After the first season of Mad Men (2007), I thought the show was a brilliant, beguiling allegory of postwar America, with Jon Hamm’s Don Draper standing in for… all of us. The country itself. I thought the show had maybe four seasons in it, and none were likely to surpass the first 13 episodes. Somewhere during season three, I realized the individual stories creator Matthew Weiner was telling had become individually compelling – the character arcs had outgrown my simple allegory framework. As the show ended last night, after seven seasons and 92 episodes, I’m back to my original thesis. The collection of specific stories Weiner wrapped up still tell the story of the United States after World War II, as we struggled with identity, responsibility, and desire. And the last fourteen episodes were best of all, no small accomplishment.