Donald F. Draper, one of the most iconic characters of 21st century television, isn’t actually a real person. Of course, he is fictional, but that’s not the only reason he’s a fake. Unlike many of his television contemporaries, Don Draper is a complete construct; a stolen identity adopted by one man looking to escape into the life of another. Up until this point, the artist formerly known as Dick Whitman has done pretty well for himself. He’s enjoyed success, money, notoriety, and not just one, but two beautiful wives. Of course, history has now proven that the sixth season of Mad Men-- like the late 1960s of America themselves-- has been an entirely different story, one that we watched (often in horror) unfold episode after episode like the slow-motion stumble depicted in the show’s opening credits. It became quite fitting that as his surroundings began to crumble before him, so did Don Draper himself.

How could a character so admired, so charismatic, become so thoroughly unappealing quite so fast? In reality, though, the wheels of Don Draper’s downward spiral have been churning slowly since the very beginning of the series. What made season six immediately different was that, for the very first time, we weren’t really on Don’s side. Prior to this season, even within the throws of his most despicable past deeds-- the lies, the cheating, the arrogance-- Don has remained an appealing anti-hero that most viewers stood by, loved, and even defended. Was it because he’s handsome? Probably. Charming? Absolutely. Like a tall, brooding, leading man of Hollywood’s Golden Era, Don Draper somehow managed to get away with murder time and time again. The mere flash of a grin and, like moths to a well-coiffed flame, we’ve been drawn, helplessly.

However, in 1968, Don Draper is no longer the sharply-dressed stud who slinks along street corners, cigarette hanging delicately from his mouth, undressing women with his eyes to the tune of the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” Instead, he’s over-the-hill, anxious, exhausted, and quite obviously past his prime. As viewers, we cringed as his drinking habits transitioned from glamorous to gluttonous. We watched as respect for his colleagues diminished (Ted Chaough and protégé Peggy Olson, in particular). We followed Don on a twisted journey with Sylvia, his neighbor, with whom he commenced a sad-- and eventually rather pathetic-- affair right under the nose of his loving wife. As Joan Holloway Harris memorably exclaimed to her colleague in season five, “God, you’re irresistible!” Now that she’s seen that very same man passed out, pale and sweaty for hours at a time on his office couch, who knows if she could ever repeat the sentiment.

Maybe worst of all was Don’s treatment of Megan, who happens to be a polarizing figure on the show. Whether you love or hate the fact that she’s young, pretty, and free-spirited, the new Mrs. Draper definitely does care for her husband and very much wants to be with him. Ever since his wife became a daytime TV star, though, Don’s jealousy and possessiveness reached startling new heights. When he visits Megan unannounced on set during a sex scene, Don proceeds to humiliate and chastise the actress, despite the soapy “love scene” being very much PG-rated. As an irate Don left his wife in tears in front of her dressing room mirror, straight into the arms of his willing mistress, most Mad Men fans were left horrified. Our handsome hero had never looked quite so ugly in the eyes of his audience.

While we’re on the topic of mirrors, it’s fair to raise a few questions regarding season six’s number one mystery: Bob Benson. Who is he? What does he want? And where did he learn to speak such fluent Spanish? By the end of the season, fans (and their many outrageous conspiracy theories) were still left scratching their heads. What we did find out about Bob Benson, though-- besides the fact that he’s somehow able to be in about 30 places at once-- is that the fuzzy details of his backstory are eerily similar to Don’s. Thanks to a bit of digging on Pete Campbell’s part-- the same exact move he once pulled with Don-- we know that Bob Benson isn’t quite the man he claims to be. No, he didn’t ever work in finance and, no, he doesn’t come from a well-off family. But while essentially everything on his resume is fabricated, what we do know for sure about Bob Benson is that he’s willing to do pretty much anything for a shot at getting ahead. You know, kind of like the way a young fur salesman once lobbied Roger Sterling into giving him a job. The rest, as they say, is history.

Obviously, that played quite the role in the sixth season of Mad Men, too; the late 1960s were undoubtedly a startling time in American history. From riots and protests to the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy, it’s a wonder that Don Draper and his colleagues even managed just to stay afloat. This season’s most aptly-titled episode was “The Crash,” 60 heart-pounding minutes of television that played out like a horror film: from the shots of “energy serum,” to Ken Cosgrove’s wild tap dance, to the terrifying home invasion of Grandma Ida, our pulses didn’t stop racing. Within that psychotic, maddening hour, Sterling Cooper & Partners became a microcosm of society. Somehow, the chaos that brewed outside seeped its way into the office walls, transforming all who work there into a motley crew of lost souls simply attempting to find a hint of light within the darkness.

Late that night, after Peggy rejects Stan’s advances in their dark, shadowy work space, she offers her not-quite-sober friend and co-worker some sound advice. “I’ve had loss in my life,” she says, once Stan reveals that his 20-year-old cousin was recently killed in Vietnam. “You have to let yourself feel it. You can’t dampen it with sex and drugs. That won’t get you through.” And while Peggy is speaking directly to Stan, she could easily be talking to Don, or to any number of Americans living through the social, political, and personal turmoil of 1968.

Throughout “The Crash,” and the entire season, we bore witness to many flashbacks to Don’s early life as Dick Whitman. For viewers, these painful memories helped explain-- although never excuse-- Draper’s endless bad behavior. We learned that as a young teen, Dick fell ill, and having been ignored (or worse) by his bitter, violent stepmother his entire life, was nursed back to health and eventually de-flowered by a kind prostitute called Aimee. This complex, confused figure of mother, lover, and friend has clearly tainted Don’s relationships with women throughout his entire life. By the season finale, once Don has lost his job, his family, and quite possibly his marriage to Megan, he had finally hit rock bottom. Don’t forget that the season opened with Don reading Dante’s Inferno from beneath the hot Hawaiian sun; in those last moments of the finale, as our shamed protagonist stands before the office elevator and Lou Avery asks, “Going Down?,” it feels possible that no other Mad Men line has ever been so prophetic.

The one bright spot of hope in all the chaos? Don Draper has finally come clean. Not just to the people at Hershey’s, or to his daughter, but to himself. Next season, as we approach 1969, Don might have a chance for a real fresh start, not just an assumed one. Because whether the circumstances are fictional or true, Mad Men consistently teaches that we write our own histories ourselves. Pain, guilt, joy, whatever it may be; we just have to feel it.

Author Bio:
Loren DiBlasi is a contributing writer at Highbrow Magazine.