The mind of the comics man

Part I: The Male Comic Fan

By Marcie Young

NEW YORK CITY - Zorikh Lequidre remembers the day vividly.

He had just bought a copy of Spidey Super Stories No. 1, the 1974 debut comic featuring Peter Parker’s arachnid alter-ego. Excited to show off the colorfully drawn book to his kindergarten classmates, 5-year-old Lequidre packed up the book and toted it to his school at the Lenox Hill neighborhood center on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Lequidre’s mom taught him to share, so he passed it around the classroom, letting his friends get a good look at the thin comic.

But one boy didn’t want to give it back. Lequidre didn’t like that, so he grabbed at the comic book. The boy held on. A long rip tore through the cover, splitting in two the image of Spiderman dangling from a New York building.

Angry tears spilled down Lequidre’s face. “I was so very upset that I went to the trash can, ripped the whole comic book into tiny pieces and threw it away,” he says.

It wasn’t until several years later that Lequidre realized the comic had been a first issue, a likely collector’s edition valued $50 in near mint condition — considerably higher than the 35-cent cover price.

Now, more than 30 years later, Spiderman still gets to Lequidre, but so do Captain Marvel, Batman and other superhero legends. His mom taught him to read using comic books, and Lequidre says he can’t remember life without the cartoon prints. The superheroes were always his favorite.

“They could solve problems, and they seemed to have a code of honor,” Lequidre says. “There were certain things they just didn’t do. There was a morality and ethic to them… My mom brought me up to do the right thing, and these people always did the right thing.”

Later, when Lequidre got a little older, he started to connect with the storyline offered through Marvel’s X-Men, a cast of human oddities forced to live away from the rest of society.

“I identified with the mutant outcast oddball with a name like Zorikh and always being tall and skinny…and my mom teaching me esoteric things that no one else understood,” Lequidre says.

Lequidre owns approximately 7,000 comic books and graphic novels, which he preserves in plastic wrapping and stores in cardboard boxes specifically made to hold the colorful booklets. Now, superheroes and comics are essentially Lequidre’s full-time job. To make rent and pay bills, Lequidre predominately depends on the financial backing of a Captain Marvel book he’s writing and the cash he gathers from musical performances he gives on subways and in stations.

He has also dedicated weekends, like this one, to volunteering at the Big Apple Con, a near-quarterly comic book convention held in New York City. This time, the convention is taking place at Penn Pavilion on the city’s west side. Big Apple Con, a local event, is relatively small in comparison to the annual San Diego Comic Con International, which drew more than 104,000 fans, professionals, exhibitors and vendors at the 2005 show.

Lequidre parks his 6-foot-3-inch frame behind a rectangular folding table with an “information” sign hanging from it. A curly, blond mullet pokes out from beneath his black baseball cap, and the red and gold of a Captain Marvel tee-shirt peeks through the black jumpsuit Lequidre wears as promotional fare his band, Deathstar Repairmen. As convention-goers unload from the escalator, he grins and points out where vendors, artists and celebrities have set up.

****

Comic books and superheroes are a multi-million dollar industry. Marvel Entertainment, a publicly traded company, pulled in $373.9 million in revenue in 2005, and movies featuring characters from the DC Comics have grossed more than $2.7 billion worldwide since the 1978 release of “Superman” starring Christopher Reeve.

Since the first appearance Superman on pulpy newspaper pages in 1938, the industry has grabbed hold of a dedicated fan base had has refused to let go. Even during declines in comic book popularity, the superhero, encompassed by idols such as DC’s Batman and Wonder Woman and Marvel’s Spiderman and X-Men, has survived. Today, the superhero reaches far beyond the devoted readers of tangible comic books and penetrates society at large, chiefly due to successful big screen blockbusters like last spring’s “Batman Begins,” which earned nearly $372 million in theaters worldwide.

But it is the fans, like Lequidre, that keep the hard-copy medium alive. They hunt down back issues of their youth or conduct dedicated searches to complete sets of popular comic book storylines. Every Wednesday, when the newest editions of the serial stories are released, fans rush local comic book stores, including the two locations of Midtown Comics in Times Square and near Grand Central Station, to stay on top of the superheroes’ tales.

Comic book fandom, like other mass followings, isn’t without its stereotypes. Dedicated fans are often characterized as geeks and antisocial virgins, yet intelligent and, as one fan noted, resistant of societal norms.

“The comic book fan is stereotyped a geek because he is,” says Bob Madison, a lifelong fan of the superhero and publisher of Dinoship Inc., a company that produces science fiction and fantasy products. “A geek, however, would say comic book fans are very smart, which tends to be true, and [that] they are rebels…Societal norms are irrelevant, such as clean clothes or worrying about how you look. They might not care about doing the petty things in school to be popular, like being on the team, whatever that team might be, or being obsessed with popular music.”

Adan Jimenez, an assistant manager at Midtown Comics, says the stereotype changes as fans grow older and as the medium penetrates television and film. The typical fans he sees roaming the store’s two floors don’t usually represent the stereotype.

“He’s a mid-30s man who works in an office and has loved comics most of his life, and now that he has an income, he comes in and buys the comics,” 22-year-old Jimenez says of the male fans dressed in suits and ties or business casual. “They have a real love for the medium and want to see it succeed.”

In the other fan base, those who drive movie sales or, perhaps, watch weekly episodes of “Smallville,” a television show about Superman’s youth, don’t necessarily buy comic books but are invested in the superheroes that permeate society in the mainstream media. Even popular shows like HBO’s “Entourage” and Fox’s “The O.C.” are helping change the stereotypes by introducing characters that are less geeky fans of the medium.

Buzz over “Superman Returns,” the fifth big screen edition of the iconic character, and “X-Men: The Last Stand,” the final film in the trilogy, started months before the trailers were released. Online message boards dedicated solely to the unreleased flicks, which are scheduled hit theaters in June and May respectively, are littered with gossip about the characters and predictions for each movie’s success.

***
The superhero is surviving in other mediums outside the realm of paper comic books, but at conventions like the Big Apple Con, fans like Lequidre keep the ink and paper superhero very much alive. Convention goers flock to vendors and artists, hoping to feed their passion for the industry.

The smell of pungent dyed paper fills the air, as fans sift through boxes of back issues. Dealers sell their wares, from vintage copies of Superman comic books to life-sized cardboard cutouts of television’s Wonder Woman, Lynda Carter. Artists, writers and editors advertise recent and upcoming projects or flaunt sketches of iconic superheroes. B-list celebrities, including the original Daisy Duke, Catherine Bach, pose for snapshots with eager fans and sign autographs for small fees that hover between five and 10 dollars.

Lequidre’s girlfriend, Jessica Valadez, dressed in a leather “gladiatrix” outfit, takes her boyfriend’s place at the convention information desk. Four straps run diagonally across the chest of the black leather corset, squeezing the costume tightly around Valadez’s upper body.

“Unlike a lot of models you see here, she has the physical ability of an action hero and can wear this,” Lequidre says of the barbarian-inspired outfit he designed for 23-year-old Valadez, a physical trainer, to wear at the convention.

Now that Valadez has relieved Lequidre from his post, he is free to set up his own table next to a busty model once famous for gracing a 1981 Playboy magazine cover. He lays out copies of his own mini-comic book, Watch This Space, and promotional material about the Captain Marvel book he’s penning. He plugs in a miniature television set and video player and insets a tape on medieval warfare, fanning copies of the film around the TV’s base.

Across the room, Big Apple Con founder Michael Carbonaro darts from vendor to vendor, trying to swing deals on comic books and merchandise. Dressed in black slacks and a long sleeve black shirt, Carbonaro’s colorful personality is mimicked by the lime green backpack hanging from his shoulders and an aqua blue scarf dangling around his neck. His brown hair is streaked with white, and his smile is strikingly similar to the Joker featured in DC’s Batman line. Carbonaro drums his thin fingers on table tops and talks constantly when he isn’t scurrying across the crowded convention hall floor.

“You want to talk about this All-Star lot?” he asks a 30-something male dealer standing behind a table covered by a dozen boxes tightly crammed with back issues. The dealer sifts through a couple of boxes and pulls out a No. 8 All-Star DC comic book, the 1941 issue where Wonder Woman, the first female superhero, makes her debut.

The crisp cover, well-preserved in a plastic jacket backed by a thin piece of white cardboard, colorfully advertises the 10-cent sale price floating above the heads of members of the Justice Society of America and their enemies.

“It’s a really nice collection,” 47-year-old Carbonaro says, gingerly flipping through the pages.

The dealer, who trades and sells hundreds of comics at conventions like this, looks through a few more boxes while Carbonaro slides the comic book into the plastic protector. “Why don’t we talk about this during the week,” he says with a nod before briskly walking to the next vendor’s table.

The anthology Carbonaro is hoping to complete and then resell is the 57-issue set of All Star Comics, which is valued at $46,428 in the Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide, the collector’s Bible.

Queens-born Carbonaro started the Big Apple Con 10 years ago but has been embedded in the comic book trade for more than three decades. Like many of the fans and collectors he meets, he recalls exactly when he bought his first comic book. But it isn’t the memory of purchasing Tales to Astonish No. 30 in 1962 that has made the strongest impression.

A few years later, when Carbonaro was in the second grade, his mother got angry with him and threw all his comic books into the incinerator as punishment.

“I cried for hours. [My mother] felt sorry for me afterwards, and we went down and tried to save the ones that hadn’t been burned,” he says, drumming his knuckles rapidly on a wooden table. “Then she started to find out where we could buy back issues. And for the rest of my life, that’s basically what I’ve been doing — buying back issues of comic books.” In a way, he says, his mom launched his career when she threw the colorful paper booklets into the fire.

Carbonaro started selling comic books when he was 12, and later, with money borrowed from his father, bought out a comic dealer. By the time the first Mighty Marvel Comicon came to New York 1975, 16-year-old Carbonaro was making big bucks in the business.

“I remember making so much money [at the convention], I went out the next day, and I bought a Trans Am for cash. It was the ’76 special edition,” he says with a grin. “I remember it was $10,000 or $15,000…It was great. It was super amazing.”

Although those involved in the comic book industry are starting to garner more respect, Carbonaro says it hasn’t always been so. When he first started buying and selling comics in the 1970s, only the superheroes got respect, and the comic book industry was mocked.

“The first 20 years, people would laugh at me. It was this whole underground economy and underground world. I was almost like an outlaw buying and selling comics,” he says with a laugh. “It was almost more fun then.”

Now, Carbonaro has parlayed that success into his own conventions and an online store called Neat Stuff Collectibles, the largest comic book seller on eBay, which he says brings in between $3 million and $4 million a year.

Carbonaro doesn’t just love the business, however, he’s infatuated with the comic book superhero, as well. A self described “Marvel guy,” Carbonaro says the real evolution of the superhero started in 1961 when Marvel writer and creator, Stan Lee, revamped the industry and launched the Silver Age of comics.

Carbonaro lists the changes in a verbal bulleted format. “Superheroes with super problems. Not just black and white…Good guy vs. bad guy,” he says. “This was just like Spiderman. The aunt was dying. The girlfriend wasn’t always around. He couldn’t always pay his rent…[But he could kill] villains with his bare hands, a dozen of them at the same time. You have this evolution of a personality that entered into these brilliant plans.”

The cheery days of the superheroes, like Superman and the Batman and Robin team, were no more. Instead darker versions of the same superheroes evolved, and other, grittier characters started appearing in the medium. Even the colorful drawings got darker, the brilliant shades replaced by browns, blacks and grays. Madison says it’s a disappointment.

In the modern era of comics both Marvel and DC, along with other publishers, have become increasingly dark and gritty. The darkness that enveloped comic book superheroes in the 1980s, starting with Frank Miller’s Batman storyline, The Dark Knight Returns, in 1986, revitalized comics and made the tales more popular with adults. Characters became more somber and more complicated, which Madison argues stripped the fun from duos like Batman and Robin.

“If you want serious, you shouldn’t be reading a story about a giant bat,” he says. “He used to be the scoutmaster in black. Now he is just a psychotic.”

Years before Batman was introduced as the dark and brooding vigilante, Dr. Fredric Wertham, a German-American psychiatrist, launched an attack on comic books and superheroes with his 1954 book, Seduction of the Innocent. As a result of Wertham’s claims that comic books encouraged juvenile delinquency, homosexuality, drug use and violence, the U.S. Congress instigated an inquiry into the industry. Batman and Robin were accused of being lovers, and Wonder Woman was labeled a lesbian because of her strength and independence. Mothers would often censor their children and prohibit them from reading about the adventures of Superman and his friends, convinced that superheroes contributed to America’s social ills.

As a result of Wertham’s declaration against the cartoon characters, comics suffered a decline in the late 1950s, and some fans argue that Wertham was responsible for killing the Golden Age of comics, which was highlighted by patriotism, optimism and light-hearted storylines. The industry didn’t see a resurgence until the Silver Age, marked by Stan Lee’s rise in the Marvel empire and the creation of the “Batman” television show in the mid-1960s.

****

Fans hover around the creators sitting in Artist Alley at the Big Apple Con, where former Marvel writer and editor Danny Fingeroth stands behind a rectangular folding table. Posters advertising his book, Superman on the Couch: What Superheroes Really Tell Us About Ourselves and Our Society, hang on the cream-colored wall above his head. His friend and fellow creator, Jim Salicrup, has inked a sign in bright green print that reads: “It’s true, Danny Fingeroth is here!”

Regardless of the vigilante justice many superheroes inflict on villains, Fingeroth says they have continued to thrive in comic books, the big screen, in television and even in theme parks. The image of the superhero, he says, gives us “warm and fuzzy feelings.” Even though superheroes have infiltrated movie theaters and television programs, it is the comic book fan that keeps Superman and his counterparts alive on the medium’s inky pages. Non-comic book fans, Fingeroth says, are generally enthralled by the benevolent side of the characters they see in films and on the small screen.

Superheroes, like Batman and Spiderman, are flawed but still use their powers wisely and fairly. “To the casual viewer of superhero movies, the simple true-blue hero who fights for right is appealing,” he explains.

But actual comic books — inked booklets filled with cartoonish characters and floating quote bubbles — aren’t for everyone. “Comics fans, by definition, like comics,” Fingeroth says. “There are highly intelligent people who, literally, cannot make sense of a comic book. Not everyone’s brain is wired to coordinate words and images the way you have to be able to in order to read a comic book…For those who are able to process comics, there’s a magic to them that connects to the brain in a more intimate way than other media.”

Fingeroth runs a hand over his head of cropped, brown curls. His tee-shirt advertises Superman on the Couch — the book’s cover printed on the white cotton. The image of a Lycra-clad superhero reclining in his psychiatrist’s office is only partially obscured by the unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt Fingeroth wears over dark slacks. Fans stop by to flip through the book or chat with Fingeroth about his Write Now! magazine, which offers tips to hopeful artists and writers.

Even though superhero movies, including the upcoming “X-Men: The Last Stand” and “Superman Returns,” are the industry’s biggest money makers, Fingeroth says it’s a myth that hardcopy comics are the less important medium.

“Superhero comic books are big business. Movies and TV are bigger,” he says. He emphasizes, however, that comic fans not only connect with the characters but with the writers and artists who bring these superheroes to life through colorful imagery and dialogue. “Comics feel like a ‘mom ‘n pop’ business, even though it is far from that….Your odds of meeting Steven Spielberg are pretty slim. Your odds of meeting the top editors at Marvel and DC are relatively good, though it may be just a quick handshake and autograph.”

Fingeroth sits down, crosses his arms across his chest and surveys the crowded convention hall floor. “Many superhero fans feel they are just a lucky break away from writing or drawing the comic themselves,” he says.

Lequidre, with the leather-clad Valadez trailing behind him, bounds toward the table and jubilantly extends a hand. “Mr. Fingeroth,” he exclaims. “Can I take a photo with you to promote my Captain Marvel book?”

Fingeroth stands to return the greeting and smiles. “Sure,” he says, reaching for the most recent edition of Write Now!, which features a close-up cartoon portrait of Spiderwoman on the cover.

Lequidre hands his digital camera to Valadez and rips open the front of his black jumpsuit to fully reveal the yellow lightning bolt in the center of his red Captain Marvel shirt. Fingeroth holds up the magazine, and the men shake hands as Valadez raises the camera to her face. “One, two, three,” she says and snaps a photo.

“It’s for my website,” Lequidre says. “How about one more?”

© Copyright Marcie A. Young 2006

Where Wonder Woman reigns

Part II: Women in Comics

By Marcie Young


NEW YORK CITY - A tight black corset hugs Andrea Grant’s upper body, her breasts protruding beneath the rubbery material. Usually she pairs this top with equally tight, black rubber pants, leather gloves that reach her elbows and knee-high boots studded with metal buckles. But today Grant has traded in the pliable leggings for a knee-length, black skirt.

“I just couldn’t stand in those pants all day,” she says with a smile, motioning to the crowd flooding the convention hall floor at the Jacob Javits Center on Manhattan’s west side. “It’s way too hot.”


Grant puts her gloved hands on her svelte hips and surveys the masses. Thousands of devoted comic fans have flocked to the New York Comic Con — an annual tradeshow featuring superhero legends, artists and vendors — and Grant is hoping to attract attention for her own comic book creation, Minx. Other than the launch party she threw at Soho 323, a chic downtown club, a few days earlier, this is Minx’s big debut.



The characters are fashioned after Grant and her friends, mythology is fused with her Native American heritage and the storyline is laced with pop-culture and romance, as well as dramatic fight scenes.


“I don’t know how the guys are going to react, but I think it’s going to be something girls are going to like,” she says of the book, which is drawn by two burgeoning female artists. By infusing the story with emotional relationships, to which women tend to gravitate, and a sexy protagonist that many men find alluring, Grant is trying to appeal to the greatest number of fans possible.


Grant realizes marketing herself and her comic in an industry dominated by males isn’t going to be easy. In mainstream comics, women make up a disproportionate percentage of fans. Women are also considerably outnumbered as superheroes, and female names are less likely to appear on the glossy covers of comic books as writers, artists and editors.


Comic historian John Jackson Miller of F&W Publications estimates that, according to the most recent research, 6 percent of mainstream readers of the inky medium are women. Exact numbers are hard to come by, Miller explains, because most major titles are not sold directly through the publishers but at independent comic book stores. Large publishers, like DC and Marvel Comics, are also protective of their numbers, he says, and worry that divulging too much information could help the competition.


Organizations, such as the nonprofit Friends of Lulu and the monthly webzine Sequential Tart, have surfaced to increase the visibility of women in comics and to encourage female readership. Still, the largest comic book publishers tend to focus on their males readers since those fans are the most reliable consumers. “Publishers decided to circle the wagon around the strongest demographic,” Miller says. “And that [is] teenage males.”



****
The convention hall is flooded with men and women, children and adults. Quite a few wear Spiderman tee-shirts or X-men baseball caps; others don superhero costumes. One man dressed in a rubber Batman suit poses for photos, and a teenage girl mimics the Supergirl look in a Lycra bodysuit with a giant “S” emblazoned on the chest. Numerous women wander from booth to booth, but the majority of faces in the crowd are male.

Trina Robbins, author of The Great Women Superheroes and 40-year comic veteran, says this is common. “It’s a very male-dominated industry, and I think the men like it that way…If they didn’t want to keep to that way, it would have changed,” she says. Modern superhero comics, she says, aren’t written or drawn to appeal to women.


The teeny thong bikinis matched with spiked high-heels and aggressive fights scenes just don’t pull female readers, and in many cases, keep women away. “When you grow-up seeing that the only comics around are superheroes that boys like to read, then you don’t look any further,” Robbins says. “It doesn’t even occur to you that there might be a comic you might want to read.”


One exception Robbins notes is Manga — Japanese anime comic books, which are sold at Barnes and Noble and other large bookstores around the country. “You can’t talk about comics today without talking about Manga,” she says. “Young girls who are reading comics are reading [Manga]…Why even bother with the American comic industry when you can read these great comics with girl heroes who have nice figures…, who wear cute clothes… and who have real adventures?”


An estimated 60 percent of Manga readers are women, and, according to Japan Economic Monthly, Manga books and magazines pulled-in more than 504 billion yen (approximately $4.3 billion) in 2004.

Comic books stores, particularly smaller shops outside major cities like New York, are uninviting to women and may contribute to low female readership, Robbins says. Posters of scantily-clad women brandishing guns and enormous breasts often wallpaper shop entrances, which Robbins has previously said gives off a “porn store” vibe.


“Why would they go into this sleazy, little, horrid, dirty place is that is all boys and young men staring at comics?” she says. “It’s almost like a sign saying, ‘Chicks stay away. Boys club here. Don’t come in.’”

That’s not to say women aren’t shopping at comic book stores. Some fans, like 29-year-old Laura Ackerman Sack, insist that employees at the shop she frequents really pay attention to what their customers — even the female ones — are reading.


“I’ll walk into [the] store, buy my regular titles and schmooze with the guys,” Sack says of her weekly visits to the Times Square location of Midtown Comics. “If they have suggestions, I might pick [those] up, too.” Even though Sack is cognizant that men make up the majority, she says the community of comic book fans is pretty tight. “Maybe it helps that the readership is skewed greatly male,” she says, “but I walk into the store and the guys look up and say ‘Hi, Laura.’”



****
Grant’s comic doesn’t fall into the popular Manga genre, and at cons like this one, she says most fans and comic professionals initially think she’s just sexy female bait to attract the mostly male audience. A former model, 28-year-old Grant has worked on Minx for two years and says it’s frustrating when men focus on her 6-foot-1 frame, blond locks and taut body. “You just want to be taken seriously,” she sighs, “but then there’s the ones who want to date you or don’t respect you.”


Grant stands behind a table decorated with Minx paraphernalia, including the thin eight-page preview edition of the comic and postcards advertising the story. Behind her, attached to the concrete wall, hangs a plastic banner printed with the cover of the comic. The inky image of Minx, a cartoon version of Grant, tilts her head seductively upward and brandishes sharp knives while a menacing grey wolf crouches by her hip.


A man in his early 20s hovers a few feet from the table, clutching a plastic bag filled with goods he’s picked up from various artists and vendors at the convention. A black baseball cap covers his dark hair and the white embroidery of a skull stands out against the dark zip-up sweatshirt hanging from his upper body. He eyes the poster hanging above Grant, realizing the real-life version of the character is standing in front of him. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and approaches the table.


“That’s really cool,” he says, motioning toward one of the comics. “It definitely caught my eye. What kind of story is it?”


Grant hands him one of the thin booklets and flips it over, where a synopsis of the story appears next to a photograph of her dressed in the black Minx uniform. He scans the print, which explains how Minx inherited her superpowers after falling into a 7-year coma and awakens with the mission to fight a corrupt corporation that is running the world.

“All the characters exist in real life,” Grant says. “My friends are in there.”


He notices the small print on the front cover — $2.00 — and digs through his backpack for his wallet. “I think this sounds really interesting,” he says as Grant makes change for the five dollar bill he handed her. “Could you sign it for me?”

Grant scribbles her name inside the glossy booklet while her new fan signs up to receive email updates about Minx, both the comic book title and the character.


****
There’s no denying that women are minorities in comics, but don’t get Devin Grayson started on how it feels to be a female writer in the male-dominated industry. “Those ‘what does it feel like’ questions are hard to answer,” says Grayson, who has been writing for DC Comics since 1997.



“You work really hard to become part of the team, and I’ve achieved to the point where I’m a mainstream superhero comic creator. The minute someone asks me about being female, it takes me out of that very populated group and puts me in a very under-populated subclass. You feel alone all of a sudden, and you’re defending your right to be there.”


No one in the comic community seems to care about Grayson’s gender, she says, and editors and other creators focus on the quality of the characters she writes and the storylines she develops.


“I don’t walk around the halls of DC saying, ‘Hey, check me out,’” she says.


When she first started writing comics, Grayson accepted that, as a female addition to the DC world, she would have to answer the gender-related questions. But after two years, she started getting annoyed that the press and fans rarely asked about Batman and Catwoman, choosing instead to focus on her sex. “It really makes you look at where society is with these issues, and it really shatters the illusion that we’re past all those things when we’re clearly not.”

Grayson realizes there must be a reason why fans and the media continue to focus on women as something out-of-place in the comic world but emphasizes that what she brings to her characters has very little to do with her gender.


“I wouldn’t be as interested in writing some of these characters if there wasn’t a part of me that’s somewhat of a tomboy…I love getting in their heads and thinking what they think,” she says. “I get to go home and walk around as…Nightwing or Batman, and it’s wrenching to be, like, ‘And now let’s talk about how totally different you are than all of that.’ Am I really all that different from Batman as [a male creator]? I mean, we’re both pretty far from being Bruce Wayne.”

****
Even comics’ most famous superheroine, Wonder Woman, finds herself struggling to keep up with DC’s Superman and Batman and Marvel’s X-Men and Spiderman. Even though her physical power is only matched by that of Superman, Wonder Woman’s most recent storyline wasn’t nearly as strong, ranking at No. 38 on the January 2006 comic book bestseller list. Her title has even dropped to No. 77 as recently as June 2005. Phil Jimenez, who wrote and drew the iconic character from 2000 until 2003, says Wonder Woman’s low sales could be attributed to her gender and her less vigilante attitude.



“I think she’s low-selling because she’s a female character,” he says. “I think she’s a low-seller because, at her core, she’s a peace promoter….which is completely counter to action adventure comics.”

Wonder Woman, the DC-touted “Ambassador of Peace,” just doesn’t promise the same number of uncompromising fights scenes as her male counterparts, Jimenez says. Whereas Batman has no qualms about aggressively tracking the Joker, Wonder Woman doesn’t immediately think to respond with hostility. “At the end of the day, because comics are revenge fantasies for many, I think [characters like] Wolverine and the Punisher are very popular,” Jimenez says. “They allow for the release of aggression, and Wonder Woman is traditionally not that… She’s more like, ‘Before I slap you down, why don’t we have tea.’”

Her rankings shot up 41 spots on the bestseller list after the release of Wonder Woman No. 219, which featured the iconic figure of peace uncharacteristically killing a villain and battling Superman. Some fans also argue that Wonder Woman sales have increased because of the popularity of DC’s current Infinite Crisis storyline, where she, Superman and Batman conflict more than they agree.

****
Grant herself is almost Amazonian. She stands an inch taller than Wonder Woman and boasts a fit, athletic body. She, too, has struggled with finding balance between dramatic fight scenes and compelling storylines filled with well-developed characters.


“It wouldn’t be my tendency to have a lot of action,” she says. Yet Grant recognizes the appeal of a strong, female protagonist wielding knives and has incorporated warrior training into Minx’s origin story. Grant even brings the weapons to conventions and will pose for photos while gripping the base of the thick blades.

Two middle-aged women eye Grant as she takes a picture with Minx artists, Celistella Rosario and Liza Biggers. The women approach her table, each picking up a copy of the comic book and examine the images of Grant on the front and back covers.


“So, this is something brand new?” one asks, after flipping through the panels of Minx chatting with friends in a bar and confronting her enemy on a New York rooftop. Grants extends a hand, introduces herself as the creator and explains the story to the women. They nod in approval, each purchasing a copy of the thin booklet. They thank Grant, wish her good luck and wander to the next table.



A man with a protruding gut and thinning brown hair struts toward Grant’s booth and thrusts a camera toward her. “Can I take a picture of you?” he asks without acknowledging the comic books sprawled across the table.

“Sure,” she says, picking up one of the Minx booklets. Grant holds it up to her chest, partially covering the cleavage. The man snaps a photo, mutters a quick “thanks” and scurries across the conventional hall floor to a woman with giant breasts stuffed into a red and black corset.


Grant places the Minx comic book back on the table and says, “What I’m trying to do is make a statement about the challenges women face.”



The challenges are perpetual for many women creating comics, reading comics or starring in comics. Newcomer Grant continually finds herself trying to balance storylines that are appealing to both men and women, as well as how to sell her image without selling out.


Grayson, after more than eight years in the industry, still struggles with being recognized as a mainstream superhero creator and not just another chick writing comics.


Even Wonder Woman, the most recognizable female in comics, labors just to keep up with her male counterparts in the rankings and in the colorful panels.

“It must be important…because it’s not being dropped,” Grayson says. “There’s something society needs to know about [women in comics] that they can’t seem to let go of.”



© Copyright Marcie A. Young 2006

Comics can be so gay

Part III: Comics and the Gay Community

By Marcie Young

NEW YORK CITY - A teenage boy sits on a cozy couch in the sun-drenched living room of his family’s suburban home. His father leans forward and fidgets in his seat across the room, while his brother slumps into the couch, his arms crossed in anger. His mother exhales deeply before speaking.

“So, when you did you first know you were a…,” she stutters as her words trail off. She’s unable to unable to finish the thought. She doesn’t even want to say the word.

“A mutant,” the boy’s friend interjects, finishing her sentence.

The father responds to the trio of friends surrounding his son, “You have to understand, we thought Bobby was going to a school for the gifted.”

“Bobby is gifted,” a female friend says, coming to Bobby’s defense.

His father continues, “We know that. We just didn’t realize…”
But Bobby’s mother interrupts, “We still love you Bobby. It’s just…this mutant problem is a little...”

Before she can finish, the eldest of Bobby’s friends snaps, “What mutant problem?”

She looks at the man’s shaggy facial hair and intimidating eyes. “Complicated,” she finishes forcefully.

“Well, you should see what Bobby can do,” his female friend suggests.

Bobby reaches for his mother’s steaming cup of tea, places one finger on the hot ceramic and turns the boiling liquid into a solid block of caffeinated ice. Shock crosses her face and her mouth falls open in awe.

Bobby’s brother uncrosses his arms, and without a word, leaps from the couch and bounds up the stairs. Bobby frowns at his brother’s visible hostility.

“This is all my fault,” his mother laments. Her son is different — an outcast who will certainly be persecuted by society. Bobby is a mutant.

****
To many gay comic book fans, this scene from the 2003 blockbuster hit, “X-Men 2,” represents more than just a human mutant telling his family he can freeze things. Bobby Drake, or Iceman, is admitting to his parents that he’s different and that he’s been harboring a secret too long.

This is the day Bobby Drake came out.

In the comic book world, where the typical adult male fan is often stereotyped as a socially-awkward, heterosexual geek, a thriving community of gay fans may seem a bit uncommon. A visit to the Gay League website, a forum dedicated to homosexuality in comics, proves otherwise. More than 1,000 mostly male fans have signed-on as members to discuss gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered issues in the industry.

Gay fans and professionals say Marvel’s X-Men symbolize homosexuality and boast numerous gay-friendly metaphors that are woven into the colorful panels. Andy Mangels, former editor of Gay Comics and former writer for Marvel and DC Comics, says the X-Men, as mutants, are forced to mask their true identities to avoid persecution. Mangels, 39, says he knew he was gay since childhood and identified with the mutant outcasts struggling to fit in.

“Growing up reading comic books, there were people just like me who were hiding something about themselves from everyone around them, even those they loved,” he says. “It’s that element of ‘I’m hiding something that’s really wonderful, but it sets me apart from what everybody thinks is normal.’”

The X-Men aren’t the only comic book superheroes gay fans identify with, however, Mangels says. The colorful medium also allows gay men to admire campy female heroines, appreciate healthy male relationships and gawk at taut, muscular bodies enveloped in tight Lycra costumes.

****
A yellow cab stops in front of the Jacob Javits Center, where the New York Comic Con — a tradeshow featuring superhero legends, comic book artists and devoted fans — is taking place. Inside the vehicle, Batman pulls thick, black gloves off his arms and searches for a twenty dollar bill. He finds the money folded over the credit cards he had hidden in a pouch tucked behind his bat-encrusted belt and hands it to the taxi driver.

“Thank you,” Batman mutters in a deep voice as he opens the passenger door. The rubber suit — with faux muscles lining his chest, abdominals, legs and arms — literally covers his 6-foot-5 frame from head to toe. Only his square jaw peeks out from beneath the black, rubber cowl covering his head and neck. The pale skin around his eyes has been lathered with a thick, black make-up and seems to blend with the dark mask.

The secret identity of the man in the batsuit isn’t Bruce Wayne of fictional Gotham City, but native New Yorker and local Gay League member, Ray DeForest.

DeForest has been reading comics since he was 5 years old and has always admired the ethical and iconic superheroes. During childhood vacations to the New Jersey shore DeForest would imagine Aquaman, his favorite superhero, frolicking under the salty waves and trying to save the Seven Seas from harm.

As a swimmer, DeForest identified with Aquaman but also admired the rippling muscles that covered the fictional character’s frame. Even before DeForest consciously admitted his sexuality to himself, he would look at Aquaman’s strapping body with approval.

“I just thought he was hot. A blond, buff, single guy living underwater,” DeForest laughs of his adolescent attraction. “He was just hot and sexy. I thought they all were [attractive], but I really thought he was.”

Superheroes also helped DeForest, now 47, accept his own burgeoning sexuality during his teen years. “Watching male superheroes with other male superheroes having such a close-knit bond was something you hoped to have in your life,” he says of the beefy and extremely masculine men he saw in his Superman and Justice League of America Comics.

****
Although comic books have introduced gay metaphors and have often provided an outlet for budding sexuality, openly gay superheroes appeared only in underground and independent comics until the 1990s. Gay Comics, which Mangles edited from 1991 to 1998, addressed homosexuality but generally didn’t reach mainstream comic fans.

A slew of other superheroes hinted at homosexuality, but none openly admitted to being gay until March 1992 when Marvel “outed” Northstar, one of its Canadian characters.

In Alpha Flight No. 106, Northstar battles the angry Major Mapleleaf, whose gay son died of AIDS.

Frustrated his son’s death went unnoticed by the public, Mapleleaf sets out to destroy Northstar’s newly-adopted, HIV-positive infant daughter. As the duo tumbles from rooftops, slinging hard punches, Northstar reprimands his opponent.

“Do not presume to lecture me on the hardships homosexuals must bear. No one knows them better than I,” the brawny Northstar booms as he swings a giant fist. “For while I am not inclined to discuss my sexuality with people for whom it is none of their business — I AM GAY.”

Mangels says this particular plot, although an important first step, was a likely gimmick to get a gay superhero into mainstream comics. “The Alpha Flight story was a major stepping point in the same way that ‘Philadelphia’ was a major stepping point for film,” he says.

Mangles also notes that the first mainstream gay superheroes, including Northstar, were typically written by straight men for straight men. “People who were gay and reading it were going, ‘Ugh,’” he explains. “But it’s going to mean something to [straight] comic readers, and it’s going to have an effect. From that perspective, I really have to say hurrah to [the writers]. I don’t regret those stories one iota for what they were trying to accomplish.”

Gay superheroes, although still a minority, now appear more regularly in the colorful panels of mainstream comic books. Wildstorm’s Apollo and Midnighter not only fight for justice but are married and have adopted a daughter, and DC’s Green Lantern hired a gay intern, who was brutally attacked by angry homophobes in 2002. Now, the Gay League website lists nearly 60 openly gay male characters in mainstream comics.

****
Across the crowded conventional hall, 41-year-old Tom Savini digs through a box labeled “DC 50s thru 70s,” hoping to find a comic featuring a brief appearance by Zatanna, a wizard superheroine who often teams up with members of the Justice League of America.

“I’m going to geek out for a second,” he says reaching into his pocket. He pulls a 3-by-5-inch index card from his wallet and glances at the comic book shopping list he prepared especially for this convention.

Savini turns back to the box and within seconds produces a faded Detective Comics booklet. A 12-cent bubble floats in the upper corner, announcing the original selling price, and a teasing headline scrawled across the cover declares, “Batman’s Life Hanging by a Thread!”

“I’m not a big Batman fan,” Savini says, carefully unwrapping the clear cellophane enveloping the 1966 comic book, “but Zatanna makes an appearance.” Savini gingerly flips through the fragile pages until he spots a drawing of the female magician. He smiles, delighted he has found one of the comics on his list, and slips it back into the plastic protector.

Savini is on a mission to find each comic book that features an appearance of the Legion’s many superheroes. When he gets home, he’ll add the inky booklet to the collection of 40,000 comics he’s been assembling since childhood.

Savini, also Gay League member, started reading comics when he was 7 years old and quickly fell in love with DC’s Justice League of America and Marvel’s Fantastic Four, among other superhero titles.

Twenty-two years before he came out, 8-year-old Savini would look at the muscular bodies of Superman and Invisible Kid and think there was something fascinating about the strong abdominals and pectorals. “It was just, ‘Mmmm. There’s something interesting there,” he says.

Later, when he was in his teens, Savini would admire the anatomy of these perfect men in tights and appreciate the sexiness of the artwork. “It was more like looking at spandex or looking at nude bodies just colored,” he says. “The [costumes] were form-fitting and [the superheroes were] drawn to be visually enticing.”

But Savini wasn’t ready to admit his sexuality to himself or to his family and depended on the safe environment comic books created. The cartoon images were hardly pornographic but were still erotic, and the closeness of the characters contributed to his fantasies.

His favorite male characters, including the youthfully handsome Invisible Kid, often appeared shirtless, and Savini enjoyed gazing at their semi-nude bodies.

“It both was emotionally safer and socially safer to look at something like that,” Savini says. “If you’re a teenager and not even facing the thought that you might be gay, going in and buying a Playgirl magazine [is] saying pretty strongly, ‘I’m putting some effort into looking at the naked male body.’”

Depending on the colorful booklets was just another way Savini says he denied his sexuality, but at the time, it helped him deal with these new erotic feelings. “You can trick yourself or fool yourself…and perpetuate denial by saying ‘I’m just reading a comic book,’” he says. “That’s easier for the psyche to process, but it’s still denial.”

****
While Savini admires Invisible Kid and DeForest looks to Aquaman, some gay fans gawk at a female superhero for inspiration. To them, Wonder Woman isn’t just the Princess of Peace, but the Queen of Camp.

Diana, the 6-foot-tall Amazon princess, embodies everything that many gay men look for in a female superhero. Phil Jimenez, a DC creator who wrote and drew Wonder Woman from 2000 until 2003, says her commitment to love and peace combined with her beauty and strength makes her an iconic camp figure. The flamboyant star-spangled panties and corset, golden crown and indestructible silver bracelets only add to her appeal.

Of course, most gay fans are looking to the image Lynda Carter immortalized in the 1970s television series “Wonder Woman” rather than the character in the pulpy comic books, says Jimenez, an openly gay creator. “Most of my gay friends who dig Wonder Woman dig her…because of their memories from the TV show,” he says. “There’s a certain fun and fabulousness [about her]. I hate using that word, but it’s really true, and I think gay men are really into that.”

Although the television show was launched more than 30 years after Diana’s debut in All Star Comics No. 8, Jimenez says the beautiful, wise, physically strong and independent superheroine portrayed by Carter is strikingly similar to the original Wonder Woman created by William Moulton Marston in the early 1940s. “It was so on target, and you just don’t get that in comic adaptations anymore,” Jimenez says of the program. “They so nailed her and the spirit of the character in every sense.”

Candis Cayne, a transgendered performer in New York City, didn’t read comics growing up but has been perfecting the Wonder Woman spin since she was 3 years old. The glamorous Amazon, or “glamazon,” Cayne saw on TV immediately became her favorite childhood superhero. Now, Cayne stands just shy of 5-feet-11-inches but towers well over 6-feet in heels. “As an adult, I identify with her because, ya know, I’m kind of Wonder Womany,” she says. “I am larger-than-life and glamazon myself.”

On Saturday nights at the Viceroy bar in Chelsea, Cayne ends her hour-long cabaret act to the “Wonder Woman” theme song. As the music blares throughout the narrow bar, Cayne mimics the spin Carter made famous in 1976. Gay men clap jubilantly and sing along. “In your satin tights, fighting for your rights and the old red, white and bluuuueeee,” they shout as Cayne runs out of the bar and into the middle of Eighth Avenue, where she continues to revolve with her arms straight out.

“People actually ask for it,” she laughs. “It’s really just me running down the street, but there’s something about me doing it…that people really [love].”

****
A thick circle of comic fans surround DeForest on the convention hall floor, drawn to the intricate Batman costume. Most admirers request to take a photo or touch the rubber cape.

Others just gawk. “God. He looks just like Batman,” one man says to wife. His eyes linger on the black rubber chest, and he lowers his voice, “Damn. It even has batnipples!”

The batsuit, fashioned after George Clooney’s superhero uniform in the movie “Batman & Robin,” took DeForest a full year and about $2,500 to create. With help from a friend who worked on the 1997 flick, DeForest built the suit to mimic every muscle, every curve and every indent on the original rubber and Lycra outfit — right down to the nipples that protrude from the caped crusader’s chest.

His partner made a Robin costume from the same film for an equivalent cost. When the couple dressed-up as Batman and Robin for Halloween in 2005, they made nearly $10,000 winning costume contests all over Manhattan. DeForest and his partner also plan on throwing a superhero-themed wedding when they get married this August.

Although their rendition of Batman and Robin is certainly gay, the comic world has debated the sexual orientation of the original characters since Fredric Wertham launched his attack on comic books in the 1950s. In his book, Seduction of the Innocent, Wertham accused Batman and Robin of being lovers and instigated a U.S. Congressional investigation into the connection between juvenile delinquency and comics.

Then, in the 1960s, Batman and Robin were revived in a campy TV series. Their suspiciously close relationship combined with flamboyant costumes launched a frenzy of speculation about their sexualities.

Savini, however, doubts the comic version of Batman even thinks about sex. “I can’t believe I’m thinking about this,” he says with a smile. “[Batman] is more like a monk. It just wouldn’t happen that he would have sex with anyone…If he is gay, he’s extremely repressed.”

Still, DeForest predicted that gay men would respond in awe to his statuesque form enveloped in black rubber and Lycra. “I expected gay guys to go, ‘Wow, wow, wow,” he says. Some men smile and check out the rippling abdominals and section below the bat-encrusted belt buckle, but it’s the female fans that surprised DeForest the most.

“Women are pigs,” he chuckles. “They grab my ass. They grab my [crotch].” During Halloween weekend, one woman howled in laughter as she reached under the batcape and dug her fingers into the rubber covering DeForest’s bottom. “She said, ‘That will make you smile,’” he recalls. “And I was like, ‘Uh, no, but it will make me sick.’”

DeForest roams the convention hall floor, which is crammed to capacity with thousands of fans. Some people shout out to him, “Hi, Batman!” Others whisper as he weaves through the crowd.

As DeForest poses for a photo with a chubby kid wearing a bright yellow Batman tee-shirt, a short man with a protruding gut whispers to his friend, “The whole nipple thing is so gay.”

If he only knew.

© Copyright Marcie A. Young 2006

ART CREDITS:

Uncanny X-Men (2002), "Fall Down Go Boom." Written by Chuck Austen. Art by Sean PhillipsColor by Hi-Fi DesignLetters by Comicraft's Saida!

Alpha Flight #106, by Mark Pacella.

All Marvel characters and the distinctive likeness(es) thereof are Trademarks & Copyright © Marvel Comics. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

From Batman #84, June 1954, "Ten Nights of Fear!" page 24, panel 1. Pencils by Sheldon.

All DC Comics characters and the distinctive likeness(es) thereof are Trademarks & Copyright © 1954 DC Comics, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.