He's Got a Juice Box, and He's Not Afraid to Use It

This is from "Green Lantern" #107 (August, 1978), back in the days when terrorists enjoyed dressing up in fun costumes. And the name of this buttery brute's gang? The Yellow Peril. That's just wrong on so many levels. The art's by the always-solid Alex Saviuk and John Celardo, but I have some problems with the Yellow Peril Liberation Army (or whatever) standard-issue costume. Mainly? It's slathered with ornamentation, and all of it's meaningless. They have the Atari logo on their face masks because... why? And then there's the cracked-out palm tree/moth thing on their shirts. Their undies look nicely reinforced, though. That's a good idea, if you're going to go around pissing off fishnet-stockinged judo experts.

My other problem is more about the gang's whole concept. They've taken over the airport in Coast City, wearing yellow bodysuits and wielding a yellow detonator, because "it's rumored [Green Lantern's] ring is powerless against anything yellow!" So, not only is their whole strategy related to one of those goofy arbitrary weaknesses so many superheroes are saddled with (don't get me started), but it's founded on scuttlebutt and hearsay. Naturally, Green Lantern responds to Osama Banana Laden's assertion by shoving his cousin, Air Wave, into a huge energy trampoline, and bouncing him into the terrorist's solar plexus, fists first. But still, it would have been even sweeter if Green Lantern could have just said, "Powerless against anything yellow?! What are ya, high?" And then he could have spent a good twenty seconds or so just pimp-slapping the jerk with a giant green energy hand.

Extreme Blockadeover: MaGnUs, Part Two

Another batch of designs from MaGnUs! Five this time! And he promises to send fifteen more! At least! Well, let's see what the industrious fellow has for me tonight.

Yow! Care to elaborate, MaGnUs?

Blockade Gaijin: This is a cyberpunk look, seeing as to how someone beat me to my all-time favorite of steampunk. In going with Shadowrun tradition, there's some Native American elements (the mohawk and the breastplate), that'd make you look like a wild warrior, with a lot of exposed skin if you don't wear the overcoat.
The coat, pants and boot add an urban flavor, while the sunglasses scream "this is what the future looked like in the 1980s". The facial hair is biker style, to go with the leathers. There's a uzi for drive-bys, a baseball bat for some legbreaking, and the obligatory cyberpunk monofilante swords.

I like the two different colors in the mohawk. And I like that one of those colors is repeated in the swords. It was smart of you to keep the other colors muted, to keep it from looking too busy. Still, it's not so much a costume as an outfit. Don't get me wrong -- it rocks 'n' all, but I'm afraid there's just not much to it. Next?

Those shoulderpads look familiar...

Neobarbarian Blockade: Since you liked the spiked shoulderpads, I decided to do something with them, only now they're more of a tarnished gold color, and the bracers no longer have spikes. I decided to go Mad Max on you, hence the combat boots and eyepatch, as well as the shotgun.

Yes, I gave you a kilt, I think it looks good on you, and the braided beard adds to the highlander effect, with the white of it and the hair probably being due to some weird acid rain. The hammer is just there because it makes you look more badass, while the kilt had (with your beloved purple and orange scheme) to go with the fur loincloth that still says "I kill stuff".

Now, this is too busy. MaGnUs, I love your enthusiasm. But dude, simplify. Yeah, I know you were going for eclecticism with this particular design, but I'm not just referring to this design. Maybe if I break down why this one doesn't ultimately work for me, you'll understand where I'm coming from.

• The shoulderpads, chain, and bracers? Excellent. You took away that knife sash and now they have more visual presence. Well done.
• The kilt? Great. I love it. It has a pattern on it, which draws the eye. This would be a problem except for a few important things. For one, the kilt is a simple shape -- no scallops or crenellation or jagged edges, just a rectangular piece of fabric. That makes the kilt's pattern more readable and therefore easier for the mind to register. Secondly, there is no other piece in this costume that has a pattern, so that limits the possibility that something would clash with it.
• Unfortunately, the greenish "tarnished gold" color of the shoulderpads and bracers do clash with it. It would have been better for you to make the shoulderpads and bracers a neutral color like a grayish silver or a bronze or copper that was chiefly brown but with a hint of red -- red being the unifying color between orange and purple.
• The loincloth. You didn't have to keep it. And you especially didn't have to layer it over the kilt. Sure, I've layered loincloths over metal leggings, but the difference there is a strong contrast in texture (smooth shiny metal/shaggy fur) and length (everything below waist covered/just the naughty bits and ass crack) -- not to mention a more striking temporal distance between the two items. If you wanted to use the loincloth's fur on a sporran -- those little pouches that hang in front of kilts on chains -- that would have worked better, because sporrans are smaller and less obtrusive, and they go with kilts anyway. The brown would also have looked better in a smaller ratio to all that orange and purple.
• The combat boots work with everything else because they are a neutral (black) and their silhouette is not complicated. You have a lot of complicated shapes and a loud, colorful pattern higher up on this design, so it's a good idea to keep some parts of the ensemble simple, so the eye isn't constantly drawn to many different parts of the body.
• White is fine for the hair and beard (up to a point, and I'll address that in a bit). Really, any natural color would have been fine, since "red" hair -- which is really closer to orange -- goes with the orange on the kilt, and most other natural colors are neutrals. Even natural blond hair (i.e. not the screaming lemon-yellow of Aquaman's or Oliver Queen's) is "neutralized" because the yellow hues in it are not pure yellow, but are mixed with brown and/or white.
• The beard is a problem for me. I'm not a tremendous fan of "pigtail beards" anyway, but where this one fails for me, design-wise, is in the way the lines of the two tails interrupt the thicker, sweeping line of the chain. It's distracting. You should have gone with either the big chain or the pigtails. And the ribbons or rubber bands or whatever in the beard are red, which is nowhere else to be found on the costume. Again, a neutral would have been better. Okay, sure, so I could just unbraid the dang thing. My problem then is the mammoth disconnect between a guy with a long white beard and his name containing the word "boy." With a beard this length, another color would ultimately have been better. (Yes, a guy with a long beard can still look young, even on your wimpy planet. Heck, if I recall my history books correctly, the winner of the natural beard category in the 2007 World Beard and Mustache Championships was twenty-three!)
• The mohawk with the long beard? Great contrast. Love it. And it helps that size-wise, it's not trying to compete.
• The eyepatch. Aaaarrgh. With everything else that's going on, it's the accessory that broke the model's back. And from a conceptual standpoint, why would I even have an eyepatch? Is it because I already poked my eye out on the previous versions of the bracers? First Phillip Rice plans on me re-contracting that techno-organic virus, and now you want to take my eye! I just want people to design a kick-ass costume for me; I don't need them to be fantasizing about me getting some horrible injury. Even if the eyepatch is meant to be an affectation, it's not very practical. I suppose I could flip it up right before I get into a fight, but then I'd look like a total phony-baloney. No thanks.

To bottom-line it... when I design a costume, I try to keep the silhouette of it fairly iconic and simple, and I try to keep the various design elements -- color, pattern, texture, etc. -- in balance so they don't become overwhelming to look at. You have a ton of energy and some good ideas -- you just need to pull it back a little. I hope you didn't find this too "serious" or "boring" for what's meant to be a fun little contest. At any rate, I won't go into that kind of detail with you again. (For one thing, it took me about an hour-and-a-half to write!)

Okay! Next slide, please!

MaGnUs says:

Blockade San: Not much to say about this one, other than it fits a time travel trip to feudal Japan. Plus, you can twirl those fu-manchus like there's no tomorrow.

Hey, I enjoy twirling fu-manchus as much as the next guy, but this just looks like a generic ol' historical costume and that's it. I can see you put a lot of time and detail in it, but I just don't get the connection to me -- my personality or my powers or anything. Sorry, dude. Remember when I went all dandy-fied in Ye Olde Weste? I didn't just put on any ol' clothes I found. I put my signature colors and a logo on my vest, and I tied into those colors with my bandanna and hatband. If you're going to dress me in a historical costume, you need to give it something to make it unique.

Let's move on!

Magnus says:

Reboot Blockade: This is my take on how you would look if you'd been part of the reboot LSH, and Tom Peyer had designed you a new outfit.
Central color line flanked by secondary color, buckled gloves, and fold-flap ankle booties. Plus, an utility belt, and random pouches everywhere. Verrrry 1990s haircut, with an awful (but fitting for the era) jawline beard. Note the very subtle BB logo on the belt.

Better! I like the detail of the big snap on the side of the glove. Because I don't see that all the time. And I like that you designed a belt-logo for me. The rest of it's a little too familiar, though, and even if it's "historical" (in an alternate universe, from my perspective) I don't care for the thigh pouches.

And finally...

MaGnUs writes:

Blockade Boy-Five Years Later: This what I think what you'd worn after the collapse of the UP. Faux-Versailles chic, with ruffles and puffy sleeves, funky shoes, and British parliament hair, along with scruffy stubble and post-apocalyptic trenchcoat.

Yeah, I've peeked into that universe (Rond, I'll never forget that night as long as I live) and I think I can safely say I wouldn't have been caught dead wearing this. This foppish frippery may have been good enough for a douche like Sun Boy but I like to think I would have rebelled against the ruffled majority by wearing something figure-hugging and sleek, like that boring cipher man of mystery, Kent Shakespeare. So no thanks.

I hope all this helps. If you remember what I said here, I'll bet you'll get a costume (or three!) into my "maybe" pile. Good luck!

Did She Move Into an Apartment or a Cow's Stomach?

It's the Swamp Thing's city place! In fact, he might still be there, disguised as the drapes or... Good Lord! *choke* Your purse! Drop your purse! Drop it! And run! Run! Don't look back! I'll stay here and fend him off! Don't look--!

(Are they gone?)

Heh.

Suckers. *rifles through credit cards*

There's exactly one appealing item in this room and it's the door. And I love how the mom's outfit is only barely frumpier than her daughter's. They're both huge fans of voluminous, tent-like coats. Because after all, what's sexier than looking like your legs have been amputated and jammed up inside a church bell?

Yo-Ho-Ho, Check Me Out

New headshot! Because the old one made me look like Axel Rose, as delineated by Margaret Keane. My new mask/do-rag gives me a nice swashbuckling look, plus it helps me to *click* strike terror in th' craven hearts o'me enemies, me hearties! There's none 'at sail the spaceways wi' a mask so orange nor a beard so purple as ol' Brigadier Blockade! YAARRRGH!!! *click* Sorry. Stupid robot voicebox. Anyhow, I'm not the only one aboard the H.M.S. Exquisite with an exciting new look! This week, along with the ongoing adventures of Lana Lang and her hideous new belt, I'll be showing you my makeovers of my crew: Weight Wizard, Tusker, Rainbow Girl, and Plant Lad. I never mentioned Plant Lad before because he's in a hyper-dormant state right now and has actually petrified like an old Sequoia, so I strapped him to the prow. His official title is "Kick-Ass Figurehead." When he wakes up he'll get a share of all the loot we've plundered. Which right now is about 80% ankle socks and banana clips, but hey! A job's a job.

Also, I have an important announcement to make. The "request line" for makeovers is closed for now. I need to concentrate on finishing up all the series I started before I can promise to do anything new. I've made some serious dents in the "Rescue Me" makeovers and I've gotten a good start on the Fearless Five/Teen Tyrants "Moral Reversal" makeovers (and I'll also get to that "Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends" version of it) and the "Legion of Substitute Costumes" makeovers, so that's something, but it's still a ton of artwork and I only have so much time. I'll do Steven's "Criminal Accessories" idea (i.e. giving classic villains funny hats and such) at the end of this month. Everything I've promised to do up to this point, I will do. But I can't promise anything beyond that. Fair enough? Alrighty then.

Nineteen Years Later...

Ahoy from the year 2987! This be yer ol' brother-in-bloggin', Blockade Boy... or as I'm called now, Brigadier Blockade, the most fashionable space pirate in all the Seven Galaxies! But perhaps ye know me by one o' me other aliases, such as Blockade Brigand, Purplebeard, the Closet Raider, or Three-Legged Phyl. YAARRRGH!

Ah, but me starsalt-crusted ears can hear ye askin', "By Satan's compass, boyo, how did ye come to such a pass?" Then gather 'round, lads and lassies, for I've a tale to chill the very marrow in yer bones! But first, allow me to adjust the dial on me accursed cybernetic throat from "Pirate" to "Drinking Buddy." *click* Yeah, that's better.

Sorry about all that yo-ho-ho crap, but it's all part of the job. Hoo-boy! I've got a lot to explain, don't I? For starters, I'd like to point out that even though it's been nineteen years since my last post, I'm still in my early twenties. My secret? No, it's not a miracle anti-aging cream. It's this era's kooky sliding timeline! Remember how dorky all the Legionnaire's costumes looked, way back in 2068? Lightning lad with the big orange diapers and Colossal Boy's "Some People Call Me a Space Cowboy" get-up? That now occurred in 2084. Thanks to all my time travel and dimension-hopping, I'm the only one here who notices that the years keep hurtling forward at an alarming rate while everybody and everything stays pretty much the same. Oh! Also? I spied on some other Legion-era timelines and it looks like my dimension dodged a real bullet! I guess back in 1986 the whole multiverse was threatened with destruction and in one of those timelines it actually got all blowed up, leaving just one version of Earth! Not in my dimension, though. For instance, Superboy's still around! And Supergirl! We can't seem to get rid of them, actually! They're like the sexless squares you invite to a party just to be nice and then it's 4 AM and they're the last two guests at your pad and even though you're busy cleaning up they're just sitting on their asses talking about some boring nerd shit and then they wanna play Spaceopoly for Chrissakes and you really have no choice but to hoist them up by their scrawny nerd necks and boot their asses out the door.

Oh, and just the other day the Legion teamed up with both Earth-2 and Earth-S versions of themselves against Earth-3's Crime Legion. Fun fact: my Earth-S counterpart is a two-fisted crime buster who can turn into a moderately-sized ambulatory steel wall! And for some reason he just won't stop smiling which is a little creepy. He's still damn good lookin', though. Anyhow, to bottom-line it, a whole ton of depressing nonsense won't happen in my dimension! And thank God! 'Cause really, I'd rather not have to see:

• Mordru take over the universe
• Earth's moon get blown to bits
• the Earth itself get blown to bits (Jesus! Enough already!)
• Timber Wolf's nose vanish without a trace
• Dawnstar's gorgeous wings get amputated
• Shrinking Violet -- well, actually, I never gave a flying fuck about Shrinking Violet
• the typical Legion mission consisting mainly of wearing puffy jackets and standing around in a pile of rubble, looking depressed

The only downside? I'm a space pirate.

Woo! Check me out! I ain't wearin' no pants, y'all! But shhh! That'll be just between us. For modesty's sake, I've covered my robo-dingus with a magnetic codpiece. I mean, I'm not a pervert.

It wasn't my first choice, I'll tell you that. But my clothing line went belly-up. (Apparently most men don't want shirts with cut-outs for their nipples.) I was looking at bankruptcy! Then I heard about this United Planets program that was giving out grants to aspiring space pirates, and the only requirement was to be missing a certain percentage of body parts. And everything below my waistline is cybernetic, so I was a shoo-in. What's that--? You look shocked and appalled. Feh! Whatever. Get used to it. And I wish I had some kind of heroic, self-sacrificing tale about how it happened but to be perfectly honest I caught a techno-organic virus from a toilet seat at a rest stop. The pernicious germ latched onto my robo-dingus and really went to town! The cybernetic voicebox implant was a mandatory surgery I had for the job. And here I am, sailing the solar winds in my ship, the H.M.S. Exquisite. I raid fabric warehouses and shoe stores, and I track down unfashionable people and forcibly make them over. It's kind of like that show "What Not to Wear", only with more gunfire. And if I happen to destroy the occasional Khundian trading vessel, well, the U.P. gives me a bonus check!

I've got a terrific crew! Weight Wizard is my cabin boy, of course, and might I add that it's nice having him trapped on a spaceship where I can keep my eyes on him. Rainbow Girl is my gun-toting sexpot second-in-command. Tusker is the big stupid muscle who doesn't talk -- mainly because I told him "shut up" so many times he's afraid to even open his mouth -- for anything... for reals, he takes all his meals intravenously. And of course, my dear friend Storm Boy is here. Ol' Stormy's been kind of a downward spiral since his nervous breakdown back in '85... or was it '77? Or '71? Damn sliding timeline! But my point is, he's in an even worse financial state than I am. And it doesn't help that he's been hitting the space-wine pretty hard lately. That's why I mainly keep him down in the ship's cargo hold, guarding all the crates of buttons, notions and assorted frippery. Still, a job's a job, right?

And for those of you who are just completely losing your shit at these developments, might I respectfully suggest you calm the fuck down. This too shall pass. Trust me. Since the last time we talked, I've been turned into a Balinese shadow puppet, the abominable snowman, a voodoo doll, a merman (fish part on top), a living butter sculpture, a locomotive, and a caterpillar with my head on it. Oh, and once I was split into two different beings, Blockade Boy Orange and Blockade Boy Purple. And if you'll recall, even before I returned to the 30th Century I was turned into a packet of artificially flavored drink mix, a baboon and a wolfman. It never lasts. So cool it. Now if you'll excuse me... *click*

Batten yer hatches, me hearties, for I've a timber-shiverin' tale to tell ye! 'Tis all about me sartorial victory o'er the pernicious Starfinger!

(He be not near that size, by the by.) *clears robotic throat, which produces the sound of static* Me intrepid band infiltrated Starfinger's lair under cover of a cosmic storm and surprised the tacky mongrel whilst he was takin' a bubble bath. Afore he could call upon his she-devils, Starlight and Starbright, we yanked the rings from his soapy fingers and shanghaied his arse back to our ship. Into the irons he went! "Do with me what ye will," he spat. "I'll never cede ye control o' me empire o' crime!"

Me recently glossed lips parted in a smile. "'Tis not yer empire I'm lookin' to control, young feller me lad. 'Tis yer wardrobe!" I whistled, and Tusker's mighty form appeared in the doorway, brandishing a measuring tape. I placed me manicured hands 'pon Starfinger's throat. For the first time in me imposing presence, Starfinger's imperious face registered true fear. "Tusker!" I growled. "Start with his inseam."

I'll spare ye the grisly details of what occurred in the brig that grim night. I'd sooner talk o' why ol' Brigadier Blockade and his stylish band chose Starfinger for a makeover. 'Tis but a simple matter! His powers and the basic idea o' his costume intrigue me fevered brain with their potential. But to this weary seadog, in execution Starfinger is a "hot mess" (as we space pirates say). The pointy cape, the pointy loincloth, the yellow-and-red star theme that uncannily mimics the flag o' the People's Republic o' Mexico (er, has that happened yet, back in yer backwards era? No, ye say? Er, oops.) -- the whole lot o' it we pitched off the starboard bow. A new costume was in the cards for Starfinger!

Seein' as how Starfinger is a crimelord and all, I decided to attire him along the lines o' an ancient Oriental Earth Potentate. This called fer voluminous trousers, pointed slippers, and a heavy robe -- open at the front, as that's me signature style! But 'twas to be no turban, mind ye. That would've made the whole thing "camp." And this spacefarin', purple-bearded, half-mechanical pirate fashion designer will darn socks in hell afore he goes camp! A turban--! Bah! The very idea of it--! Starfinger's energy bubble helmet dealie be his turban, do ye not see, ye blasted idjit?! To give Starfinger's head a more interestin' silhouette, I forced 'im to grow out his hair and beard, and to gel it up into pointed, star-like shapes. Fer jewelry, I gave 'im a king-sized waterfall necklace just drippin' with bling, and a forehead piercin' with a mammoth star. After untold months (durin' which the crew o' the Exquisite and meself had countless adventures and isolated incidents o' daring-do) the project was at last complete! I led Starfinger in front o' me finest full-length mirror, slapped 'im on the back, and said, "Now then, boyo, ain't that better than the way ye used to look?"

Still confounded by the fact I'd not killed 'im yet, Starfinger shrugged and replied, "'Tis okay, one supposes."

"Alrighty then!" I cried. And while I roared with a pirate's savage laughter, Tusker and Weight Wizard whisked Starfinger away, into an escape pod programmed to rocket him right back to where we'd found 'im.

Ah, 'tis a fine thing to be a pirate! YAARRRGH!

Like A Thing Unto Cashmere

Do you know the best part of any issue of "Power Man & Iron Fist"? It's not the non-stop action or the playful banter or the complex characterization. It's the gowns. The pretty, pretty gowns.

Here's Colleen Wing, enjoying a formal dress freakout in "Power Man & Iron Fist" #70 (June 1981). Colleen's gown has the elegance required for an evening at the opera, with just a hint of wanton sluttiness that's just perfect for an intimate night at the local sex dungeon. Everyone who's anyone wants this gown! Top-knotted immortal sorcerors, tattooed male ballerinas, dirty hippies (with utterly gorgeous biker 'staches... er, but I digress) and of course, Angela Bassett. In fact, the only one who isn't interested is Captain Kangaroo, and that's only because Colleen just put a stiletto heel in his left eye. Yeeeowwch! But it was too late for him anyway, because Clint Eastwood just used his lasso skills to rope hisself a prize filly! Thar'll be some tender cuts o' veal fer his vittles tonight! Yeeee-haw!

Baubles, bangles, and BAZOOMBAS!!! Here's busty Harmony Young, who's so enchanted with her gown that she doesn't mind at all that the giant disembodied head of her lover's old girlfriend floats above her noggin at all times. (Although why the old girlfriend is wearing little packets of allergy medicine for earrings is beyond me.) Harmony's gown has a generous slit (just like Harmony!) that gives her an unprecedented freedom of movement and 24- hour E-Z access to her cooter. Harmony has accessorized the look with a selection of rubber bands, Lance Armstrong "Live Strong" bracelets, the beaded chain from a pen at the bank, and some of those little zippy plastic deals that come off the lids to milk cartons.

Tomorrow: menswear!

Bride And Grooming

Karnilla took a sip of mead, then casually smashed the goblet in the little satyr's face. "Pray tell me why you be not pleased, my betrothed?" she purred.

"Many reasons have I," replied Baldur. "For one--!" Abruptly, Baldur wrenched the slobbering imp from his left leg and threw him against a nearby cavern wall. "Thou hast 'measured mine inseam' enow, wretch! Think me not ignorant of thine attempts to 'cop a feel.'" The silver-maned god of light smoothed the wrinkles from his garish raiment and strode purposefully toward his soon-to-be-wife. In a deep, clear voice, strangely reminiscent of church bells, he unburdened his heart. "For one, mine legs be so constrained by thine straps and buckles that mine very circulation be impaired, so very much so that I fear I should lose a toe afore our wedding night! Secondly, I recollect with much clarity seeing this self-same skirt on professional figure skater Michelle Kwan. Thirdly..."

"Thou dost enjoy women's figure skating?" inquired Karnilla with a tiny smirk.

"That be beside mine point!" Baldur snapped.

"No, thou has made me curious as to thine other interests!" Karnilla grinned. She leaned forward, like a panther appraising an unsuspecting fawn. "What else might thou do for fun? Shoe shopping? Body waxing? Gossipping about Jared Leto?"

Baldur's shining eyes glared balefully at his betrothed. "Queen of all that is evil," he swore, "thou shalt not get mine goat!"

A rueful titter escaped Karnilla's cruel mouth. "I be not sure I'd want thine goat! I knowest not how thou might have made sport with it!"

"To continue," sighed Baldur, "These gloves be most passing strange. The orange pigment rubs off to reveal a hue as red as roses. And what be the purpose of these so-called 'repulsor rays?'"

"The gloves I found at a garage sale," Karnilla smiled. "Vintage, see? Be they not cool?"

"But mine most pressing complaint," continued Baldur, "is in reference to the chest plate. I see not why mine nipples need screen doors."

Karnilla shook her head. "Silly godling," she clucked. Regally, she arose from her couch and advanced on the white-haired god. She placed her hands on his chest, causing him to recoil in alarm. "Tis no ordinary chest plate, my lord, but a stereo! One dost only work the skull like this...! Her slim, taloned fingers carressed Baldur's chest. As if by magic, a tinny rendition of Wagner's "Fire Music" flitted through the speakers and wafted about the cavern. Baldur winced, his square jaw tightening. And then, fresh tears brimming in his eyes, he softly sighed and submitted himself fully to the Norn Queen's ministrations.

"And besides," Karnilla added, "thou hast not seen it with the hat on yet! Not that the Queen of the Norns wishes to hide her king's gorgeous silver hair, but it dost be traditional, mine love! And hark! Turn it upside-down, and it doubles as a foot-stool!"

Tights + Lights = Zero

Let's say, hypothetically, that you're a super-powered ultragenius who's been manipulating world politics for God only knows how long. No, you're not Dick Cheney. Pipe down and pay attention. Anyway, it's 1988 and you decide you want to pretend you're a super-hero. What would you wear for maximum popularity? Well, if you're Doctor Zero, instead of having the confidence or skill to design your own costume, you'd bow to the findings of what amounts to the world's largest focus group.



Can't fail, right? Let's see the finished product.



Huh. Really, guys? You told Doctor Zero the American public was craving that? Yeah? You're not just pulling a prank on the guy? I just wanna make sure, as a friend, 'cause Doctor Zero can totally jack your shit up. You're not kidding? You're not. Really. Huh.

In "Doctor Zero" #1 (Epic Comics, April 1988) I learned that focus groups are used not only to make films and television crappier, they can also be used to ruin super-hero costumes! Taking the bedazzler one step beyond, Doctor Zero decorated his pants not with metal studs or rhinestones, but honest-to-goodness little lights.

I just about shit a brick when I saw this get-up. Don't get me wrong, I like trim on costumes just as much as the next guy, but this looks freakin' insane. I mean, is he afraid of the dark? A huge Lite Brite fan? If someone plays a Miami Sound Machine CD, will his pants flash in time to the music? Or maybe he wears the pants on dates, and the lights on his legs work as a sort of "landing strip" for the ladies, if you know what I mean and I think you do. ("Marjorie, let's play 'I'm the air traffic controller and you're Pan Am flight 3981.'') Or are they just meant to make putting his clothes away easier? ("Where on earth did I put those pants? Oh, there they -- MY EYES!") Honestly, I'm baffled.