Channeling Joan Harris: Mad Men’s Vixen

Few women walk into a room and really make people take notice. I mean straighten their posture, wipe the spittle from the corners of their mouth, brush off the lint from their lapel, and really take notice.
Most women enter a room with no fanfare, silently slipping in among the crowd with nary a head turned or breath taken.
Some women make a grand entrance into a room. I’m not talking about the women who strut into a room with an entourage and unseemly demands. I mean the woman who sashays elegantly and makes a grand statement without even trying. Or even realizing she’s doing it.

There are those women who make us take notice when she turns and leaves a room. The kind of woman who is so confident she doesn’t even look back over her shoulder to offer a tiny wave while masking her desire to see everyone’s reaction. This kind of woman makes us slouch upon her exit and reach for an extra canape that we had deprived ourselves of in her presence.

And there’s Joan.

Joan is the rare breed who makes people take notice when she walks into a room and when she leaves it. She’s Mad Men’s femme fatale who reminds me to suck in my stomach and stand up straight(er). She makes me yearn for a wardrobe of pencil skirts, nipped-at-the-waist dresses, and blouses (not shirts!). Also on my shopping list: a good brooch. It’s not just men who notice Joan’s va va va voom; women gasp at her sultry presence too. She’s sharp, gorgeous, and oh so confident. It’s this confidence that makes her so steamy. Confidence is sexy.

Ladies, take note.

When Joan sashays out of a room, all heads follow. We can’t help it. It’s an unconscious decision, and our eyes can’t divert from her aura. It’s not just the perfectly coiffed red hair, nor the snug dress that accentuates her um, assets. Joan houses an inner beauty that makes us want to reach in and grab a piece to tie to our kitten heels like tin cans on the bumper of a Just Married convertible. We want to brush against her to see if she’s real, and if she is, perhaps some of that mettle will rub off on us. When Joan leaves a room we take mental inventory of our closet and are reminded to reapply lipstick and blot. When Joan leaves a room, we maintain our stomach-sucked-in-Pilates-perfect posture and excuse ourselves to the powder room. Where we toss our safe shades of beige into the trash and reapply lipstick. In a daring hue.

A girl like Joan takes our breath away. And she lives in all of us. Let’s unleash her.