Grating Scott!

You may have picked up the few subtle hints I've scattered, here and there, that maybe, just maybe, I HATE SCOTT KOLINS' COSTUME DESIGNS!

(Ow! I think I just wrecked my voice -- and I was only typing that!)

I think Kolins as an artist is technically competent but otherwise overrated. Yes, fanboys, he draws "realistic" which God knows is a plus for readers with slim-to-no imaginations. But his characters are -- almost to a man! -- ugly. He refuses to use spot blacks, leaving that up to the colorist in even the most obvious situations -- which means that when Kolins draws a villain with eyes that are meant to be little dots of light in a pool of darkness (Grodd, Zoom) the colorist has to fill in the black part. But colorists can't do that, so they usually try to compensate with a muddy purple-gray. Which looks horrible. And here's the thing -- I've seen enough pencilled comic book pages to know that all the penciller has to do to indicate that a shape must be colored in a solid black is to draw a little "X" on it. That's it. Two short pencil strokes. Having read an interview with the guy, it seems to me that Kolins is confusing laziness with artistic flair. Sure, Kolins, there are great comic artists who don't use spot blacks. Moebius, for example. Or Geoff Darrow. Trust me. You're no Moebius or Geoff Darrow.

And Kolins' costume designs are fugly with a captial FUG. Let's take a look at some of his handiwork.



There's Magenta in the purple and silver outfit. A simple, boring, but pleasant enough outfit that's marred by the ridiculous gauntlets. Besides looking goofy, they're utterly impractical. Sure, she's a show-off with the magnetic powers, so she can float a lot of things around instead of handling them. Fine. Now let's see her eat a hoagie.

There's Murmur, with the leather fetish (yawn) costume and the hokey mask and the bad haircut -- because he's CRAZY! -- and he doesn't belong in a Flash comic at all but that's really Geoff Johns' fault. Anyway, I give Kolins points for the pointy-tipped jester clown collar, but that's it.

There's the new Trickster, who dresses like a jackass, but then he is a jackass. So good job, I suppose. That said, his costume is one of those trendy numbers that is not going to age well. Not to mention, it looked tired and out-of-date even when it first appeared.

Girder I have no problem with. And Mirror Master's costume is ugly, but that's not Kolins' fault. Aw, hell! Y'know what? I think I'll blame him for that one, too. (Fucking Kolins.)

Weather Wizard had a pretty stupid costume to start out with but Kolins' redesign is no better. The wide yellow stripes in a stunningly vague tornado shape make him look like a turtle. And check out the treads on the bottom of his jumpsuit. It looks like he's wearing ballet slippers.

But I reserve my deepest hatred for his design of Blacksmith. The costume is overdone and it's in a hideous shade of purple-gray because Kolins can't be bothered to SPOT HIS FREAKING BLACKS! (...Ow! My throat is really sore now!) Check out the huge rings on her upper arms. What are those, napkin holders? Look closely and you'll see completely unnecessary cut-outs that reveal her inner calves. It doesn't look good from a design standpoint, and it sure as heck ain't sexy, unless you're living in Iran and such a scandalous display is forbidden by the Morality Police. And then there's her face. Her ugly, ugly face.



I don't know what on God's green earth Kolins was going for here, but I'm pretty sure he failed. Miserably. In the storyline, Blacksmith has melded metal with her own flesh. And that's what she came up with for herself. Like a typical Kolins design, it's unattractive and riddled with embellishments that do nothing for the character. Sure, she's "evil." And no, I don't think all female comic characters need to be beauties. But Blacksmith's face looks cheesy cartoon evil, and as such it's not really effective. And it looked really familiar to me. For the longest time I racked my brain, trying to recall where I'd seen that kind of goofy ugliness before. It finally hit me.



It was in the Dick Tracy comics.

And it didn't look any better back then.

STUPID FUCKING GODDAMN SCOTT KOLINS!

Ow.

The Bionic Blockade Man-Boy-A-Tron

I found this ad in Marvel's "The Champions" #10 (January 1977). And let me tell ya, the similarities between myself and these two bionic hotties are startling! For instance, you see the two guys wrasslin' like that? Imagine I'm Maskatron. Imagine Steve Austin is Weight Wizard. Now imagine this happening in a candle-lit room with some house music playing in the background. That used to be a typical Friday night at my place. But wait, there's more!



I also adorn my clothes with huge patches depicting my own face!



Just like Steve Austin, I can lift an accordion with ease!



If I shave off my sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops, I look just like that guy who plays Roy on "The Office."



C'mon. I can turn into a steel wall! It's a no-brainer! Also, I can down thirty tequila slammers in one sitting, but another "shot" and ZONK! -- there go my arms and legs!



Okay, now it's getting downright eerie. A denim leisure suit is what I wear on my "special missions!" But instead of a wrist radio, I take along a roll of duct tape, a rubber werewolf mask, salad tongs, pinking shears, a can of Silly String, a helium tank, and peanut butter. Lots of peanut butter.

But perhaps I've revealed too much.

Rebel Without A Nose

"Also, I have these free copies of "The Watchtower" which I'd like to give to you..." The cube-headed irritant pictured above is "Starshine," a really poorly designed cyborg who served as the kind-of love interest for Rom: Spaceknight in the comic book of the same title. Y'see, when the Utopian alien planet Galador was threatened by the Dire Wraiths, they responded by drafting all the able-bodied young people into a cyborg army. For the longest time and for no good reason, Starshine was the only female among them. She's like an armor-plated Smurfette. And her head pisses me off to no end. Especially her face.

The rest of her is okay, I suppose, in a retro 1950's kind of way. Okay, except for the hands. Those look stupid. And then there's the skirt thing, which has a slit in the middle which runs way too high, affording hapless onlookers a great view of her vagina-free crotch region. I think I saw Bai Ling in one of those. But mainly it's her head and face that I hate. Let's start with the head in general. Rom's head was vaguely masculine in that it was a boxy deal resembling nothing so much as a toaster with eyes. Like David Boreanz! As the first female Spaceknight, they tried to come up with a ladylike version. So there's the completely pointless ponytail on top and a head shape that suggests a dainty, feminine chin and high cheekbones. But really, it's just a diamond shaped box. It looks like you could pry her face off, and there'd be a delicious cured ham inside. And then there's her face: a barely convex membrane with no nose, the barest hint of eyes, and a tiny, snippy little triangle-shaped mouth which is usually turned downwards to indicate dismay, or (more often) disapproval. Like so:


Later, she managed through sheer force of will to rearrange her cyborg body into something butcher and more gladiator-themed. (Physics in the world of Rom: Spaceknight were something of a joke.) Guess which part she forgot to fix.



Yep!

Pretension Around The Collar

Now that's what I call a bathrobe! It's a beaut. A real "Sunday-go-ta-meetin'" kind of bathrobe. You wouldn't take that thing into the john with you, no sir! And you couldn't go to sleep in it, either, 'cause you might roll over onto your side, and then the collar would shatter and the pieces would cut the holy bejeebus out of your face. And I'm pretty sure they're made of asbestos.

This delightful garment was worn by Karate Kid in "Legion of Super-Heroes" #288, (June 1982). Artwork by Keith Giffen, back in the brief, glorious time before all his characters looked like chainsaw sculptures. And yeah, the implication in that story is it's a ceremonial robe or somethin' along those lines, since his girlfriend Princess Projectra was about to be crowned Queen of the Entire Freaking Planet of Orando. But I think it was just a bathrobe, and that Karate Kid (the Keven Federline in this situation) told the higher-ups there, "Hey, I'm the future queen's boyfriend, assholes, so I'm gonna wear whatever shit I want to wear, and you are gonna suck it!" Hell, the robe probably has "PIMP" spelled out on the back. In rhinestones.

Now, maybe you think I'm being silly about this. "How can this fancy, uncomfortable thing be a bathrobe?" you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching with impatience for my shenanigans. And I would say, yes, it doesn't look comfortable! Yes, it does look like it's about to eat him alive! But check out what folks on Orando call an "easy chair."



I rest my case.

The Wonderful Neapolitan Ice Cream Suit

You know you're grasping for straws when you have to reference a Ray Bradbury story in the title of your post, and you're not even sure you remembered it right. I dunno, it's just that some days... *weeps openly* Okay, Blockade Boy, shake it off, shake it off. Put yourself in the "zone." *exhales deeply* Let's go!

This is the costume Nightcrawler wishes he had worn! But it's too late for regrets, because the suit got snapped up by one of my favorite Flash villains, the Rainbow Raider. The Raider, a.k.a. Roy G. Bivolo -- ha ha ha! shut up! -- was color blind. Bivolo's pop tried to invent a device that could compensate for that, but the closest thing he created was a pair of goggles that gave the wearer the power to drain the color and vitality from people's bodies, create solid rainbow bridges and prisons, and alter the emotions of anyone he looked at. What a rip-off! This one time, Lenscrafters tinted my prescription sunglasses the wrong shade of smoky gray, so I think I can relate.

Our Mister Bivolo ended up another victim of the violent typing fingers of Geoff "I Need A Hug" Johns. In an act perfectly symbolic of Johns' tenure on the Flash title, he had the Rainbow Raider -- a blatantly goofy but also fun, clever, and well-designed villain -- get murdered by "Blacksmith," a serious, one-note hateful villain of Johns' own creation, who had an eyesocket-scoopingly ugly character design (by Scott Kolins. OF COURSE.) The irony being that Blacksmith herself was also goofy, albeit in a completely unintentional and unpleasant fashion. And then he introduced, years later and seemingly out of nowhere, a seven-person team of color-themed villains calling themselves "The Rainbow Raiders." And to this day, I have no idea if they've ever carried a story on their own. I think they mainly just show up at funerals. Like the Vice-President. What the fuck ever, Johns.

In theory, the Rainbow Raider's outfit shouldn't appeal to me at all. I mean, the man wore a freakin' rainbow. However, the Raider did several things to balance that out. He wore enough black to compensate for all the color. He also varied the width of the stripes, to keep it from becoming boring. And he flared the shoulders, which created an interesting silhouette. So I'd say, "Lookin' sharp, Rainbow Raider! Also? Sorry you're dead now." What do you say, Mister Bivolo?



Atta boy!

Don't Look Down; You'll Poke Your Eye Out

Oops! Too late!

Meet Stellarax, who battled (and was soundly trounced by) Captain Marvel in the final issue of that hero's comic book (#62, May 1979). I first saw this guy's costume when I was a mere lad and thought it was the coolest thing ever. But then I was also seriously into Grranimals, so what the hell did I know? It's only now, as a full-grown Blockade Boy, that I can recognize it for the overdone shitpile that it is. Stellarax, buddy? Let's talk about your costume and all the things that are wrong with it.

1. The bat wings on your helmet. Normally I adore that stuff, but they're such a weird size. Proportionally, they're just off. If they were tinier, like the wings on the Flash's cowl, or if they were bigger, like the wings on Thor's helmet, they would work. But this half-ass nonsense ain't cuttin' it.

2. The built-in eyepatch. It has a hole in it. So you can see out of it. What are you, an idiot?

3. The silver-plated conch shells, er, I mean, "shoulder pads."

4. That collar! Jibbidy Jesus, what in the name of all that is holy is going on with that thing? As you know, I'm all about practicality. So I ask you, Stellarax, just precisely what are those spikes meant to protect? Are you consumed with the fear that somebody might tweak your nipples? Or did the vet put that around you so you wouldn't lick yourself? Also, I think I figured out how you lost that eye.

5. The piping. Piping is a favorite tool of bad costume designers everywhere (see also Kolins, Scott). However, piping is not supposed to be made of actual pipes. And is the hot water on your right arm or your left?

6. The hairball pattern on the gloves, boots, and loincloth. (Loincloth?!) I have one of those little sticky roller things, Stellarax. I could clean that right up for you.

7. Annnd the mace. Let's take a closer look at the mace.



Really went to town there on the spikes, didn't ya? FYI, honey, when the spikes are that close together, well, the damn thing might as well be made out of Nerf. What's that? It's actually an energy weapon? I didn't re-- hey, put that down! Let's not be rash, here. Well, of course I'll apologize! I learned 21st century Earth manners from the greats, like Santino Rice of Project Runway. How would he have put it...? Oh, yes. "I'm sorry you got angry when I explained how shitty your costume looks." Ow! OW!! Dammit, this is like the second time this week somebody's shot at me...

Unisex Hair Salon... OF DEATH!

"Now let's even up those bangs!" the stylist shrieked, his arms flailing wildly.

Today's subject was chosen in honor of the scary-thin fifty-something stylist who kept insisting my hair was filthy in spite of the fact that I'd washed it mere hours earlier. The woman was obviously in her late middle-age but she dressed like one of the Duff sisters, and while she rinsed my hair she kept exclaiming, "Yucky!" Okay, bitch, first off? I ain't paying you for "yucky." And secondly? After you pull that kind of crap? Then HELL NO, I'm not going to buy any Paul Mitchell shampoo from you.

So here's a startling doppelganger of the stylist I encountered yesterday: forgotten Batman villain, the Dodo Man (from Batman #303, September 1978). The Dodo Man is a thief who specializes in taxidermied dodo birds and dodo bird-related items. It's unclear in this story whether the Dodo Man normally looks like this or whether it's his fiendish disguise to blend into one of the museum's exhibits (When Peter Boyle Ruled The Earth). However, the fact that his idea of "blending in" consisted of hiding under a blanket makes me think that YES, the Dodo Man really is a remarkably toned nonagenarian with a bad dye job. Still, the fight scene lasts all of one-and-a-third pages. Because he's fighting Batman.

I think what we can learn from the Dodo Man is that even with a boring brown unitard, you can still make a memorable impession by styling your hair in a spectacularly age-inappropriate manner. Nice save, Dodo Man!

The One Accessory Every Man Should Own

No, I'm not talking about the purple cape with matching purple fur collar. Although that is pretty stylin'. Or the spurs. Or the guns or the big studded belt, or even that arm bracelet, which is apparently constructed of 'Nilla Wafers. And not even the busty lass draped around his left foot. (I'd be all like, "Whatever, honey. You got any brothers?") No, I'm talking about the big honkin' gold-plated android falcon. That thing can spruce up any wardrobe.

The squinty fellow is Monark Starstalker, seen here on the cover of "Marvel Premiere" #32, October 1976. Created by Howard Chaykin, Monark is a charming, square-jawed, two-fisted rogue with thick black hair and crinkly, smiley eyes. It's a shame Chaykin never revisted that type of character ever again, huh? Okay, you can't tell by reading, but my voice was simply dripping with sarcasm just then. His android falcon, besides just looking hella cool, also doubles as a telepathic replacement for his body's destroyed nervous system. So, the coolness is essentially doubled. It's so cool, in fact, that it even makes up for those dopey armored underpants he's wearing. Did somethin' else get destroyed, Monark? Ow! Hey, stop shooting me!

Gender Reassignment Challenge: Scarlet Witch To Scarlet Warlock

Here's the second entry in my self-appointed gender-reversal design challenge. In other words, I take a girly superheroine costume and butch it up for an (even more) imaginary male version of the same character. The trick is maintaining a visual connection with the femme outfit while keeping it from looking like "brawny guy in panties and a bra." It's harder than it sounds.

This time 'round, I chose the Scarlet Witch. Let's take a look at her in this panel from "The Avengers" #185 (July, 1979) in which Modred the Mystic surprises her in her bedroom while she's sleeping in the nude, and pretty much immediately decides to put some clothes on her. Gay! (Me, too, so no offense meant there. I'm just sayin', is all.)



As you can see, I had my work cut out for me, starting with all that pink, continuing with the strapless bustier/swimsuit thing she's wearing, and ending with the big dumb pointy tiara or whatever the hell that shit is on her head. And here's the result: the Scarlet Warlock.



(Roy Orbison tiger growl)

I'm really happy with how this one turned out. I mean, I don't know about you guys, but I'd do him. Oh, I'm sorry. That was really unprofessional. Let's move on. As you can see, I replaced the bustier-type thing with the closest equivalent for a (non-tranny) guy: a corset. Instead of using the pale pink, presumably gauzy fabric on the Scarlet Warlock's upper body, I just left the skin exposed. Yes, the nipples are a bit upsetting. Deal with it. Below the corset is a nice pair of tight, superhero-type pants. I made the tiara deal into a more masculine headpiece that covers the entire forehead and wraps around the chin. It has a nice Steve Ditko/Jack Kirby vibe, I think. I mean, I could see a guy who wore this fighting Doctor Strange, or maybe the Challengers of the Unknown. The cape, boots, and gloves were gender-neutral so I could leave them alone. I love how the little swoop of cape below the chin looks in conjunction with the corset. And then I just darkened the color scheme to make the outfit more serious and manly. So overall I'm quite pleased with it.

The Many Handy Functions Of That Thing On The Demon Druid's Hat

1. Mini-crossbow
2. Shortwave radio receiver
3. Nifty hood ornament for Texas oil baron's stretch limousine
4. Lifesize model of history's most evil pretzel
5. Bubble wand
6. Thighmaster
7. A common tool in the medical fields of orthodontics and gynecology
8. Interlocking Chinese puzzle sold exclusively at the Smithsonian
9. Wind chime
10. Dreamcatcher
11. Press one mouse skull eyeball, it plays "Nearer My God To Thee"; press the other, it plays "My Humps"
12. After Captain America defeats the Demon Druid, he can just hop on his back, grab the horns like they're bike handlebars, and ride his sorry ass to the jail

Ladies, Are You Embarrassed By Unsightly Arm Flab?

Well, you could always try wearing Captain Marvel's costume.

I don't know what is going on with those goofy-ass sleeves, but they're ruining what is otherwise a classic costume design. Kudos, 1983 staff of Marvel Comics! Fun fact for those of you who are only familiar with Captain Marvel/Photon/Whatever The Hell The Poor Woman Is Being Forced To Call Herself These Days from 1984 onward: her costume is not miscolored on this Avengers cover. For her first few appearances, the silver part of her outfit was tinted pink, not blue. Thank God they changed it. But they kept the voluminous sleeves. And then they gave her a jheri curl. And then they depowered her. And then they changed her name. So it was like "one step forward, twenty gazillion steps back." Which, if I understand the nice folks at Television Without Pity correctly, basically makes Captain Marvel an honorary member of the family on "Good Times."

Take Your (Grand)Daughter To Work (It) Day

You know what the great thing is about being a bent, wizened sorceror who belongs to an Atlantean cult? The great thing is, you can convince the teenage granddaughter of the cult leader that she is vital to the destiny of all mankind and that she should drop whatever the hell she's doing and become your "apprentice." And you can also tell her that oh, just by the way, she needs to dress at all times in a metal bikini top and low-riding powder blue panties with a chrome-plated Ouija board pointer on them.

That's what Dakihm the Enchanter did to Jennifer Kale in some old "Man-Thing" and "Howard the Duck" stories back in the 70's. And sure, she fetched a magic tome from some otherdimensional netherworld and helped repel an invasion from the demon-realm of Sominus. But I think Dakihm mainly wanted to see Jennifer parade around in that outfit. There's something patently creepy about the whole set-up, if you ask me. And that's why I say God bless June Brigman for drawing Jennifer in "The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe" #6 (May, 1985) like this:



Compare this image with the one of the voluptuous, big-bottomed gal posing on the edge of a table for Dakihm's decrepid amusement. ("Reading this scroll is hard!" *giggle, blush, coquettish head tilt*) Brigman's depiction of Jennifer is really kind of startling in its honesty. She doesn't look much like a stereotypical pulp novel character to me. Instead, it's like a candid shot of a confused, emotionally screwed-up teenage runaway who just happens to be wearing a way-too-revealing costume. It's not so much Frank Frazetta as it is Diane Arbus. Now, I have no idea if Brigman did this on purpose, since everyone she draws tends to look somewhat like a teenage girl. But still, my hat's off to her.

Yes, But Where Do I Put My Quarters?

Y'know, I kinda liked the costume worn by Chronos -- not the Atom villain, but the other one, who's dead now (I think).



Still, it looks like something is missing.

What could it be?

Aha! I have some scraps of colored felt I can use... And where the hell did I put my thread...?

This will take just a moment. Please, bear with me.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Annnndd... done. There we go.



Now, isn't that much better?

Gender Reassignment Challenge: Saturn Girl To Saturn Boy

Here is the first of a series of costume design challenges I've set for myself. In the "gender reassignment" challenge, I reimagine a highly feminine superheroine costume for a male version of that character. To make it difficult, I try to make the new costume as manly as possible while still incorporating as many of the female aspects of the costume as I think I can. Up first is Saturn Girl. Let's take a look at her.



I've done preliminary sketches based on the costumes of many superheroines, like the Scarlet Witch, Storm, Ms. Marvel, and the Black Canary. Saturn Girl's outfit was by far the girliest of these, since it was essentially a one-piece bathing suit with opera gloves and pirate boots. I've found many ways around the confounding A-lines and bustiers of a lot of superheroine duds, but I upped the difficulty with "Saturn Boy's" costume by keeping the exposed shoulders and midsection. I worked a real long time on this design, and I'm still not totally happy with it but I freely admit the damn thing just stumped me.



I attached the gloves to the body of the costume to make the top all one garment. The cut-outs originally revealed even more skin but it was still too ladylike for my tastes. Since I absolutely loathe the combination of bare thighs and boots on male costumes -- as you probably know if you've read this blog for a while -- I made the bottom of the outfit baggy shorts. To balance them out and add a new-wave feel to the costume, I incorporated a high, wide collar. And to maintain the level of exposed skin, I shortened the boots considerably. They got cuffs, too, to match the collar. The whole thing's red, since I sure as hell wasn't going to keep it pink. At one point I had made it a really dark red, like "dried blood" red, but that felt like cheating. This still looks awfully fey. I dunno. I don't think it's a complete success. Ah well. I'm really excited about my designs for "the Scarlet Warlock" and the guy version of Storm, though. They turned out a lot better. And sexier! But I should probably keep that to myself. At any rate, you'll see them in the next few weeks.

Savagery In Pinstripes: The Future Mrs. Atomic Skull

The list of super-villain couples isn't very long. There's the Joker and Harley Quinn, the Sportsmaster and the Huntress, Punch and Jewellee, the Absorbing Man and Titania, and... and, um... there's probably more, but I plead ignorance. I also plead "devastating good looks." (Guilty!) Anyway, for a brief moment back in 1981, in the pages of "DC Comics Presents" #35, there was also the Atomic Skull and Felicia. Felicia was a woman mutated from a panther, which was not at all a rip-off of Barbara Carrera's character in "The Island of Doctor Moreau."

Let's turn things over to Superman for a minute, as he summarizes Dr. Albert "the Atomic Skull" Michaels' diary to guest-star Man-Bat -- all the while giggling like a schoolgirl, no doubt: "Dr. Michaels had developed an evolutionary ray for Heaven knows what evil purpose... and the creature he called Felicia was originally a test animal -- a lab specimen! His ray succeeded in transforming the female panther into a woman! Evidently she was so beautiful... so alluring... that, against all reason, Michaels fell in love with her!"

Oh, Superman, you sweet, naive moron. Here's how I see things going down: Dr. Michaels had a case of atomic blue balls because nobody wants to make love to a guy has a skull for a face (the actor who played "Gareth" in the original version of "The Office" being the sole exception to that rule). Knowing that what he planned to do might still be considered bestiality (and getting a sick thrill from that notion), Michaels invented an evolutionary ray for the express purpose of creating a girlfriend. And since he could keep her penned up on his skull-shaped hovercraft, she might never meet another human male and would therefore have no idea that the typical guy has skin on his face. She might get a glimpse of Harrison Ford on the TV -- before the Skull hastily switched it off -- and remark, "So who's the puffy freak?"

And here's the beauty part: he sewed a coordinating super-villain costume for her. He went to a lot of trouble and thought, considering what alterations a mutated panther woman would want from his own costume. More room in the hip and jug areas, that's a given. The sassy thigh-high boots were keepers, natch. Ditto the fun lemon-yellow helmet. But he added completely unnecessary pinstripes to the main part of the costume, and a fat, candy-stripe motif to the collar (making it look like her head is protruding from a small awning or perhaps from a really tiny circus tent). There's also the green, skull-adorned dickey and the crotch-riding gunbelt. The upshot: he took a somewhat girly, somewhat homely costume design and made it a pinch girlier and profoundly homelier.

Quick personal anecdote: I was at Footlocker a few months ago, returning some running shoes. The guy at the register said he'd have to clear it with his manager. When the manager showed up, she was dressed just like Felicia.

I wound up keeping the shoes.

I'm About To Dis A Crazed Murderer

(Here I go!) For such a bad-ass psycho killer, Sabretooth sure had a stupid costume. I say "had" because I know he's had other costumes since the first one, and I assume, or at least hope, he ain't wearing this get-up anymore.

It's got a lot of problems, starting with the black underpants. You don't see the old underpants-over-spandex thing very often in new costumes, because most people have realized how silly and pointless it looks. Even Batman toyed with a trunks-free look for a while, although that didn't last too long. I assume the "overpants" feature was a staple of super-hero costumes because the original ones back in the thirties were heavily inspired by circus costumes. And the typical circus strongman way back in the day wore trunks over tights to conform to lingering Victorian standards of modesty. Sabretooth came along during a weird transitional period. In the late 70's/early 80's, genuinely homicidal super-villains started to appear -- something virtually unheard of after WW2. But the "street clothes" trend wouldn't take hold until maybe the late 90's, so these new characters still had to dress like their relatively harmless forebearers.

Another problem I have with Sabretooth's original costume is the color scheme. It's a hideous combination: black, orange, and a sort of "baby poop" brown. Pretty much the colors of a rotting jack-o-lantern. And it's trimmed in a sickly buttermilk-blonde fur that also happens to be a close match for Sabretooth's natural hair color. Nice.

But the absolute worst thing about it? The huge fur "mane" on the chest and back. The fur on the gloves? Fine. The furry boots? Okay, they match the gloves, so what the hell. But the mane? Yikes! It might work if Sabretooth had a similarly furry cowl, kind of like a more hirsute Wildcat. But no, Sabretooth's ugly blonde-headed mug is popping out of this mountain o' fur for all the world to see. This has the odd effect of making the ferocious Sabretooth look a bit like an aging drag queen with a mink stole around his/her neck. It also confused the holy heck out of me the first time I saw him -- in an old "Power Man and Iron Fist" comic -- because the colorist had made Sabretooth's hair the exact same shade of blonde as his fakey mane. I thought Sabretooth was really fur-covered and his costume had a plunging V-neck and an open back. Imagine my surprise and consternation when I found out that he just really went to town on the fur trim.

That's not to say a cat-themed, fur-trimmed costume can't look great. It's just that some restraint needs to be used.



There, isn't that better? The fur is kept to a tasteful minimum, and the color scheme is a timeless black and white. Hell, even Sabretooth would look bangin' in this costume! (And I'll leave you with that image floating around in your head.)

Starman: Pimp Of The Spaceways

Starman (a.k.a. Prince Gavyn of Throneworld) has two of the most classically handsome superhero costumes I've ever seen. One is red and yellow; the other is blue and yellow. The symbol on his chest is a simple five-pointed star. There's no unnecessary embelishment. I would never design something that simple myself, but only because Starman has worn that sort of costume already. And he's done it so well, it cannot be improved upon. When I see Starman's costume, I think, "That is the mark of a great hero."

When Starman decides to accessorize, however, it's with such flamboyance that I start to wonder if he's working a second job.



That job would involve him strutting down conveyer-belt sidewalks in the skeevier parts of the galaxy, sweet-talkin' the alien ladies into joining his stable of astro-hos, and screaming at hapless star-johns through the windows of their primer-gray space shuttles. For one thing, there's the staff. Not just a fancy walking stick, like a regular pimp might have. No, it's a huge crooked shepherd's staff which he carries with him everywhere he goes. (Compensating for somethin', Prince?) And then there's the fur cape. Or maybe it's "capes," plural, since as a show of just how fantastically dope and fly and crunk and what-not he is, he'll throw a cape away while he's flying off.



Some pimps like to wear expensive chapeaus. Some of these same pimps like to brandish gem-encrusted chalices. Only Starman is cool enough to display that much bling... on his head.



Of course, the sheer crushing weight of the thing gives him a tension headache to beat the band, but Starman would never let you know it.

He's crunk like that.

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.

Snappy Answers To Stupid Costumes

Beware the Cylon Ninja Whore, my son.

Maybe you thought that Jericho had the ugliest George Perez costume design ever. Well, you were wrong. This here is Snap Dragon, from a Black Widow story in "Marvel Fanfare" #12 (January 1984). Everything about Snap Dragon's costume is unattractive and contrived, which renders further analysis pointless. So instead, I'll just make fun of her. Oh, snap!

- Oh, so that's Rob Liefeld's mom!

- Christo chose her crotch as the site of his newest installation.

- Okay, so she's got all the rest of that crazy shit going on, and yet there's a man's necktie clipped to her panties. Does her cooter have a job interview?

- Snap Dragon, about your hair... Sasquatch called; he wants his pubes back.

- I hope Mister Sinister is paying her well for these Cyclops fantasy sessions.

- Rom: Spaceknight has fatter thighs than I remembered.

- That's not a bustier. That's just a really bad case of dermatitis.

- That boxy little thing on her right forearm? Pez dispenser.

Okay, I'm done. Your turn!

What's Wrong With This Picture?

I understand the concept of "artistic license" as it applies to super-characters. Like how Michael Golden would draw the collar of Doctor Strange's cloak with big curlicues, or how when Al Milgrom drew "The New Mutants" every female character had hair down to her waist, or how Juan Bobillo can be counted on to redesign the costume of pretty much every super-hero who guest-stars in the current "She-Hulk" book (and I kind of love him for that). But as a time-traveler, I also understand the concept of "anachronism." And Chris Weston's depictions of the Golden Age Sandman's and Stripesy's costumes in "Star Spangled Comics" #1 (May, 1999) caused my suspension of disbelief to snap like a cheap rubberband and hit me in the face. Hard.



I'm referring to the cut of their underpants -- worn over their costumes, natch, in true Golden Age hero fashion. The problem? They're speedos. Banana hammocks. Plum smugglers. Lunch sacks. They're very "potbellied Frenchman on holiday at Coney Island" but they're not very appropriate to the era. Not for super-hero costumes, anyway. I suppose the provocatively-cut undergarments do help to showcase the Sandman's and Stripesy's gargantuan junk. At least Weston got something right! He draws the Star-Spangled Kid and Sandy the Golden Boy the same way. I'd show those panels but it might not be considered "work safe." So just trust me on that one. In a nutshell (haw!) the story is titled "A Terrifying Hour!" but I would have called it "Prominent Packages On Parade." Catchy, no?

Clothes Make The Menace: The Best Costume Of All Time

This has been my number one favorite costume ever since I saw it back in the summer of 1980, in "Spider-Woman" #31. And as you can see, it's been a big influence on my work.


Why do I love the Hornet's costume?
1. The color scheme: purple and orange. Eye-catching and weird. But it works. I still don't see this combination used very often in super-costumes. Of course, I had to use it for one of my own costumes.
2. Depending on what the colorist felt like doing in a particular panel, it had an Aquaman neckline. Show off those hunky shoulders, Hornet!
3. None of that "underpants on top of spandex" business.
4. The arrow motif. Striking but not too busy. It also works as a subtle tie-in to the similarly winged Janet "The Wasp" Van Dyne. Janet loved using arrows on her own costumes back then. And just like the Hornet, she made sure that every single arrow on her costume pointed directly at her crotch! I believe that's called "playing to your strengths."

The Hornet was really Scotty McDowell, a criminologist who was temporarily mutated and hypnotized into becoming a bad guy by one of Spider-Woman's enemies. This was especially hard on Spider-Woman given that he was the only member of her supporting cast. He was back to normal by the end of issue #32 and disappeared completely from "Spider-Woman" (and from comics in general) not long after. It's a real shame, too, since he had one kick-ass costume.

Nation's Capitol Unprepared For Latest Outbreak Of Bird Floozy

'Cause she lives in Washington DC, y'see, and she's dressed like... well, hell YES, it was a long, convoluted set-up for a lame pun. So? You wanna fight about it?

I think we just found the Black Condor a girlfriend! Not that he's into that. But let's move on. In your time period, when sexless nerds want to gape at statuesque, lingerie-clad females with feathers on their backs, they just Google images from the Victoria's Secret "Angel" collection. In 1982, they had to read "Wonder Woman" #288. The gal with the loquacious brain and the vivacious everything else is the Pre-Crisis Silver Swan, or as I like to think of her, "the good one." Whereas the two Post-Crisis versions were, respectively, a victim of domestic abuse with zero personality, and a mindless assassin (with bad hair), this Silver Swan knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. What she wanted was to stay beautiful forever. And to get it, all she had to do was fulfill her deal with the god Mars and kill Wonder Woman. Like Poison Ivy, she was irresistible to men, and like Killer Frost, she was a vicious man-hater. And she had a great costume. The paradox is that individually, none of the parts really work -- the Scarlet Witch-style headdress, the puffy sleeves with attached cape, the lacy collar -- but dad-blast it if it doesn't look swell all put together! Well played, Swan. Well played.

Vigilantism... On Ice!

Holy cats, that is one pissed-off competitive figure skater!

Naw, I'm kiddin'. Actually, it's the Golden Age hero, Firebrand. Like the Red Bee, Hydroman, and Neon the Unknown, Firebrand firmly believed that Gauzy Baggy Shirt = Terror. How girly was Firebrand's costume? It was so girly that in the 1980's, when his sister took over his codename and superhero job, she could wear pretty much the exact same outfit and make it look like it was designed especially for her. Except her version showed less cleavage.

I suppose Firebrand was going for a Zorro-type thing with this ensemble but it just doesn't work. Maybe if he'd taken it the whole nine yards, with a flat-brimmed hat and and an embroidered coat and a sword or a whip and maybe a horse or something... but even then? It's pink. It's freaking pink. There are plenty of colors he could have chosen which are manlier than pink, like seafoam green and robin's egg blue and canary yellow. Hell, even magenta or dusty rose! Or coral! That's manly. But no. He went with pink, and pink simply does not impart menace to the criminal mind. I just don't know what he was thinking. Let's see... Firebrand was from the Bored Millionaire school of superheroing, where he had unlimited resources and no superpowers. So, he was kind of like Batman, but without the angst. And as inspiration, instead of a bat flying through his open window, it was... what? A flamingo? A marshmallow Peep? A bottle of Pepto-Bismol?

Then there's the whole kerchief mask thing. Lord knows, I loves me some kerchief masks. I've used those twice so far in my designs. But the difference is mine didn't have pleats. Pleats are fussy, and they don't usually translate well to line drawings. As you can see, the pleats conspire with the red color to make Firebrand look less like "swashbuckling daredevil" and more like "Dumb Donald from 'Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids.'"

He sure looks pissed off, though. I'm guessing he finally looked in a mirror.

After the Fugpocalypse

Remember how fun the clothing was in the 1970's version of the Apocalypse? Before "The Matrix," or "Mad Max," or "The Day After Tomorrow" or even just "The Day After?" Sure, civilization had crumbled, but everyone got to wear kooky, colorful costumes made of the shiniest synthetic fabrics ever dreamed up by a bong-addled DuPont engineer! Yeah, there'd be the ruins of some modern landmark over there in the distance, but you didn't care! You'd just unzip your groovy velveteen jumpsuit a few more centimeters, run your hands through your feathered hair, and pretend you were merely on an extended camping trip! Of course, there was always some mind-bendingly existential bummer to deal with. But you sure as hell looked good doing it!

The gentleman with the schoolmarm bun -- er, make that "samurai-influenced hairstyle" is M'shulla from "Amazing Adventures" #39 (Marvel Comics, November 1976). Even though the Martians have destroyed everything and he's fighting for survival in the middle of the Okefenokee Swamp, he still takes the time to glue a bindhi to his forehead and starch the astoundingly wide fringe on his shoulders. In fact, he seems to have way too much time to starch them, because they're sticking straight outward like a porcupine's quills. Maybe they're not part of the costume at all, but his shoulders' natural defense mechanism. When you see M'shulla's shoulder flaps quiver, it means he's agitated! Take a few steps back and mellow out!

His pal Killraven -- that's him horning in on M'shulla's closeup in the second panel -- has an outfit that's also Very Seventies, what with the disco headband -- er, make that "princely circlet." But I like that one, so I won't dog on it today.

Hostile Blogover

Hey, kids! You've probably noticed the ridiculous lag time between posts. Well, that nonsense is going to stop right now. I sat Jeremy down and gave him a good talking-to. He said he didn't have time to publish my posts on his blog because he had an unexpected couple of weeks at work where he was logging twelve-hour days, and also he had a paying freelance job doing artwork like this:

Which looks okay, I guess, but I don't know why he likes drawing stuff like that. I mean, where are the bulging muscles? The billowing capes? Feh! Feh, I say to you now. Anyhow, I strong-armed the little guy into giving me his Blogger password, plus full use of his scanner and his comic book collection. Turns out it didn't take much -- I just lowered my voice another octave and gave him a couple of rabbit punches and a Dutch rub.

So now you can expect much more frequent posting. The mega-posts with the two costume designs and the massive backstory will still only come once a month or so, but between them will be lots of little posts about costumes I like and ones I hate -- with scans! Plus, I'll show you some costume challenges I set for myself -- like the Gender Reassignment Challenge, where I take a really girly outfit like the Black Canary's fishnets-and-bustier number or Saturn Girl's classic pink bikini, and I re-imagine them for a male superhero. The difficulty comes in keeping as many elements from the original outfit as possible while still making them look butch. Just wait'll you see "the Scarlet Warlock." And "Mister Marvel!" Male-to-female? I dunno. That might be too easy. But there's also the "Good-to-Evil" and the "Evil-to-Good" challenges, where I design villainous versions of heroes' outfits and heroic versions of villains' outfits. And the challenges where I take era-specific costumes and redesign them for a different period. Like Silver Age versions of 90's Image characters, or Funk-a-delic 70's versions of the stodgiest Golden Agers. It'll be great!

Shawl That Heaven Allows: The Black Condor

What's his deal:
Viva la plot contrivance! When Richard Grey Jr. was a baby, his parents took him with them on an archeological dig in one of the numerous remote locations in Mongolia. (Fun fact: remote locations account for 93% of that enchanting land!) Marauding bandits wiped out the entire expedition, save for Baby Richard. The infant was left alone in the desert and would have died of starvation and/or exposure, had he not been adopted by a flock of giant birds. You heard me. These mysterious black condors -- which may be related to the genuinely Mongolian "black vulture" or "steppe condor" or perhaps the author just yanked them out of his ass -- somehow managed to raise Richard to adulthood without killing him. In fact, Richard taught himself to fly just by watching the condors do it. You heard me. Later accounts of Richard's story threw in a radioactive meteorite to make this part of the story more plausible. No, seriously.

Richard didn't encounter another human being until he was a full-grown man. Did I mention he was in a remote part of Mongolia? This fellow, a hermit (remote!) taught Richard to talk and act like an actual person. The hermit pointed out that most people don't possess the power of flight. He suggested that Richard could use this ability to help Mankind. Upon the hermit's death, Richard returned to America. His timing was perfect! It just so happened that Richard was an exact double of a freshly murdered senator named Thomas Wright. Senator Wright's death was so recent, in fact, that Richard was easily able to steal the man's identity without anybody noticing -- not even Wright's fiancee! Ew.

During the few hours of the day that Richard wasn't practicing politics in an office to which nobody had elected him, and when he wasn't busy macking on a dead man's unsuspecting girlfriend, he found time to slip on a ridiculous costume and fight crime. He armed himself with a "black ray" gun that could both stun his enemies and make that Iron Maiden poster in your bedroom look totally groovy, man. Oh, and he didn't wear a mask. I think you all know my opinion on superheroes with secret identities and no masks, so let's just move along, shall we? (Grinds teeth furiously)

Richard/Thomas/The Black Condor battled evil during the 1940's, mainly, and then in the 70's he wound up on "Earth-X" where the Nazis had won WW2. Good one, jerk. A second Black Condor got his own comic in the 1990's and Richard guest-starred as a ghost, sort of watching over the new guy. And now the new guy's dead, too. Stick to your day job, Richard.

First appearance: Crack Comics #1 (May, 1940).


Crimes against fashion:
Hot pants! The sash with the meaningless diamond symbol on it! But mostly the goofy shawl-cape-thing with the attached cuffs. Criminals don't see you as a threat when you're dressed like a Ziegfeld Girl.

Our meeting:
I had just finished infiltrating a committee meeting on Capitol Hill, where I'd slipped a rider onto a tax bill, declaring that the first Tuesday of every other month should henceforth be known as "Blockade Boy Day." (It has the same frequency as my blog entries! Ha ha! Heh... sigh. Things will get better soon, I promise.) I spied a man atop the Senate steps holding the corners of his trench coat in each hand. He sprinted down the steps, causing the fabric to billow outward like a cape, and making flapping motions with his arms. I knew it could only be Richard "Thomas (The Black Condor) Wright" Grey Jr. I chased him down and confronted him. He was surprised I knew his real identity but I explained I was from the future, plus how he didn't wear a mask and also the whole trench coat deal. "What trench coat deal?" he sputtered, looking genuinely confused. His fingers nervously played with the ends of his coat. "Flap... flap, flap," he whispered, avoiding my gaze. I asked him to stop doing that but he repeated that he didn't understand my meaning. Luckily, he was interested in seeing some costume designs, so we met again that night at a very nice French restaurant. Richard requested a table "wherever there are curtains." While we talked, Richard constantly toyed with the draperies, and I constantly slapped his hands away from them.

My presentation:

For the first design, I made your costume more bird-like than what you've got now, because what you've got now is frankly horrible. I didn't want to make it look exactly like a bird costume, because that would have been goofy instead of weird and intimidating. Still, I wanted to suggest a bird. So there are big yellow lenses on the cowl, layered feather shapes on the torso and shoulders, ribbing on the cape and legs that gives the impression of feathers and scales, respectively. Hey, quit that. Okay. There's a cutout on the stomach to show off your killer abs, and that shape is repeated on the backs of the gloves. And I think this look works better with shorter, spikier hair. Stop it, I said! Okay, next design...


When I think of the name "Black Condor," I don't just think of birds. I think of a highwayman or a pirate... brigands, outlaws, high adventure on land and sea! I'd love to see you take your superhero act in this direction. So, this is an 18th Century style pirate's costume made of various dark fabrics, with a bright crimson sash around the waist for a spot of color. The mask is-- hey, quit it! The mask is a kerchief that ties in the back. You could top it with a three-sided hat, if you want. For the wings, I figure I could swipe a pair from a guy named Hawkman. He lives in another dimension, so he'd never think to look for them here. I'll paint 'em black and they'll be perfect. HEY! What did I just tell you about the drapes? Now, the facial hair... I suppose I could rig up some kind of crepe hair and spirit gum deal for the beard, but the whole effect would be ruined if a bad guy yanked it off you in the middle of a fight. You'd be a laughing stock! So, I think it would be best if you'd just grow an actual beard. The bonus is you'd look all professorial and smart in your civilian life, so it'd be doing double duty. And people would never connect the bearded Black Condor and the bearded Senator Wright because of the Condor's long hair. Now, that part would be fake -- a wig, basically, that's built into the kerchief. In the future, this same technology will be used in baseball caps that folks order from novelty catalogs. Yes, it's a startling new world in 1993. For the "black ray" gun, you just duplicate the mechanism and put in two flintlock pistols. It's too cool, am I right? I mean, just imagine this badass motherfucker swooping down at you in the middle of the -- STOP PLAYING WITH THE CURTAINS, GOD DAMN IT!

Richard's response:
Try as I might, I couldn't convince him to wear the pirate costume. (Barnacles!) But he liked the first idea I had, so we scheduled a fitting at his hotel suite.

Well, the minute he had the cape on, he started playing with the damned thing. Once again, I had to slap his hands away. "What if you sew the ends of the cape to the gloves?" he suggested, innocently.

"No," I explained, "because that would look stupid. As I've told you about a dozen times before."

"Oh." He stared at the floor for a while, biting his lips. His head jerked back up, his eyes alight with a new hope. "It's okay if I hold onto the cape while I'm flying, though, right? After all, it is my costume!"

I dismissed that idea, Richard pouted some more, and I continued to work on the outfit. "Flap, flap," Richard whispered to himself. "Flap." I kept shushing him and slapping his hands away from the cape for another ten minutes or so.

Finally I had to put my foot down. "Richard," I said sternly, "you are not going to wear this costume unless you first accompany me to a notary public and sign a legal and binding document promising you won't hold the cape like that or by any method attach it to any part of your hands or wrists. In fact, I may even require you to get a post-hypnotic suggestion to that effect."

"But why?" he demanded. "Why can't I attach my cape to my wrists?"

I was ready to scream. "Because, you fucking crackpot, YOU ARE NOT A GOD DAMN BIRD!"

He flew at me -- literally -- and we brawled, pounding the everloving shit out of each other and destroying most of the hotel suite. The bout ended when he located his "black ray" gun and fired it at me, point blank. I turned into a nice, shiny steel wall and reflected the beam back at him, rendering him unconscious. Bruised and bloodied, I stripped the incomplete costume off him and slipped out the window before the hotel detective could get to me.

The upshot: the Black Condor wore his dopey old costume for the rest of his natural life, and I can't visit his dimension again without him tracking me down and pooping on my car.