Review | Supergirl #1

In all the hubbub over Starfire's bazongas and Catwoman's climax, a more subtle form of comics sexism was overlooked this week. First, the setup. In a dubious bit of physics, a comet from Krypton smashes into Kansas, and bores through the earth before hatching in Siberia. Ho, Supergirl is born!

Sure, she sports a mere B-cup, but her costume is tailored to show that all roads lead to her hot alien groin. Red panties, which hardly reach her hips, perfect for the arctic clime, sport a gold belt buckle pointing your eye downward; thigh bands arrow upward to the sweet spot. But the problem here goes beyond fetishism.

The sun rises, literally empowering Supergirl. Blammo, she is able to slap around some hulking Russian military mechs. Sock! She is handling the situation. She rips apart the armor. "Nnnyaaah!!!" But a robotic cannon is then put to her head! How ever will she get out of this pickle? Oh, right, the most powerful man on the planet shows up. Duh dah daa. It's Superman, whose mere godly presence saves the day in the not-so-hanging cliffhanger.

The message DC is sending: Supergirl can't fend for herself. Both as a character and as a title. How many New 52 issues have we seen with Supes and Bats? The two Underoos-movers pop up in just about every freakin' book. It displays a supreme lack of confidence in both the B-list characters and the comic readers, who are assumed to only get excited when the big, big boys cameo. Look, I don't need Batman in Swamp Thing and Justice League Dark. I bought those books to not see Batman. He has a dozen books of his own. It's bad enough Supergirl has a minimal plot—girl crashes, fights some robots and Superman shows up—but when will DC let creators develop these characters on their own, outside of the shadow of the two biggest dic… er, capes?

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Laura Baginski, Editor (@TimeOutChicago)