe and you might even spot a typo or two. Enjoy the ride!

Meet the characters from Mad Men

Don Draper

Don is the kind of brooding, handsome mystery you want to ask questions to but also sort of fear the answers — he’s slick, brilliant at selling dreams, and somehow always three steps ahead (or so he thinks). He drinks like it clarifies the world and smokes like it’s a hobby, yet he’s secretly sentimental about old photographs and the smell of a bar of soap, which is very on-brand and also very sad. He’s confident to the point of cruelty sometimes, then shockingly tender in tiny, misplaced moments; never trust a man who can charm a room and disappear from his own life. Also, weirdly, he hums jingles when he’s nervous (I swear I read that somewhere?) and has this whole identity thing going on that makes him both fascinating and exhausting.

Peggy Olson

Peggy is the fired-up underdog who grows into a powerhouse copywriter and basically refuses to be underestimated — she’s sharp, relentless, awkwardly earnest, and also brilliant at turning chaos into clever lines. She can be moral and ruthless at once, like someone who learned early that ambition requires a little armor; don’t be surprised if she surprises herself by enjoying office politics. There’s a softness under the work boots — she keeps notebooks of tiny observations and once cried in a supply closet, which is both heartbreaking and kind of heroic. Also she insists on practical shoes but secretly loves a pretty hat (maybe), which is the cutest contradiction.

Pete Campbell

Pete is equal parts entitled snob and insecure mess, always scheming his way up the ladder with a smile that says “I belong” and a panic that says “what if I don’t.” He’s petty in the best/worst ways, obsessed with status and social climbing, yet every so often he does something unexpectedly humane (and then immediately brags about it), which makes him maddeningly human. He’s flashy, polished, and deeply, awkwardly jealous of people who have more ease — he’ll throw a party to prove something and then sulk for days about the guest list. Also: hates being called a baby but cries at commercials, which seems fitting.

Betty Francis

Betty is icy perfection in pearls — poised, fashionable, and constantly maintaining a clean, controlled surface like she’s curated a museum exhibit of her own life. She can be sharp and cutting in ways that sting, but underneath there are these tiny cracks of loneliness and confusion that peek out when she’s alone looking at pictures or rearranging the house for the hundredth time. She’s both the ideal suburban trophy and secretly deeply unhappy, and somehow she manages to be both elegant and disconcerting in the same glance. Oh and she’s into dieting and family albums but would absolutely set you straight if you tried to patronize her — with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Joan Harris

Joan is boss energy personified: glamorous, practical, razor-smart, and the person who actually keeps the office from imploding while looking like a runway ad. She negotiates like a queen — for respect, for money, for status — and will use charm like a weapon (and a shield), which is oddly comforting and terrifying at once. Underneath the power suit there’s fierce loyalty to her people and a fierce desire for something that isn’t given on a silver platter, which makes her choices feel painfully real. Also she collects vintage costume jewelry and will cut you off politely at a restaurant if you’re being dumb, so don’t test Joan.

Ken Cosgrove

Ken is the warm, affable guy who writes short stories on the side and seems like he should be everyone’s favorite — he’s steady, likable, a little smug about his beach house and his “hobby” of writing (which is not a hobby, Ken, come on). He’s a nice counterbalance to the office sharks; charming, reliable, and quietly ambitious in a way that doesn’t need to scream. He can be surprisingly stubborn (don’t mess with his editorial opinions) and also kind of wistful about a life that could’ve been more poetic. Also there’s a dad-joke vibe sometimes and he probably owns a typewriter but uses a laptop, which makes him both retro and annoyingly modern.

Harry Crane

Harry is the jittery media guy who’s always peeking at the next big thing (television? the future?) and trying to sell it like his life depends on it, which, in a way, it does. He’s smart about trends but insecure about being the smartest in the room, so he compensates with bluster and long-winded pitches that somehow mostly work. He’s equal parts comedic relief and small-time schemer, and there’s a weird charm to watching him scramble for relevance while wearing perfectly unflattering ties. Also he smokes like it’s his job and will awkwardly admit he liked something before it was trendy, which is both endearing and obnoxious.

Roger Sterling

Roger is the silver-haired joker who floats through the agency like a bottle of champagne — witty, indulgent, infuriatingly confident, and he says the cruel/clever things people are secretly thinking. He’s a classic rake with a soft spot for theatrics and martinis, and he uses humor to dodge anything that gets too real, which is equal parts genius and cowardice. He’s genuinely funny and devastatingly human when the cracks show — there’s loneliness tucked under the lounging, and he knows exactly how to make you laugh and then feel guilty for it. Also he insists on being charming even when it’s not appropriate and somehow makes wearing a ridiculous scarf look like an art form.

Sally Draper

Sally is precocious and quietly sharp, like a little spy who notices everything adults pretend not to see — she’s part wounded, part wildly imaginative, and completely honest in ways that are both brutal and brilliant. She flips between childlike mischief (sticky fingers, secret snacks) and eerie maturity (sudden, pointed questions about life) and it’s honestly fascinating to watch. There’s a streak of rebellion — she’ll stick gum under a desk or run away for an afternoon — but also a tenderness that bursts out at odd times when she’s unexpectedly kind. Also she collects small, useless objects (pebbles, a button?) and gives them huge emotional value, which is adorable and slightly alarming.