or HBO, and they get it made.” As he sips his third and final cup of black coffee, Hamm ruminates on a few of the larger problems of our era. But Hamm, a self-declared optimist and “believer in the human spirit,” knows that Draper is just about the worst role model of all when it comes to interacting with real, live people.
“It’s fun, it’s adorable, but it’s the visual equivalent of masturbating—there’s no point other than immediate gratification.” (He does have a stealth Instagram account where he follows photographers and artists and a few travel sites, but he’s never posted anything.) No personal trainer visits his home in L.
A.’s Los Feliz neighborhood; instead, Hamm plays league baseball on the weekends in a public park, mostly for the camaraderie.
And he still gets a lot out of his shrink appointments.
Hamm, who lost both his parents to illness before he finished college, says there’s some truth to the theory that many actors’ careers are essentially lifelong attempts to heal their childhood wounds.
Hamm’s performance also helped make Mad Men, with its glamorous yet cold-eyed take on power, gender, and seduction, a standard-bearer of TV’s new golden age.