Run Like the Particularly Half-Arsed Wind

Dear Comic Book Superheroines,

Last night I got a brief glimpse of what it might be like to be one of you. I had to rescue my car from being locked in a public garage all night. I checked the clock on my phone at 9:57 and realised two things: a) I had exactly three minutes to complete my mission and b) I was still quite a distance from my destination. So I ran. This might not sound like much to you, with your superior genetic design, but let me tell you, I was not designed with speed or agility in mind.

And so it came to be that I was belting down a road in Southbank, clad in mid-calf black leather boots, stockings, suspender belt and the regulation Bosoms Ahoy (I was also wearing a skirt and top, and carrying a handbag, a copy of All Change Please signed by my clever pet Bronwyn, and a very non-superheroine black cardie, but work with me here).

I’ve always thought you lot tend to dress rather impractically, what with all the zapping and powing and the like that you do. Now I am even more convinced of that fact. I mean, seriously. I know it wouldn’t have helped that I run like a drunken, semi-retarded emu at the best of times, but my clothing choice certainly didn’t help. It’s not even like my boots were of the spike-heeled variety you lot seem to favour, either. My foundation garments were much sturdier than yours tend to be (not that I had much choice; all my bras are industrial-strength fuck-off bras), and I was showing a lot less skin than the average superheroine too.

So why do you keep up with these tired sartorial cliches? Is practicality really that unentertaining? Are you worried about losing your legion of male fans? You really needn’t be: even with all my I-dress-like-someone-who-stands-up-and-smiles-at-old-ladies-all-day style, I still manage to maintain my legion of male admirers. Admittedly it’s a pretty small legion and few of the admirers are heterosexual, but still, I’ve got it. Plus, I have the satisfaction of knowing they Respect Me as a Person (ahh, the lonely refrain of the girl whose friends are more attractive), and also of knowing that I won’t share the humourous-yet-gruesome fate of Jhonen Vasquez’s ridiculously over-endowed spoof superheroine (whose name I can’t recall and can’t look up because I’m writing this at work, naughty naughty. But you know the one.).

So, my heroic but impractically-clad sprint led me to have some understanding of what it’s like to be you, collective and vaguely alluded to superheroines (plus I managed to save my car), but I can’t really say it’s given me any sympathy for you, as such. Probably mostly because, at the end of the day, you get to beat up on anyone you like, and I don’t.

Yours in hotpants,


3 Responses to “Run Like the Particularly Half-Arsed Wind”

  1. adam ford Says:

    There’s a great comic site called Sequential Tart, which used to run a column called “bizarre breasts” that dealt with the hookeriffic way boys draw superhero ladies. A few samples for your perusal:

    what a comic artist’s sketchbook can reveal:

    General overview of ridiculous balloonliek boobs:

    The issue of bikini lines and super hero costumes:

    and there’s more in their archives here


  2. Bronwyn Says:

    Your clever pet? In that case I demand a bowl of water and the occasional chew toy as part of my rights, otherwise your catface is getting a far better deal than I am! And another thing, why doesn’t Batman dance anymore?

  3. dls Says:

    i was reading quickly and misread at first and thought it was cat, not car
    makes the story even more funny in a wierd hard to understand why a cat would be in a lock up garage kind of way…