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Popular Culture Review
masculine subject, but performs explicitly the fantasy under which masculinity
is established. The glass between the men and secretaries of the scene is so
obvious precisely because Don (who can apparently have all women) is
conspicuously absent. He is with a woman.
3. “Those People”
While the men enjoy the secretaries, Draper is meeting Rachel for lunch.
The problem he is there to discuss with her stems from a new advertizing
account for the Israeli Board of Tourism. Up to this point, the episode has
obliquely conflated Jewishness with femininity in pretty troubling ways, so that
(for instance) the written material Don has gone through contains both photos of
attractive Israeli models mixed in with black-and-white images of Holocaust
victims, after which the secretaries at the agency are captured, locked into the
room with the lipsticks.
In the beginning of the scene, Draper explains that he is looking for advice
about the Israeli tourism account, to which Rachel responds, “And I’m the only
Jew you know in New York City?” Draper replies, “You’re my favorite” and,
soon after, accidentally spills some of his drink. In the first of two intimate
moments, Rachel uses her napkin to dab at his tie and, while looking into his
eyes, mumbles, “You’re usually so put together.” (Of course, Draper really is
“put together.”) As Draper begins to ask questions, Rachel balks at being treated
as an expert, at one point saying “I don’t know what I can say. I’m American.
I’m really not very Jewish. If my mother hadn’t died having me I could have
been Marilyn instead of Rachel, no one would know the difference.” Of course,
she’s referring explicitly about being Jewish, but given the confusion of the
Jewish and the feminine, Draper’s immediate response, “What is the
difference,” cannot help but resonate at the level of sexuation, too.
Rachel explains that Jews have lived in exile for a long time and suggests
that they have managed to do this well because “we thrive at doing business
with people who hate us.” Draper responds, “I don’t hate you.” “No,” says
Rachel, “individuals are wonderftil. . . ” and Draper interrupts, “That’s not what
I meant.” Rachel softens, and talks about how a country is important and, though
she doesn’t want to live there, “it just has to be. For me it’s more of an idea than
a place.” Draper then takes her hand across the table (the second intimacy) and
says “Utopia.” “Maybe,” responds Rachel, who then removes her hand. She
explains that “they taught us at Barnard” the two meanings the Greeks had for
the word: “the good place” and “the place that cannot be.” Abruptly, Rachel
excuses herself and leaves.
It is clear that Rachel’s Jewishness and femininity are connected,
constructing her as an amplified Other, an other whom Draper doesn’t hate, one
who has the answers he needs both professionally (this is the excuse for the
meeting) and personally. But she doesn’t have those answers, except insofar as
she introduces the fundamental situation of exile. Rachel’s parsing of the word
utopia—The Good Place and The Place That Can Never Be— ZY