I remember when I used to play the Overpower card game with my friends, I could never wield "Alien Physique" without comment. "Gah-- get that thing out of my face! Not the Martian Package! Can't he shapeshift that banana hammock into something decent?"
Apparently, this has crossed the minds of others, such as the critics at Quarter Bin, a (Heaven help them) Fortune City fan site. As best as I can tell, the page hasn't been updated in nearly a decade, so I should probably link to the article Opinion 44: The Burden of the Well-Dressed Hero before the Mayan apocalypse. The piece discusses all sorts of super-fashion faux pas, but I'll just quote the section relevant to J'Onn J'Onzz, in case some of you remain holdouts to the new Era of Pants heralded by Brightest Day, which for me totally makes up for all that other unpleasantness...
Speedos and Thongs
[The Martian Manhunter came closest to earning DC's Conspicuous Exhibitionism award of the fifties.] For some heroes, less serves as more in the costume department. The Speedo-style trunk, while useful and stylish for Olympic swimmers, unfortunately lacks the kind of protective aspect one might associate with something like a fireman's ensemble. A superhero so minimally outfitted might discover that one extended reach could leave a hero departing from his rated-G format comic to an R- or X-rated piece.
Female superheroes have a similar garment in the form of the thong, a garment much easier to draw than, say, a hoop skirt (in fact, a single brush stroke can depict it completely, from the right angles). I have previously derided the thong as a piece of costuming that imposes an unnecessary burden of exhibitionism on superheroines who, theoretically, exist to protect the balance of mankind from grave menaces to their well-being. Barring such prudish criticisms, however, let us consider the prospect of fighting crime while thusly attired.
To bring home the utter stupidity of fighting evil in such a garment, let us employ a simple household analogy. Imagine, if you will, going to whatever merchant most inspires you to purchase the skimpiest of undergarments. Now, clad in your purchases, enter your kitchen and perform a task that goes on in millions of households without incident. Fry some chicken. How long would you endure the spattering of hot grease on tender pieces of exposed skin left, by a faithless garment, unprotected? To put this in a superheroic context, think of fighting the Incredible Sparking Flame Monster while attired in the four-color equivalent of this skimpy lingerie. Though not stylish, a humble barbecue apron starts looking much better as the garment of choice.
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