Which superhero are you?
There’s a test here which takes about a minute, and includes some pretty hilarious questions, like, ‘do you wear a push-up bra?‘ to which of course I said no — I’m more the minimiser type, don’t like the puppies getting too rowdy.
Anyhoo, back to the point: do the test, you might be surprised!
I’m the Incredible Hulk.
As in, more than 90% compatible with Bruce Banner’s alter ego. I was surprised and disappointed not to be Batman (only 75%) my lifelong favourite superhero because he’s not super.
I was going to dismiss it without a second thought, but then my brain — stupid brain! — latched on, desperate to exercise the little grey cells on something that doesn’t involve Donald Trump.
I have to say, the mental excursion has been very interesting.
Backstory for newbs.
Six years before I was born a comic series began that was different from the others. Superman born in ’38; Wonder Woman ’39, Batman ’40, Captain America ’41 — all the WWII era superheroes were stylised representations of American ego at a time when the US was basking in the self-anointed aura of the nation that ‘won’ after unleashing hell at Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
Twenty years later, the US were spiraling towards Vietnam, and from that growing sense of dread was born a monster with superhero strength and subhuman sensibilities. The Hulk was originally a villain, the symbol of uncontrollable destructive power. It would be years before he became anything other than a pure threat.
The Hulk’s motive force is unmeasured destructiveness triggered by immeasurable anger. When he’s threatened, confused, irritated, scared, troubled or uncertain, he gets angry.
When the threat (etc) is removed he crumples back to the apologetic, remorseful, anxious form of Dr Bruce Banner, not at all aware of the damage he’s done until it’s revealed to him.
I can relate to this.
I can’t throw a schoolbus over the horizon but I can (and have) walked through a locked door without noticing it, just because I’m angry enough. Surprise injuries appear on my body which, when I think back, should’ve hurt like bejesus at the time but which didn’t even register.
I’ve never thought of my anger as anything but a liability in my personal life, but in my public role it’s armor.
You just have to remember to leave your armor at work; that’s the problem. When I’m confused, irritated, scared, troubled or uncertain, I get angry at home as well. Never raging-angry, not even furious-angry, just annoyed-angry. It’s automatic, and for that reason it’s difficult to guard against.
I don’t know, moment to moment, if something will trigger a domestic hulk-out so I can’t prepare against it, and when I’m in it there’s not a lot I can do except let it out.
As a result I’m often left like Dr Banner: apologetic, remorseful, anxious. It would be good if someone invented a sticker I could wear on my forehead that glowed green when I’m in a triggering mood. I never go out looking for a quarrel because I don’t enjoy them, but I’m always ready for them when they come.
Maybe if they saw my head blinking green, people would know to leave me alone.
But we don’t live in that world, and I’m not married to a She-Hulk who can respond in kind. I’ll be interested to hear what kind of superhero she is, actually.
I’m not sure of the list of available options, but I doubt the original love interest of Dr Bruce Banner (Betty Ross) is on the list, even though in later iterations she comes back as the Red She-Hulk. My wife doesn’t look like a steroidal bodybuilder dipped in tomato sauce, so if I had to guess from the available female superheroes then I’d have to go with the most famous brunette of them all, Wonder Woman.
The Lynda Carter version, of course.
I would’ve gone with Power Girl too, but that outfit, you know, just so exploitative … !