Thanks to Lady Obie for suggesting I expand some wise-guy talk about the practical problems that would attend superhero costumes into the column that follows.

The Burden of the Well-Dressed Hero

The superhero costume, as a signature of the superhero comic form itself, offers much room for derision, especially on aesthetic grounds. I've presented a number of items which did not meet up with my own finicky standards in previous columns, under the Profiles section (here, here, here, here, and, again, here). Assuming, however, that all costumes managed to pass the taste filters of aging comics fans inclined to amateur web journalism. Nonetheless, another basis still would exist for fault-finding in superhero costumes. In general, the superhero costume has, since its inception, seemed to violate the notion of "if you can do no good, at least do no harm." Many superhero costumes would do a hero's enemies more good than a bus load of hostages and the hero's secret identity thrown in to one package. The designs do not, in general, seem founded on functional principles.

This dates all the way back to the beginnings of the superhero. When the pulps cross-pollinated with newspaper comics and spawned the half-breed offspring we recognize today as superhero comics, this new form featured a peculiar dress code not generally found outside its domains. A pulp hero might dress in some variant of the sporting wear or formal wear of his day; or he might plausibly wear some kind of military uniform or aviator's rig. The superhero, on the other hand, initially wore costumes based on the circus garb of the early twentieth century.

Circus clothes have, to a large extent, moved beyond, reshaped by a Las Vegas magician sort of styling best represented by the wardrobe of performers like Siegfried and Roy. And, during the same six decades (and change) since Superman first wore circus tights in a comic book, superhero costumes themselves have evolved; such a divergence, after two generations, separates the costume both from what a circus performer would choose to wear and, indeed, what such an entertainer could wear.

The dress code of superheroes, if we think about it, has become almost as burdensome as the duties of throwing oneself in harm's way for the Greater Good. Such costumes would cripple an ordinary man, entangling him in their superfluous and baroque ornaments and flourishes; indeed, the impracticality of these outfits suggests that they must contain supermen.

Cape Overkill

Batman's cape resembles a theater curtain more than a garment. Consider the disadvantages of that much cloth, hanging on things, tripping up the dedicated (but well-dressed) crimefighter, and, worst of all, soaking up 100 pounds or so of water every time it rains.

A change in the wind would cause a light cape to wrap around a hero's head like a turban. Even without the wind working against him, though, our Well-Dressed Hero would find that villains loved the costume feature, in that it gave 1,001 ways to grab the hero in a fight, plus countless opportunities to snag him on doors, suck him into machinery, and otherwise make him regret his choice in superheroic haberdashery.

One might argue in favor of the excessive Bat-cape, however, by noting that it provides Batman a convenient object behind which to skulk, even in plain sight - much the same purpose it served in the thirties interpretation of Dracula, where Lugosi (and less memorable actors) might spread this canopy of cloth as if to engulf some particular item of prey. Batman uses his cape principally for such visual effects, especially in the context of rooftops, where, in spite of statistics which do not suggest most crime occurs there, he can cast a more striking shadow. A Santa Claus suit would probably not fit in so well with ornate gargoyle sculptures and other neo-Gothic trappings. Nonetheless, given two fighters of equal ability, I would give odds on one dressed as Santa over one dressed as Batman.

Speedos and Thongs

For some heroes, less serves as more in the costume department. The Speedo-style trunk, while useful and stylish for Olympic swimmers, unfortunately lacks the kind of protective aspect one might associate with something like a fireman's ensemble. A superhero so minimally outfitted might discover that one extended reach could leave a hero departing from his rated-G format comic to an R- or X-rated piece.

Female superheroes have a similar garment in the form of the thong, a garment much easier to draw than, say, a hoop skirt (in fact, a single brush stroke can depict it completely, from the right angles). I have previously derided the thong as a piece of costuming that imposes an unnecessary burden of exhibitionism on superheroines who, theoretically, exist to protect the balance of mankind from grave menaces to their well-being. Barring such prudish criticisms, however, let us consider the prospect of fighting crime while thusly attired.

To bring home the utter stupidity of fighting evil in such a garment, let us employ a simple household analogy. Imagine, if you will, going to whatever merchant most inspires you to purchase the skimpiest of undergarments. Now, clad in your purchases, enter your kitchen and perform a task that goes on in millions of households without incident. Fry some chicken. How long would you endure the spattering of hot grease on tender pieces of exposed skin left, by a faithless garment, unprotected? To put this in a superheroic context, think of fighting the Incredible Sparking Flame Monster while attired in the four-color equivalent of this skimpy lingerie. Though not stylish, a humble barbecue apron starts looking much better as the garment of choice.

Fishnets

If we think about the American soldier, we might consider the paraphernalia with which he (or she) tricks himself out before placing himself in harm's way. Helmets, flak jackets, and the like stand between the soldier and incoming ordnance. Gas masks, sometimes supplemented by anti-chemical warfare containment suits, attempt to keep nasty toxins from laying him out dead in the field.

Again, the policeman in riot gear provides some information about how one might equip someone going up against hostile mobs of molotov-cocktail flinging fiends. Helmets with face guards, real hand held shields (almost as large as a Greek hoplon), and covers for armoring most portions of the body somewhat limit the ability of angry rioters to do him mayhem.

Which brings us to a sometimes essential piece of superheroic costuming: Fishnet hose. While fishnet stockings can't reliably repel bullets, ray blasts, toxic gas, or blows - indeed, a simple splinter on a piece of furniture can rip long runs into them - they theoretically can retain a little bit of heat (somewhat less than, say, pants) and, if dense and dark enough, could even provide a degree of protection against deadly ultraviolet radiation.

However, we might hesitate to place our daughters in front of oncoming tanks, aliens, mutants, or gangsters with only a pair of fishnets as armor.

As a long-shot protection, they might disincline a small subset of villains from violence by redirecting their violent impulses into lewd ones, though, unfortunately, some people do not distinguish the two tendencies.

Bodices and Other Dubious Containers

One good bounce - no, really, one good motion of any sort - would cause even the most modest superheroine to erupt from a garment like this.

In many cases, we can assume superheroines have a power of containment that prevents such seemingly-inevitable eruptions from costumes that do not, by their design, consistently constrain and cover parts of the body generally denied public exposure by the restrictions of the Comics Code Authority.

One can argue about things like modesty and other concepts relating to how much skin a character bares to the world. We can note that no character need ever display more cortex than the story ordains. However, looking at the ensemble the Scarlet Witch has on here tends to bring a single question to mind: Can she cast spells with her hands free? If not, one would expect her to lose many a future scrap with the likes of Kang the Conqueror, since stuffing oneself back into this bodice once or twice per action scene would require both hands. One could not expect all villains to stop and gawk during such a process.

Spike Heels

Olympic runners do not favor the spike heel while in competition, and we might presume they make this choice for reasons other than aesthetic ones. Some obvious disadvantages suggest themselves: The spike heel does not present a great deal of surface area to the ground. Even if some disturbed individual equipped a spiked-heel shoe with cleats or links, it wouldn't do much in the way of improving traction; indeed, science has yet to devise a spike heel with traction equivalent to a bare human foot.

In comics, furthermore, to my knowledge, I haven't seen any of the three Flashes - Jay Garrick, Barry Allen, or Wally West - attempting to exceed the speed of sound with any such outlandish piece on their feet. This could involve a concession to public sensibilities; on the other hand, it could represent a rare concession to the laws of physics.

Nonetheless, in the world of comics - a place infested with, nay, defined by impossible deeds - fighting crime in spike heels seems one of the more improbable everyday events.

I haven't seen gymnasts attempt to perform in such impractical shoes. However, I have regularly seen a middle-aged transvestite who lives in front of the Starbuck's on the corner of Sixth and Congress streets - a mere five blocks due south of the Texas Capitol - go about his everyday business in such shoes. He does not stride with confidence. He does not take giant steps. He does well in avoiding falling down, but only manages small, tentative steps, as one might expect from trying to balance 180 pounds of human tissue on a surface of about six square inches.

Given my choice, should someone draft me into an unpleasant task like fighting Doomsday (or an equivalent Generic Big Goon) to the death, I would opt not for the spike heel but for the comfortable sneaker worn by Strong Man in Ralph Bakshi's "Mighty Heroes" cartoon.

Epaulets

Costumes with epaulets go back, probably all the way to the forties, but certainly far enough that their existence does not represent a new phenomenon deriving from the shift of tastes that might accompany a change in generations. Throughout most of the history of superhero comics, however, the epaulet remained a small, meek, tame thing; it created a visual exaggeration of the shoulder (much as a bustle might exaggerate the derriere), but did not attempt to overthrow the costume in its entirety. Even costume designers who favored the epaulet, like David Cockrum (see his costume designs for Chameleon Boy, Colossal Boy, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and a few others), knew the epaulet had to stay in its place. However, when epaulets became a cliched component of "extreme" styling, they, too, had to become extreme in ways that might pin a hero's arms and thereby prevent the delivery of many a well-deserved haymaker to the chins of the forces of evil.

By the time we get to the disturbing heroes of the erstwhile "new comics" (and imitations by the comics establishment as represented by DC and Marvel), we begin to see epaulets of such overbearing grandeur that we have to wonder if these ornaments allow much motion of the arm at all. Granted, the human arm lives in a ball-and-socket joint, so even such ridiculous add-ons as these couldn't prevent motion of the arm outward from the body; however, one would have to hit with a turn of the waist - like some dreadful kind of human dreidel - rather than a swing of the arm. Fistfights would become such a ludicrous spectacle that a hero or villain who could resist the temptation to burst out laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the body language would, most likely, prevail.

Sashes

Fawcett's Captain Marvel, and no small number of David Cockrum costumes, sport handsome-looking sashes. Consider, though, how this would do in a fight. The Romans, in their heyday, close-cropped the hair of their soldiers to deny enemies an easy handhold. A sash, on the same principle, gives a would-be assailant a ready-made handle to draw in his target.

Then again, the sash doesn't offend against common sense as much as some of the stories its wearers may participate in. Ms. Marvel / Warbird's sash, in context, seems one of the more plausible aspects of her.

Daring Decolletages

A costume that allows a reader a peek down the neckline of a well-formed superheroine may appear visually striking, but seems ill-designed in terms of function. Female athletes, for instance, tend toward containment and control of their secondary sexual characteristics rather than their display; a costume that allowed mammalian protruberences to bounce all over the place (and, inevitably, out of the costume altogether) might provide a momentary distraction to evildoers inclined to ogle the female form, but could hardly offer a secure mooring, nor comfort for one engaged in the process of knocking the heads of costumed baddies.

A cynical sort of mind (such as that which, perhaps, might belong to a superannuated comics fan or two) might conclude that artists and designers had stacked the deck, creating new laws of physics that allow supposedly non-super heroines to defy the pathetic ability of their costumes to cover them, in spite of concerted and sincere efforts to clothe these characters in garb which presumes natural laws that do not, for such garments, do anything to aid the cause of modesty.

Obstructive Helmets

A helmet, per se does not necessarily act as a handicap - throughout the centuries, helmets have honorably acquitted the duty of keeping their bearers' heads from blows that threaten to crush them like grapes. However, with rare exceptions, the superhero's helmet stands as a point of style than as a practical defense.

Doctor Fate and Iron Man may have a certain visual appeal, with the blank and manly stare their helmets provide, but that would amount for little in a firefight that required these heroes to recruit seeing-eye dogs to point them in the direction of evil.

My own unfortunate experiences with restricted peripheral vision from the occasional pair of wraparound sunglasses suggests that little can justify garments or accessories that block eyesight. Perhaps comics have made some nod to this; neither Doctor Fate nor Iron Man, two characters with conspicuously vision-unfriendly helmets, both choose to fly about on their way to rid the world of the Great Menacing Bogeyman. Neither one of them generally hits the streets of Hometown City in his IronManMobile or FateMobile. Could the code of the hero preclude turning automobiles into accordions at the nearest telephone pole two or three times a month? Or has luck merely kept their power design and costume design somewhat in tune with the unspoken awareness that each eyeball behind such a helmet would enjoy a visual field perhaps one degree wide?

The Ever-Popular Birthday Suit (and Other Anti-Costumes)

Throughout Moore and Gibbons' Watchmen, one running thread notes how little Dr. Manhattan seems to care for the conventional superhero costume. Piecemeal, he abandons his clothing until he opts to wander around, nude and blue, in mid-air in the contemporary scenes.

Though Moore has (upon occasion) dabbled into themes of sexuality and the cultural restrictions imposed thereon, I don't see an attempt to shock the censors as the primary inspiration for this. On one level, Manhattan's link with humanity paralleled his desire to wear clothing; on another level, Manhattan's nudity stood as a sneer at the absurdity of superheroic costuming customs. Manhattan, it seems, preferred to air his differences than conceal them beneath a ludicrous outfit.

The original context seemed to tie Manhattan's toleration of clothing with his lingering humanity, but we might, in light of an overview of the multicolored inconveniences superheroes traditionally wear as uniforms, assume that his increasing tendencies to nudism meant an increasing grasp on hard, concrete reality. His prototype, Captain Atom, took a costume essentially composed of boots, gloves, chest emblem, and silver (anatomically incorrect) skin; the Silver Surfer seldom bothered with more clothing than the occasional pen strokes suggesting he wore a pair of briefs that matched his own white outer coating. In these cases, the heroes seemed to recognize that the critters in the fields do relatively well in the absence of spike heals, baggy capes, pointy epaulets, and other absurd adornments.

Rebellion against costuming did not begin with Dr. Manhattan. In the case of superheroes, we might trace it back to the Spirit, who, as a point of principle, made his first appearance dressed in a manner not completely inappropriate for a job interview at a bank; he would subsequently make the concession of adding a domino mask to a blue three-piece suit and gloves, but Will Eisner must have decided that circus tights would not afflict his creation (not now, not later, nohow). Other anti-costume tendencies would appear, here and there, in characters like the Hulk, who originally tended to wear scraps of the wardrobe of his alter ego, shredded by his increase in size and tendencies to violent activity. By the nineties, some costumes would appear singularly un-costumelike; for instance, Robinson's Starman, or, in some ways, the Ray of the nineties.

The latter trend, in some ways, represents the last dogma of the superheroic model crumbling. Even in the seventies and eighties, when superhero books could explore manners generally outside the range of acceptable content assumed in the original, defining days of superhero comics, the costume remained a central anchor. Iron Man became an alcoholic - in costume. Yellowjacket beat his wife - in costume. Ms. Marvel eloped with her firstborn child - in costume. Costumes present both the silliest and the most recognizable attribute of the form, and even post-heroic and minimalist superhero comics frequently resist dispensing with them long after concepts like heroism and idealism become embarrassing anachronisms to conceal or ignore.

So, then, in general, even the anti-heroes retain that last perquisite of the superheroic model: If they can do no good, at least they can continue to wear their underwear on the outside of their pants.

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Column 202. Completed 26-NOV-2000.