That said, there’s one trope perpetrated by well-meaning artists that has bothered me since the first time I saw it. It seems like it has become a rite-of-passage, and every incarnation spreads across the internet like wildfire. I’m talking about artist renditions of male superheroes in a heroine’s costume.
Doing a quick Google search, I found nearly 20 examples of this satire. Just a few can be seen highlighted here on Jezebel, here on Art Threat, here on BoingBoing, and rummaged together in a huge post here on Comic Book Resources. That was within a five-minute search. In the massive abyss of such sites as Tumblr, there’s no telling how many renditions I would be able to find.
After the initial humor, this type of comparison turns my stomach. These artist interpretations are at best a lapse of judgement, and at worst offensive. When we get to the heart of the issue, it comes down to privilege. Whether you’re laughing or cringing at them, the artists and supporters of these images are perpetuating a false standard of gender stereotyping.
When you approach a piece of artwork like this, it could be construed in two ways — either as something humorous and disturbing, or as something empowering. A male in a traditionally female costume and pose could be empowering and reclamatory for those who stretch gender stereotypes.
But the majority of these memes aren’t seeking to fight heterosexism in comics. They’re seeking scandalous ways to shock people into seeing their point, without thinking of unintended consequences. They’re meant to be laughed at, to be viewed as ridiculous in an attempt to prove that they’re equally ridiculous for the female heroines to dress and pose the same way.
This vein of artwork ultimately harms the cause by derailing the conversation. Though it may be born of legitimate frustration at sexism in the industry, It’s aiming low, at a short-term solution of reeling in standards on female costumes and poses. These portrayals hurt the very demographic that they’re trying to protect. It doesn’t address the real issue surrounding super heroines and women in comics in general: a lack of diversity.
Most superhero comics are done within the male gaze — more specifically, the white, heterosexual, cisgender male gaze. Characters are mostly white, and unless otherwise specified, assumed to be straight and cisgender. The males are idealized, the women are sexualized. This is the case even when the super heroines are the main character.
A great example of this is the New 52 reboot of Catwoman — the first two pages in the reboot consist of various panels highlighting her breasts and butt before we finally see her face in an upside-down, half-dressed action shot of her vaulting out of a building. The rest of the series continues on in the vein of boob and butt shots, with pelvic-breaking and back-twisting splits and twists that even a contortionist couldn’t muster.
The problem lies in the fact that super heroines are all portrayed in these same poses and have the same body-type. Selina may not be the shyest with her sexuality, or even a super heroine in the traditional sense, but there are certainly heroines that personify the role of a superhero as a harbinger of justice and representation of raw muscle.
What would bring such big-hitters in the comic industry up to viewer standards might be to start basing the body types of their heroines based on their background and strengths. One big excuse in this regard is that superheroines would by necessity be fit, and therefore look somewhat the same. In actuality, if we take a look at Howard Schatz photo series on female athletes from Sport Illustrated in 2002, we see that, even within these prime examples of female fitness, there’s a wide variety of body types.
Taking it to another level, being a superheroine doesn’t mean you have to be thin or muscle-bound either. If we take a look at some of the body types represented in the athlete photo series, we see that there are also some plus-size women among them. We rarely if ever see plus-size women in superhero comics — and on top of that, any plus-size women that are shown don’t follow the same standards of sexualizing.
We also see one-dimensionality in regards to how super heroines are dressed. Granted, super heroes are generally given the short end of the stick in regards to costume, with brightly-colored, form-fitting spandex abounds. But such superheros as Superman, Batman, Captain America and Spiderman are completely covered. On the other end, such heroines as Wonder Women, Emma Frost and Starfire are often in glorified bathing suits. Add in a little added bonus of such figures as Rogue from X-Men and Catwoman having continual zipper issues, and we see a pretty one-dimensional picture.
In such cases as Catwoman, this type of provocative costuming may make more sense. But in a lot of these comics, it’s not the women’s personalities and back stories that are dictating these. It’s a set of industry standards catering to the male gaze.
This inequality shouldn’t be rectified by going in the opposite direction. Rather than just transferring the male gaze towards the male superheros, artists could better spend their time creating examples of what a well-rounded cast of female characters would look like. Many of these artists are well-meaning individuals looking for a way to express their frustration with the industry. There are simply better ways to do it.