I am often asked to give an opinion about AMC’s Mad Men, for which I cannot because I’ve never seen the show.

What?”

I know, right? I get the gist of it; pearl grey suits, highballs, expense accounts. I hear it’s about more than advertising, but many of the characters seem to spend time at an ad agency, and that’s something I do all day.

Besides, I already have a Don Draper. He didn’t have a mysterious past, but he wore nicely tailored suits and perfectly coifed hair just like Jon Hamm. My Don also kept a wet bar in his office, blurred the distinction between creative and account services, and had a complicated relationship with his wife.

Don Draper owes a lot to Darrin Stephens.

You remember Darrin. Worked for McMahon and Tate. Married to a witch. Was played by both Dick York and Dick Sargent (and later Will Ferrell, but don’t ask). Darrin is who inspired me to make a career in advertising.

Because Darrin could do it all: Illustrate. Write. Sell. All while enjoying a glass of Scotch with senior partner Larry Tate (who may have had his name of the door but was creatively beholden to the genius of Darrin Stephens).

Darrin forbade magic in his house because he was magician enough. With supernatural energy, he was forever burning the midnight oil on a new advertising campaign or emergency presentation. Sometimes, he’d pen a jingle or freehand a storyboard. Darrin was what I thought advertising was: creatively diverse, financially rewarding, and endlessly hip.

(Darrin himself wasn’t necessarily “endlessly hip.” For comedic purposes, he seemed too wound-up and was a bit of a misogynist. But then again, he had a demanding boss and a mother-in-law who openly despised him. His shortcomings could be overlooked.)

I wanted to be Darrin. Or, at least, I wanted his life. Darrin plied his craft in a well-appointed, high-rise office and made his living spinning yarns. He married above his station and never seemed lacking for action or wardrobe. This seemed quite appealing to me, a young man without marketable athletic skills or the brains to become an astronaut.

And I did become Darrin Stephens. At least, I became some of him. Fiction often pales against reality, but even after 20 years in the business I hold out hope for the walnut-paneled office, the wet bar, and the closet of freshly pressed three-piece suits. As it turned out, most of what you see portrayed about advertising on TV isn’t real.

In fact, the only thing that’s is real is the magic.