Suits Me Fine

You know what else Iron Man should wear? A hat. Since he's doing the turtleneck thing (a.k.a. Marianne) I'd give him an arty beret.. or if it was the 1990's, even an irreverent tuke, maybe with a patch on it, like Captain America's head with a big red "X" over it. I actually have a bunch of those on hand, and I made them all myself! Not that I'm one to bear a grudge, mind you. Anyway, that's what Iron Man could wear on a date. For a business meeting or a DUI hearing, I'd recommend a three-piece suit with a nice fedora or a homburg. For company picnics? A peppermint-striped jacket with a straw boater. For leisurely yachting across New Haven Bay, an18th century British admiral's costume (with epaulettes and everything!) and a Cap'n Crunch hat, rakishly cocked. And for a European beach, speedos and a dab of zinc oxide where his nose is supposed to be.

Stop, or My Hobo Will Shoot

"So I'm not bleeding internally right now... that's a pleasant notion..."

And the unremitting perkiness--! Ugh! I know I've spoken out against "gritty" depressing superheroes before, but this nonsense is really too much. I mean, would it kill her to spend a panel grimly, silently wrenching the bad guy's arm out of its socket? Just as a sort of palette cleanser?

(And how can you tell this man is bad? No necktie. Why, you can see his collarbone and everything. The pervert.)

Stark F***ers

Happy turkey season, turkeys! How'd your Halloween go? Get any? Yeah, I didn't think so. Of course, the ol' Steele-Man made out like a total bandit! As a lark, I dressed in drag (the better to emphasize my brawny manliness, of course) and a couple of lite beers later I found myself in the middle of a steamy sex-pile with a passle of ladies costumed as a biker gang! The costumes were astoundingly realistic, by the way -- the only way I could tell they were women was the fact they were making out with me! And then one of them put an ether-soaked rag over my mouth and things got really freaky! Or at least, that's what I've been able to glean from the blackmail photos. But I digress. I'm here to help you, the hyposexual fanboy loser nerd. Let's see what we can learn from the example set by the jetsetting Prince of Playas, Tony "The Pony" Stark!

Nothing says "down on all fours, if it's not too much of a bother" like black silk. Incorporate black silk into your wardrobe whenever possible! As the head of a Fortune 500 company, Tony has to rock the "business casual" look, so he can't just walk around in black silk pajamas all the time. Unfortunately. But where there's a boner, there's a way! Tony merely fakes a carpal tunnel injury and voila! Black silk sling! Bonus tip: come up with a cute name for your girlfriend's vagina!

Nazi costumes are so last year. Next time you want to spice things up, try role-playing as an East German army officer! Or for maximum kinkiness, try North Korean! Do that crazy goose-step into the bedroom and your theoretical lady friend will "open her borders" for "reunification"... unless the "UN weapons inspectors" show up. Wait, what? That was one too many metaphors. And I'm not even sure I know what it means! You know what, just forget that last part.

It's brawn, not brains, that snag the babes. Here's an example: Tony apparently thinks Acapulco is a ski resort nestled somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. (Inside the briefcase: mittens, snowshoes, and one of those little knit caps with the pom-pom on top.) But I'll be darned if he doesn't score with the first passer-by he meets! Why? Because he walks with a confident stride and he has a fantastic bod. Just look at those legs! And that ass! Dude is freaking scrumptious... er, is what a woman would say.

Okay, so let's say you actually manage to land a girlfriend (unlikely, I know, but bear with me here) and you piss her off big time. Maybe she came home to her apartment and found you there, screwing her roommate, and you forgot to ask her to join the two of you for a three-way. You know you've got to make it up to her. You search for a sweet, romantic gesture. Do you give her a single red rose? Probably, but that's wrong! Dead wrong! What's better than a single rose? How 'bout a single rose petal! Yeah, you're feelin' me! It's smaller and therefore cuter (or at least that's what I tell myself). And don't forget to give the petal to your lady with a casual, lazy-eyed half-smirk. Chicks love that.

Captain Comet's Very Fashionable Day

In "Strange Adventures" #22 (July 1952) Adam "Captain Comet" Blake attempts to enliven his dull civilian job as an information clerk by dishing out wholly spurious information to gullible young nerds. And if that doesn't work, there's always the completely edible suit he's wearing. The jacket and trousers? A delicate black truffle mousse. The shirt? Stitched together from only the finest cuts of veal. And the tie? A salmon. Blocked by Captain Comet's knee (um, that is a knee, right? I know he's a mutant and all, but GODDAMN!): the salmon's head, which still has the skin on it, and which gazes balefully out at the knickers-wearing preteen loser before it, knowing full-well that the moment the kid sets foot outside the library, a bottlecap beanie-wearing ruffian will punch him in the gut and steal his milk money.

Despite his best efforts, Captain Comet allows his futuristic mind to drift away from the situation at hand, and reminisce about the exciting events of the previous day, when he was summoned by a bunch of wizened old extraterrestrial men in floor-length blue robes.



Screw jeans and Hawaiian shirts! This is a what I call "Casual Fridays", my friend! Plus, they've installed a small roller derby rink in the middle of the room. Too cool! And do those desk chairs look comfy or what? I bet they recline.

I understand they've already instituted the robe policy at the headquarters of American Express. Floor-length robes for everybody! Whoo-hoo! The only downside? If a guy chooses to "go commando," it leaves a funny smell on the chair. Check out the orange guy's hat. Nope, he's not wearing a backwards baseball cap. Although I admit that would be kind of awesome. Let's look at another one of those charming chapeaus, in more detail.



Remember that hip-hop trend of wearing a sun visor backwards and upside-down? This is kind of like that. (Side note: is this still a trend in your time period? I can't always keep the fashion trends straight, what with me being a time traveler and all. Say, have, tall, pointy wizard hats become popular for men yet, in your era? No? Oh, right, that's next year. Something for you to look forward to!)



On the icy world of Lukan, the only natives we ever see are fully grown, male, and shirtless. Yay! And they're all made out of some crystalline substance. Boo! In a grand old sci-fi tradition, there seems to be a planet-wide uniform, and it's black underpants. The guards wear the tighty-blackie numbers you see here, while the leaders wear longer, baggier versions. I guess instead of asking for your rank, a Lukanian crystal man might demand, "Boxers or briefs?!"

Side note: I can understand that if you were a crystal man and you saw a fleshy pink alien creature rushing towards you, that you'd feel a mite anxious. But really, dude, did you have to pee your pants like that? I mean, that puddle is freaking huge! How many cups of coffee did you drink this morning?



Belly shirt sighting! In 1952, yet! Okay, so it's not quite the same thing, but still. This is a little closer to the get-up Lana Turner wore in "The Postman Always Rings Twice." Check out the high-water panties. Don't want to expose the belly button, now do we? That would be utterly pornographic. Just imagine if Jim Balent had designed this outfit. It would look like about three strands of mint-flavored dental floss.

In the exciting climax of the story, Captain Comet takes one look at the metal circlet on Radea's head and says, "Oh, honey... no. Just... no. You look like a Renaissance disco nightmare in that thing. Here, allow me...!"



See, there's bad jewelry, and then there's really bad jewelry. But you scoff. Who ever heard of a piece of jewelry that could control someone's behavior? *rolls eyes* Such a thing exists in your own time! It's called a wedding ring, people! Gah! (Not that it's foolproof, I'll admit.) Okay, now that Captain Comet got that circlet off Radea's head, I really want to do something about her hair. Oh, well.



Back at the library, Captain Comet has to deal with an antagonistic blonde. Lucy Lane's cousin, perhaps? As you can see, the haughty hottie has been engaging in the ancient Chinese practice of hand binding. Her right paw is now utterly useless, but I'll be darned if it isn't a tantalizingly delicate little thing. Do you think these two might secretly have a thing for each other? I mean, they did decide to coordinate their wardrobes that day. (Just like Weight Wizard and I used to do. *bittersweet sigh*) On the other hand, check out Captain Comet's expression. His words may be casual, Hugh Grant-style dithering, but his face says, "I don't care how many flowers you stick in that bleached-blonde rats' nest you call your hair, it still ain't gonna distract people from the mustache, bitch."

Bland Sabbath

From "Defenders" #96 (Marvel, June 1981), this is Asmodeus Jones, whose real name is "Ozzie Palmer." I wonder who he's based on. No, don't tell me. Jackson Brown, maybe? Kidding! I know it's really Christopher Cross. Anyway, nothing oozes "Satanic" like a billowing, scale-spangled blouse with attached hotpants. And lots of shiny gold bracelets! Nice gams, though.

The comic book gets more deeply mired in fashion stupidity later on with this scene:



Nameless Satanic Handmaiden #3's use of the word "kinky" makes it abundantly clear that an orgy had just taken place, and that it was quite the depraved social affair. But look more closely at Asmodeus. Sure, the robe opens at the front for easy access, but underneath he's still wearing a shirt and pants. Still doubting me? Check out the next panel:



And the other guy was wearing a business suit! Anyhow, like all rock 'n' roll sex gods, Asmodeus Jones likes to cavort with groupies while wearing sensible slacks and a dress shirt -- buttoned almost to the neck and with the sleeves rolled down, of course. What kind of "kinky" activities took place at this orgy, anyway? "Spin the bottle?" Did they play four-letter Scrabble? Or have a very sensual taffy pull? C'mon, Asmodeus, you can tell me. Spill it, brother!



Er... yeah. Okay. You can stop staring into my very soul now, thank you very much. Gah! I feel like I need to take a shower now. In Lysol. And then dry myself off with a Swiffer.

A couple of notes, before I go and do that:
1. I'd love it if Marvel brought this guy back, older and more rickety with a wife and a couple of rowdy teenage kids, like that guy on that cable reality show... Hulk Hogan.
2. This issue was drawn by Don Perlin, who was like the Curt Swan of Marvel in terms of artistic sensibility and hell, age too, for all I know. Asking Don Perlin to depict the daily life of a heavy metal singer is like asking Jim Balent to draw a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. You're just not going to get the desired results.
3. Yup, Doctor Strange was there, in invisible astral form. He just likes to watch.