Before we begin discussing this week's episode of "Mad Men," I wanted to back up for just a minute, and address the barrage of criticism that's been aimed at Betty in the commentary about last week's outing.

Everyone knows that there's a lot of hostility out there toward Betty. But I thought last week's commentary was especially blinkered in its take on Betty's behavior -- almost stubbornly unwilling to consider that Betty might be anything but an object of ridicule and contempt.

First there was the scene toward the end, when Henry tells Betty that he plans to run for elected office, and that he "can't wait for people to meet [her]." For a lot of commentators, Betty's response was (typically) self-centered, superficial, and entirely unsympathetic: Betty was excited for Henry precisely to the extent that his political career would enhance her own status, and looked forward to basking in reflected glory. Over at Slate, for instance, they have Betty happily "try[ing] on cute dresses" while she urges her husband to "up his public profile."

Maybe it's all in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. But as I alluded to last week, I saw something just entirely different on my TV screen. I saw Betty thinking of Henry, not herself, genuinely proud and supportive of him -- right up until the moment when he reminded her that it necessarily would be about her, too, and that she would be entering the public eye with him. And then I saw a moment of true existential dread, as Betty thought about subjecting herself to that pitiless gaze.

Betty, after all, is a former model, and she's lived her life almost entirely as an object of the male gaze, valued by others (and then, inevitably, by herself) only for her appearance. And then, finally, I thought we were seeing a few tentative steps in a new direction: at least a partial coming to terms with what's now a modest weight gain, a foregoing of the trademark blond hair. It was as though Betty was just starting to indulge the idea that there might be a life for her as something other than a knock-off Grace Kelly, that there might be some freedom for her, too, in the air. But not so fast, Betty. And so we leave her holding that tiny, narrow dress up to herself in the mirror, knowing exactly what it will mean -- what it will cost her -- to constrict herself into that form and that role once again. For me, that was one of the saddest scenes of "Mad Men."