Here baristas are respected like wine connoisseurs. Recycling is more serious than knowing the difference between plastic and glass. A tattoo can mean everything or nothing at all. Home owning is hip. Home renovation is even hipper. Anything bought second hand is better than new. And homeless people symbolize the city just as much as all of the above do.
It’s sad to admit, but at first I was startled. Not since my childhood in New York City had I been around so many homeless people. Surely they would try to take something from me, I thought. And so, I always had an eye out. I planned my walks home around streetlights and late night crowds. I pretended to be on the phone. I did the pitiful money search pat or the apologetic shrug and headshake at the mere glimpse of eye contact. But then, an even sadder thing to admit, I simply forgot about them. They began to go by unnoticed and ignoring their pleads had become as routine as walking to Stumptown on my way to work. So naturally the moment I heard of Zetaman I was intrigued. Zetaman is a self-proclaimed Superhero who traveled the streets of Portland to help the homeless.
I wanted to know who this man was. I wanted to know how he managed the strength to help day after day. I wanted to know where he hung. What he was into. Did his family know? Just how seriously did he take the title Superhero? And perhaps above all, I wanted to know how this man had built up the courage to actually wear a Superhero outfit, complete with a cape and goggles. Was it made out of spandex? Did he have several? Did he have an arch nemesis and a calling symbol? My questions were ready. I found his contact information and quickly sent out an email hoping for a meeting. Zetaman had an email address. How modern.
A couple hours passed and no response. Clearly I was getting too used to the immediacy of offices email responses. I waited longer. With my impatience I began to delve deeper into my background research. Zetaman is a 30-year-old man who lives in Portland. He maintains his daytime job and travels through the streets at night to hand out blankets, at times even giving the shoes off of his own feet. He certainly did not seem like one to let messages go unreturned. After a couple of silent months passed I begin to think differently. Soon I stumbled upon an article that spoke of his desire to remain private. His work, Zetaman said, was done out of goodwill and so he’d like to avoid any media attention that might come his way. Well then what about the cape? The goggles? And why go out of your way to proclaim yourself a Superhero? Who, above the age of seven, would say and wear the things this man does and not want any attention in return?
And then I remembered where I am. I’m in Portland. A city whose motto is to stay weird and this certainly fits that bill.
I decided to take a different approach. I would seek out the people he has helped, rather than him directly. I would go looking for the Superhero. On my first outing I walked directly up to a shelter and began asking if anyone had met this mysterious man in a cape. Within minutes Bill, who worked at the center, came outside. Helpful, I thought. A minute into our conversation I realized if I didn’t make some immediate reference to the fact that I have a bank account, an apartment and am not currently on any prescribed medications, I would soon be shuffled into the building behind him and placed away somewhere amongst the masses. I left Bill. More people, more places. I kept explaining. Yet still, no one seemed to know anything about this Zetaman. It seems I was either on the wrong side of town, in the wrong groups, asking the wrong questions or just as crazy as Bill had pinned me to be. I took a step away.
Maybe the allure of Zetaman is just as good as his actuality. After all, why did I feel the need to see, touch or question him senseless in order to believe in his existence? Couldn’t I find the little reserve of faith and imagination from my childhood? A little belief in the unbelievable. Or had I drained it all like an unsealed tub?
After sometime now, I’m happy to be left thinking that some things are meant to be weird, some things are meant to be secret and some things are meant to be believed in. And so I’ll let Portland remain, along with all its inhabitants, as it wishes to remain: unquestionably weird.
Geist’s breath fogs the winter air as he surveys the frozen Minneapolis skyline, searching for signs of trouble. His long duster flaps in the breeze as his eyes flick behind reflective sunglasses; a wide-brim hat and green iridescent mask shroud his identity from those who might wish him harm.
Should a villain attack, the Emerald Enforcer carries a small arsenal to defend himself: smoke grenades, pepper spray, a slingshot, and a pair of six-inch fighting sticks tucked into sturdy leather boots. Leather guards protect Geist’s arms; his signature weapon, an Argentinean cattle-snare called bolos, hangs from a belt-holster.
A mission awaits and time is of the essence, so Geist eases his solid frame, honed from martial arts training, into his trusty patrol vehicle—a salt-covered beige sedan. Unfamiliar with the transportation tangle of downtown, he pulls a MapQuest printout from his pocket, discovering his goal is but a short cruise down Washington Avenue.
Soon Geist faces his first obstacle: parking on the left side of a one-way street. “Usually one of my superpowers is parallel parking,” he chuckles as he eases his car into the spot, emerging victorious with a foot and a half between curb and tire. He feeds a gauntleted fistful of quarters into the parking meter, and then pops the trunk on the Geistmobile to retrieve his precious cargo. On the street, he encounters businesspeople on lunch break—some stare openly; others don’t even notice his garish attire. “It’s easier in winter,” Geist says with a laugh. “Winter in Minnesota, everybody’s dressed weird.”
Finally, his destination is in sight: People Serving People, a local homeless shelter. Geist strides boldly into the lobby—a cramped, noisy room where kids and adults mill about chatting—and heaves his stuffed paper bags onto the counter. “I have some groceries to donate,” he tells Dean, the blond-bearded security guard on duty, whose placid expression suggests superheroes pop in on a regular basis. “And I have an hour on the meter if there’s anything I can do to help out.”
Wendy Darst, the volunteer coordinator, looks taken aback but gladly puts the superhero to work. Soon the Jade Justice finds himself hip-deep in a supply closet, piling books into a red Radio Flyer wagon. He wheels it back to the lobby, entreating the children to select a text. But the kids seem more interested in peppering him with questions. “So are you a cowboy or something?” one boy asks.
Geist kneels down to reply with a camera-ready grin, “Maybe a super-secret, space-cowboy detective!”
Another kid, awed by the uniform, just stares silently. “Hi,” Geist says with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. “I’m a real-life superhero.”
The kid grabs Geist’s leather-clad mitt and grins back. “I’m four!”
Such is the life of Minnesota’s only superhero—a man in his mid-40s who sold off his comic book collection to fund a dream borne of those very pages. Unlike his fictional inspirations, he hasn’t yet found any villains to apprehend in Rochester, a sleepy city of 95,000 about 80 miles south of Minneapolis. But that doesn’t mean he’s wasting his time, he says. “When you put on this costume and you do something for someone, it’s like, ‘Wow, I am being a hero,’ and that is a great feeling.”
BY MOST OBSERVERS’ RECKONING, between 150 and 200 real-life superheroes, or “Reals” as some call themselves, operate in the United States, with another 50 or so donning the cowl internationally. These crusaders range in age from 15 to 50 and patrol cities from Indianapolis to Cambridgeshire, England. They create heroic identities with names like Black Arrow, Green Scorpion, and Mr. Silent, and wear bright Superman spandex or black ninja suits. Almost all share two traits in common: a love of comic books and a desire to improve their communities.
It’s rare to find more than a few superheroes operating in the same area, so as with all hobbies, a community has sprung up online. In February, a burly, black-and-green-clad New Jersey-based Real named Tothian started Heroes Network, a website he says functions “like the UN for the real-life superhero community.”
The foremost designer of real-life superhero costumes lives in New Brighton, Minnesota. His given name is Michael Brinatte, but he pro wrestles under the name Jack T. Ripper. At 6’2″, with bulldog shoulders, he looks more likely to suplex you than shake your hand. It’s hard to imagine him behind a sewing machine, carefully splicing together bits of shiny spandex, but when the 39-year-old father of three needed to give his wrestling persona a visual boost, that’s just where he found himself, drawing on his only formal tailoring education: seventh-grade home economics. He discovered he had a talent for it, and before long was sewing uniforms and masks for fellow wrestlers, learning techniques to make his work durable enough to withstand the rigors of hand-to-hand combat.
After he posted photos of his masks on the internet, he met his first real-life superhero: Entomo the Insect Man, a crimefighter and “masked detective” based in Naples, Italy. Entomo wanted Brinatte to make him a mask to incorporate into his black-and-olive uniform. A lifelong comic fan, Brinatte took the assignment seriously, and it showed in the stitching. When Entomo showed off his new mask to the community of Reals, Brinatte started getting more orders: a green-and-black bodysuit for Hardwire, a blue-and-white Z-emblazoned uniform for Zetaman. Eventually, Brinatte started a website, www.hero-gear.net, to formalize his business, and now spends 10 to 15 hours each week making superhero uniforms. “They have a good heart and believe in what they’re doing, and they’re a lot of fun to talk to,” Brinatte says.
His super friends are starting to get publicity. Last October, an organization called Superheroes Anonymous issued an invitation to any and all real-life superheroes: Come to Times Square to meet other Reals face-to-face and discuss the future of the movement. The community roiled with discussion of the invitation—was it a trap by an as-yet-unknown real-life super villain? In the end, only a dozen Reals attended, but the gathering attracted the notice of the New York Times and the BBC, which gave the budding league of justice worldwide ink.
“We’re basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good,” Geist says. “Once you get suited up, you’re a hero and you’ve got to act like one.”
SO YOU’VE DECIDED to become a real-life superhero. Like Wolverine, you’ve chosen a secret identity and a uniform. But unlike the X-Man, you don’t have retractable claws or a mutant healing factor. How do you make up the difference?
Most Reals use a combination of martial arts and weaponry. The Eye is a 49-year-old crimebuster from Mountain View, California, who wears a Green Hornet-inspired fedora and trench coat. Though he focuses mainly on detective work and crime-tip reporting, he prepares himself for hand-to-hand combat by studying kung fu and wielding an arsenal of light-based weapons designed to dazzle enemies.
“In movies, a ninja will have some powder or smoke to throw at you to distract,” he explains. “That’s essentially what I’m trying to do.”
All superheroes have origins, and The Eye is no exception. He grew up tinkering with electronic gadgetry, first with his dad, then in the employ of a Silicon Valley company (he’s reluctant to say which one). The Eye considers himself “on-duty” at all times, so when a co-worker started pimping fake Rolex watches to others in his office, the Paragon of Perception sprang into action. He went into work early, snuck into the watch-monger’s office to locate the stash of counterfeit merchandise, and then dropped a dime to Crimestoppers. Ultimately, police wouldn’t prosecute unless The Eye revealed his secret identity—a concession he was unwilling to make—but he nonetheless chalks it up as a victory. “We stopped him from doing this,” The Eye says. “He knows someone’s watching.”
For sheer investment in gadgetry, none top Superhero, an ex-Navy powerlifter from Clearwater, Florida. His patrol vehicle is a burgundy 1975 Corvette Stingray with a souped-up 425-horsepower engine. He wears a flight helmet installed with a police scanner and video camera, and carries an extendable Cobra tactical baton, a flash gun, sonic grenades, and a canister of bear mace. Topping off the one-man armory is an Arma 100 stun cannon, a 37mm nitrogen-powered projectile device. His ammo of choice? Sandwiches. “Nothing stops them in their tracks like peanut butter and jelly,” he explains in a video demonstration posted online.
Once you’ve honed your body and strapped on your utility belt, it’s time to decide how to focus your heroic efforts. Within the community of Reals, there’s a buffet of choices. Some choose mundane tasks—The Cleanser strolls around picking up trash, while Direction Man helps lost tourists find where they’re going. Most Reals also lend their personages to charities, donating to food banks or organizing clothing drives.
Other Reals scoff at the idea of being a glorified Salvation Army bell-ringer and instead go looking for action. “I fight evil,” says Tothian, the New Jersey crimefighter who founded Heroes Network. “I don’t think picking up garbage is superheroic.”
Master Legend, a chrome-suited 41-year-old from Winter Park, Florida, patrols the streets looking for crimes in progress, and claims his efforts have paid off. “I’ve dumped garbage cans over crackheads’ heads, I slam their heads against the wall, whatever it takes,” the Silver Slugger says with bravado. “They try to hit me first, and then it’s time for Steel Toe City.”
IN 1986, ALAN MOORE RELEASED his magnum opus, Watchmen, a 12-issue comic series whose conceit was built on a simple premise: What would it be like if superheroes existed in real life? Besides helping to usher in a new age of “mature” graphic novels, the series foreshadowed some of the complications facing real-life superheroes today.
For instance: How to balance crime fighting with family life? Zetaman, a goateed, black-and-blue-clad Real hailing from Portland, Oregon, got married seven years go, but only recently started his career as a costumed crusader. He says his wife’s reaction to his new hobby was lukewarm—she made him promise not to go out at night, and told him to focus on charity work instead of fisticuffs. “She thinks it’s a phase,” he says with a laugh.
The media can be even less charitable, as Captain Jackson, a gray-and-yellow-suited hero from Michigan, discovered in October 2005. That’s when a headline appeared in the Jackson Citizen Patriot that could’ve been penned by J. Jonah Jameson himself: “Crime Fighter Busted for Drunk Driving.” The article unmasked Captain Jackson as Thomas Frankini, a 49-year-old factory worker who’d been arrested for driving with a blood-alcohol level of 0.135 percent. The story was picked up by the Detroit Free Press and Fox News. Frankini was devastated. “My patrol days are over, I’m afraid,” he said.
Unlike in the comics, real-life Commissioner Gordons rarely express gratitude for superheroes’ help. One evening when Master Legend was on patrol, he heard a woman scream and ran to investigate. But when he located the damsel in distress, she thought he was attacking her and called the cops. “They wanted to know if I was some kind of insane man, a 41-year-old man running around in a costume,” he recounts. “Apparently, they had never heard of me.”
Bernard, a sharp-featured, 33-year-old police detective from suburban Philadelphia who asked that his last name be withheld, has become something of a rabbi to the online community of Reals. When he first stumbled upon the phenomenon, he thought, “These people are nuts.” But as he learned more, he saw how the costumed do-gooders could make a difference. “They’re definitely committed, and their heart is in the right place.”
Most Reals are harmless enough, but Bernard worries about the bloodlust displayed by a small segment of the community. A recent thread on Heroes Network debated whether it was appropriate for a Real to carry a shotgun in his patrol vehicle. These aggressive Reals don’t realize how difficult it is to apprehend criminals in the real world, Bernard says. “It’s not like drug dealers stand around with quarter ounces of cocaine, throwing them in the air and saying ‘Here’s drugs for sale,'” he says. “Let’s imagine that one of them does come across a drug dealer, gives them a roundhouse kick to the head, and finds a whole bag of pot in his pocket. Nobody’s going to celebrate that. If anything, now you’re going to have a huge fiasco. Let’s face it—the world is complicated. You don’t solve anything by punching somebody.”
Rumor has it that a Real named Nostrum recently lost an eye in the line of duty, and some wonder if it will take a fatality to jolt the community out of its four-color fantasy. Wall Creeper, a 19-year-old who fights crime in Colorado, even seems to welcome the possibility. “To die doing something so noble would be the best thing to happen,” he says.
JIM WAYNE KEPT HIS EYE OUT in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona—and the bald 40-year-old didn’t like what he saw. “Somewhere along the line we’ve stopped caring about each other and started caring about ourselves,” he says.
Two years ago, Wayne saw a commercial for Who Wants to Be a Superhero?—a reality show in which costumed contestants compete for the honor of starring in their own comic book—and something inside him clicked.
“Ever since I was a kid, if you asked any of my friends or family who they knew that should be a superhero, they’d probably say me,” he says.
Wayne dreamed up Citizen Prime, a persona patterned after his favorite comic book character, Captain America. “He, even more than Superman or Batman, epitomizes what a hero is: someone who stands up for their principles and goes out there to help people,” Wayne says. To bring his alter ego to life, Wayne spent $4,000 on custom-made armor—everything from a shiny chest plate to a bright yellow cape and a sloping steel helmet. “I made a commitment to make this and wear it and create this presence and see where that takes me,” he says.
Initially, it didn’t take him far. “There’s a reason why police are always coming after crimes,” he says. “It’s one of those fictions in comics when superheroes are walking down the street and hear a scream. I found out real quickly that patrolling for patrolling’s sake seems like a lost effort.”
That realization sparked a change in how he thought about his role. “I think even though there’s some fun to be had in the kick-ass aspect of comics, it’s fiction and fantasy and we know it,” he says. “As you translate those icons over to the real world, you have to face truths, such as violence begets violence.”
So Prime hung up the bulletproof vest and tactical baton and began volunteering for charity work. He teamed with Kids Defense, an organization aimed at protecting kids from internet predators, and allied with the Banner Desert Hospital pediatrics wing, offering to personally pick up toys from anyone who wanted to donate to the holiday drive. “I want to get people out there to create a presence in the community,” he says. “You make a presence of good in the community and the darker elements retreat.”
Recently, he started his own nonprofit called the League of Citizen Heroes. The organization, as he envisions it, will draw on an army of volunteers—both masked and unmasked—to contribute to the greater good. “That’s the level of sophistication that I think the movement’s moving towards,” he says, “We don’t have to just be patrolling the dark streets.”
Superhero, one of the first recruits to the League, shares Wayne’s dream, but is less philosophical when it comes to why, when all is said and done, he decided to put on a costume.
“I horse-shitted myself into thinking I was being a symbol for people and all that,” Superhero says. “But then I just faced the truth and admitted I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”
Originally posted: http://www.wweek.com/portland/article-8534-the_adventures_of_zetaman.html It’s a tough job being Portland’s only superhero.
Once a week for the past 18 months, Zetaman has donned his costume and patrolled downtown Portland, seeking out the needy with gifts of food and clothing.
He goes armed with an extendable steel baton, pepper spray, and a Taser that delivers 30,000 volts—enough to put a man on the ground. Those tools of the trade are to defend himself or people in trouble. But he doesn’t pick fights, and so far he hasn’t been forced to draw his weapons or apprehend anybody.
Like the men under the Burnside Bridge one recent Saturday night when temperatures fell into the low 40s, most of the people Zetaman encounters are grateful for the help.
But they also fail to ask the obvious question: What possesses a stocky 29-year-old to put on a homemade costume and prowl the city streets in the dead of night?
The answers lie both in Zetaman’s own past and on the Web, where in recent years hundreds of other self-styled “real-life superheroes” have sprung into existence around the country.
Zetaman was hesitant to reveal his secrets when contacted by WW. But in the end he agreed to be interviewed and allow a reporter to spend two nights on patrol with him, in hopes that the publicity will inspire more people to become costumed heroes.
“This is not about me,” he insists. “Anyone could do this. I’m nothing special.” He doesn’t even like the term “superhero,” preferring to call himself a “man of mystery.”
But he admits being a costumed avenger is addictive after the first taste of parading in public with a “Z” on your chest.
“I couldn’t stop after that,” he says. “I feel great about myself. I’m staying active in the community. And I like comic books, I like great and noble ideas—like He-Man and Spider-Man. And they all have this thing about noble responsibility.”
On the pages of MySpace.com and in Internet chat rooms, the superheroes plan missions and exchange tips on fighting crime. That is, when they’re not sniping at each other, forming rival superteams, or weathering real-life attacks from mysterious supervillains. But more on the rivalries later.
Most heroes say they’re in the business to make a positive impact. Or just to have a good time.
“People will tell you they had a calling or a vision,” says “Superhero,” a 39-year-old former pro wrestler from Clearwater, Fla., who patrols his hometown in a souped-up ’75 Corvette. “I used to tell people I was trying to be a symbol. Then I realized it was a bunch of crap, and I do it ’cause it’s hella fun.”
In a world where sci-fi has come true and flip phones are as commonplace as pencils, the Eye, a 49-year-old superhero in Mountain View, Calif., says there’s nothing left to stop people from living out their comic-book fantasies.
“Every citizen should do something of that nature,” says the Eye, who says he uses his skills as a former private eye to solve crimes. “I just use the persona to protect the identity and do it with a little style, I suppose.”
It’s easy for the casual observer to wonder what the hell Zetaman or any superhero is accomplishing when the country is dealing with serious issues like the fifth anniversary of the start of the war in Iraq or the threat of a recession. And it’s just as easy to laugh at any superhero’s MySpace page, Zetaman’s included.
If you went online right now and accused him of being a supergeek, you certainly wouldn’t be the first.
But consider this: If our life is basically a quest for identity and purpose, real-life superheroes have a huge advantage on ordinary mortals. And for that, they credit the Internet—a world where users can instantly create new personas and seek out others with the same interests.
Dr. Gordon Nagayama Hall, a University of Oregon psychology professor, says real-life superheroes probably have an inflated sense of self-worth, even as they help the innocent.
“Some of us might do those things without the costume,” he says. “The sort of bizarre nature of it suggests to me they might be looking for some kind of recognition that might stem from some narcissistic process.”
The Web merely feeds that impulse, he says. “These Internet groups create this support that actually emboldens people to go out there and act out their fantasy.”
Or as Zetaman puts it, in less academic terms: “It’s a pretty easy club to join. All you need is a costume and a MySpace page.”
It’s taboo in the superhero world to call them by their real names. But by day, Zetaman is Illya King, a married man with no kids. He makes about $40,000 a year, lives in a two-bedroom apartment in Beaverton, drives a 1998 Ford minivan with 96,000 miles on it, and has no criminal record.
Zetaman declined to reveal where he works or what he does for a living, because, he says, he’s concerned about strangers showing up and harassing him on the job.
His stated motives for being a superhero range from the quotidian (“having a cool costume, having a cool identity”) to the quixotic (“helping as many people as I can as selflessly as I can”).
He hesitated to reveal his name for this story because, he says, his true identity is inconsequential. He insists he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but to serve as an example. And there’s another, more pressing reason Zetaman hesitates to identify himself: an alarming incident last month in California.
In an unprecedented turn, Zetaman’s superhero buddy Ragensi, who patrols the town of Huntington Beach, Calif., in a black ninja costume, says he was attacked by what appeared to be an unknown supervillain.
Nothing is known of the attacker, Zetaman says, except that he wore special pads used by other superheroes and seemed to be well-prepared, lurking in wait. He used martial-arts moves against Ragensi, who managed to escape using his own fighting skills.
Ragensi did not respond to WW’s requests for an interview. But Zetaman says the unprovoked attack made him redouble his reluctance to identify himself. “We’re still pretty freaked out by the whole thing,” Zetaman says.
Crazy as it may sound to the rest of us, the superhero community has long feared the possibility that supervillains may emerge to confront them. But even after Ragensi’s run-in, Zetaman says it never occurred to him that he could be a target. His costume is more low-profile than Ragensi’s ninja garb, and on the nights WW patrolled with Zetaman, he drew no stares on the streets of downtown. Even the people he helps rarely realize he’s a superhero.
Zetaman’s origins date back to 2006, a time when he was going through a rough stretch in his personal life. Both he and his wife had temporarily lost their jobs, and at the same time they were hit with thousands of dollars in medical bills when his wife suffered a miscarriage. As the couple sank into debt, collection agencies turned nasty, filing claims against them in court for more than $5,000.
But the Portland megachurch they were attending put more of an emphasis on money than other churches they had gone to, pushing the faithful to give at least 10 percent of their pre-tax income to receive the full blessings of God. The couple couldn’t put up that kind of cash. Friends began praying for them.
“We felt like we were charity cases,” Zetaman says. He made a vow. “I’m gonna find a way to make my name for something. I’m basically gonna stick it to the man. That’s how it started off.”
A comics fan since he was a kid growing up in California, Connecticut and Vancouver, Wash., he was tooling around online and found a website for Mr. Silent, an Indianapolis-based superhero. A search brought him to others, including Dark Guardian and Squeegeeman, both in New York.
(Squeegeeman is on the campy end of the superhero spectrum. His MySpace page claims he fights “crime and grime,” and shows videos of him participating in the 2007 AIDS Walk New York and giving out water during the city’s 100-degree heat wave last summer.)
Zetaman was impressed, but his search turned up no local superheroes. “I was kind of shocked that there was nothing like this in Portland,” Zetaman recalls. “Our motto is ‘Keep Portland Weird.’ Where’s all the weird people?”
He created a Yahoo account to establish a new identity online. He started working out, dropping 10 pounds on his 5-foot-6-inch frame, bringing him down to 200 pounds. And he hit the stores to buy his first costume: a spandex shirt from Wal-Mart, leather jeans from Hot Topic and boots from cryoflesh.com, a goth website. At Party City he bought a zebra mask and remodeled it to fit his first identity: the Cat.
He made his public debut on Aug. 18, 2006, when he planned to patrol while a movie was showing on Pioneer Square. He arrived at a downtown parking garage about 10 pm, donned his Cat mask and stood gazing out over the city, when a woman got off the elevator to walk to her car and started screaming. Two bicycle cops swooped in to question him.
“I thought, this is not cool. This is not gonna work at all,” he says. “I want to be a positive force, not some kind of a thug.”
Going against the advice of other heroes, he ditched the mask altogether and switched to Zetaman—a combination of Zorro and Superman, two of his favorite heroes, riffing off the Greek name for the letter Z.
Without the mask, he no longer incited public panic. But the costume remained a work in progress. He paid $70 for a full-length spandex costume from Minneapolis-based Hero Gear, which outfits many of the Internet’s real-life superheroes. But the full-body suit didn’t fly.
“It kind of sucked,” Zetaman says. “I wasn’t feeling it.”
A $45 spandex shirt with the stylized “Z” on the chest worked out better. But his leather pants brought unwanted attention from certain men on Southwest Stark Street, so he switched to cargo pants instead. He says that cut down on the catcalls.
He keeps his identity secret from everyone but a few family members. His parents are still in the dark. “Here I am, almost 30, and I still care about what my parents think,” he says. “I have an outfit, I run around in the middle of the night, and I hang out with homeless people. So yeah, I’ve kind of avoided that conversation.”
His wife of seven years, Allison King, 30, says at first she was apprehensive because she worried about his safety. But now she fully supports him. “He’s just my hero,” she says. “One of the things I fell in love with him for, he cares about other people so much.”
Now Allison accompanies him on patrol in civilian clothes, helping him pass out food and occasionally filming video she posts on YouTube. “It’s not how I thought I would be spending time with my husband,” she says. “But it’s awesome.”
Zetaman’s not into superhero kink, but he once slipped into bed in uniform. It didn’t work out. “It just felt too stupid,” he says. “I was just laughing.”
Vigilante justice has a controversial history, from Old West posses seeking revenge against Native American tribes to today’s Minuteman Civil Defense Corps patrolling the Mexican border. But the work of Zetaman and other superheroes appears to stay within the law.
Most states allow a citizen’s arrest if a crime is being committed. No permits are needed to carry Zetaman’s chosen weapons of batons, Mace or Tasers, at least in Portland. And while it may be eccentric to do community service in spandex, no one’s been arrested for impersonating a superhero.
A nationwide community-policing group called the Guardian Angels has existed legally for decades, including a local chapter that patrols the MAX line in Portland in their trademark red berets.
Though controversial with some critics, Guardian Angels leaders insist the group is a benefit to the public. Carrying no weapons, they travel in groups, concentrating on public places where people feel menaced. Zetaman and other heroes say their mission is little different.
“I certainly applaud him,” says Curtis Sliwa, who founded the Guardian Angels in New York in 1979. “He’s not getting paid for this. He’s risking his life, and he’s helping those who can’t help themselves.”
Cops take a different view of Zetaman.
“I think he’s going to get in big trouble,” says Sgt. Doug Justus of the Portland Police Bureau’s Drugs and Vice Division. “As soon as you start interfering with a crime in progress, if the guy doesn’t identify you as a police officer, I think you’re asking to get hurt.”
The upsurge in superhero activity across the country appears to have caused no complaints elsewhere. Even in Mountain View, Calif., where the Eye claims he uses light-emitting diodes to temporarily blind people while he’s solving crimes, local police spokeswoman Liz Wylie says cops there have never heard of him.
Zetaman says he’s only once stopped a crime in progress—honking his horn to scare off a guy trying to steal cars downtown. He’s lectured a few drug dealers, but unless there was a person in immediate danger, he says he’d be more likely to call the police on his cell phone than try to stop a crime himself.
“I guess it sounds kind of less heroic, but I don’t want to die,” he says. As for taking out gangs and other organized crime, he says he simply doesn’t have the time or the resources. “I wish I had a million dollars, like Batman,” he says. “But I’m just one guy out there. I’m not strong enough.”
In the past two years, superheroes say their numbers have exploded, largely due to MySpace, the social networking site that’s grown over the same time with its M.O. of allowing users to forge a fake identity and communicate with each other while remaining completely anonymous.
Hundreds of MySpace users pose as superheroes, but Zetaman—who’s intensely involved in the superheroes’ online community and set up several of their most popular bulletin boards—estimates fewer than 30 nationwide actually go out on patrol. As Zetaman suggests, the only requirements to be a superhero seem to be a costume and a nickname, though several also claim to have psychic powers.
Master Legend, a superhero from Winter Park, Fla., claims he can sense when people are in danger. He also says he has super strength and healing powers. And he’s not afraid to beat up bad guys like crack dealers, starting out by taunting them in his superhero costume.
“They just don’t know what to think of that. It shocks them,” he says. “They can’t help themselves any longer, and they come and attack me, and it’s showtime. And you can hear from me laughing how much I love it. I love to jump into action.”
Heroes in Florida and New York claim to have no trouble finding street crime, but Portland’s darkest alleys are a safety zone by comparison. Zetaman tried patrolling in the parks around Portland State University (don’t people get mugged in parks?). Still no dice.
His 70-plus nights on the street have led him to the conclusion that in Portland, the homeless are the real people in need. Now he wears a backpack stuffed with blankets, hats, gloves and socks to give away. He lugs bags of food and soda. One night last month he gave out five double cheeseburgers and five chicken sandwiches from McDonald’s, along with a 12-pack of Shasta cola.
Despite the fact that he’s still paying off his own debts, he says he spends about $100 a month out of his own pocket helping the homeless.
Besides giving out food, blankets and clothing, he also offers help getting to a shelter, or into a drug treatment program. But few accept the offer. “It sounds bad,” he says, “but people have to want help in order to get help. It took me a while to learn that.”
Zetaman’s do-gooder philosophy has taken heat from heroes who claim to take a more vigilante approach. His critics include Tothian, a New Jersey-based hero whose MySpace page says he “destroys evil.” Tothian told WW in an email that he once beat up seven armed men while on patrol.
The two heroes tangled on Internet chat boards last April after Tothian declared himself “leader” of the superhero community. But Tothian declined to criticize Zetaman in a WW interview. “Some things are not for the public eye or the media,” Tothian says.
Like many so-called online communities (see some of Oregon’s blogs on the political left and right as examples), legitimate differences and personal attacks have gradually eroded some of the group spirit that once united superheroes. Just like heroes and villains in comic books, they’re now divided into a number of opposing teams that occasionally come into open conflict online.
The conflict deepened when some heroes began calling openly for violence. “It’s pretty bizarre, the emoed-out kids that are more into the dark side of doing this,” Superhero says. Zetaman says he regrets his role in designing one of the message boards. “Now it’s more like this mini homeland-terrorism site, and it pisses me off,” he says.
After a tiff that Zetaman dismisses as “Internet drama,” Tothian kicked Zetaman off that bulletin board, known as Heroes Network. Zetaman in turn founded the Alternates, a group that includes the Eye and Ragensi. The three are holding a secret meeting in San Jose this May to get better organized, hoping to form a new West Coast superhero squad.
Zetaman also hopes to start up a Portland-based group. “I want to move on to where it’s not just me,” he says. “I think more people should pick up a comic book and say, you know, maybe I don’t have to be so gray all the time.”
While most of the online community refer to themselves as “real-life superheroes,” Zetaman says actual real-life superheroes are police, firefighters and other first responders.Zetaman broadcasts a superhero-themed live radio show online each Thursday night at midnight. You can hear it any time at blogtalkradio.com/thealternates.
Superbarrio, a real-life superhero in Mexico City, has gained fame since 1995 by organizing labor rallies and protests and filing petitions to stop government corruption.
Holy Batman! People are taking a page from the Caped Crusader’s comic book and turning themselves into superheroes- even though they don’t have any special powers!
Donning eye-catching costumes, real-life superheroes with names like Squeegeeman, Dark Guardian and Entomo the Insect Man have begun appearing across the United States and around the globe- in a movement to make the world a better place. But these crusaders for justice- estimated at 225 around the world, include about 175 in the United States- are often less concerned with bashing heads than feeding the homeless, saving the environment or just doing good.
Squeegeeman has vowed to clean up New York City, one windshied or city block at a time. New Yorkers who don’t get mugged while walking n a clean street should probably praise the caped cleaner.
Martial arts expert Geist of Rochester, Minn., confronts evildoers with a wide-brimmed hat, reflective sunglasses, a scarf-like mask and a array of non-lethal weapons, including smoke grenades and a 6-inch fighting stick.
Citizen Prime of Phoenix spent $4,000 on a custom-made costume- including a steel helmet and breast-plate and yellow cape. And when his foot patrols don’t find enough crime, he volunteers for crime-prevention causes and children’s charities.
A secretive martial arts instructor patrols New York City’s Staten Island as Dark Guardian, while wearing spandex fit for a professional wrestler. The 23-year-old hero recently held a convenience store robber at bay until the cops arrived.
Hardwire, 20 of Greensboro-Durham, N.C., describes himself as a “tech hero, like Batman with the attitude,” while Entomo the Insect Man give Spider-Man a run for his bugged-out reputation in Naples, Italy, declaring: “I inject justice.”
In Portland, Ore., the needy can count on Zetaman to make regular rounds distributing free food and clothing. To protect himself and those he serves, Zetaman carries pepper spray, an extendable steel baton and a Taser packing 30,000 volts.
Worried that the world is going to hell? Why not slip on a pair of tights and a mask and do something about it?
By Michael Moran
April 5, 2008
Many of us bemoan the weakening of social cohesion that has led to an explosion of petty crime on our streets. Very few complainants, though, are inspired to don a superhero costume and patrol our cities to combat the burgeoning unpleasantness.
However, that might be about to change, with the advent of the real-life superheroes. Citizen Prime (above) is the most convincing of the bunch, patrolling the streets of Phoenix, Arizona, in his impressive custom-made armour. Further down the budgetary scale come Terrifica, who offers safe-sex advice to tipsy female clubgoers in New York, and the Big O, from Tunbridge Wells, who stops hooligans vandalising hanging baskets or defacing tea-shop frontages.
Hundreds of costumed crime fighters are listed on The World Heroics Database and the World Superhero Registry – but their biggest problem is that not one of them currently has an arch-enemy listed on their profile.
Sadly, without a stock of supervillains, real-life superheroes are little more than a particularly flamboyant Neighbourhood Watch
The world has always had superheroes, revealed especially after 9/11. After all, who hasn’t heard of your friendly neighborhood fireman, policeman or paramedic? This article, however, isn’t about them. Today I want to talk about the men and women who dress up in colorful (or not so colorful) outfits and go out and patrol the streets without the sanction of city, state or federal governments. Today I want to talk about the Real Life Superheroes.
Real Life Superheroes are men and women who dress up like their comic book namesakes. At times they have been given the distinction by the local news or by people they’ve helped. Other times they’ve given the title to themselves. Real Life Superheroes, inspired by the adventures of the comic book variation take to streets when they can, out to help those who need help.
They are not always on the lookout for a fight. Many Real Life Superheroes only get involved in stopping an individual crime if someone’s life is in danger. Often they report crime to the local police and perform community outreach tasks such as helping the homeless or escorting defenseless women home. One RLSH, known as “SuperBarrio,” based in Mexico City, rarely uses violence at all. Instead he is known for organizing protests and filing petitions.
In fact, one thing that can be gained from Real Life Superheroes is that it’s not necessary to punch out a bad guy to be a hero. In Washington DC, a heroine named Metrowoman uses her superhero costume to let the public know the benefits of mass transit and public transportation. The aptly named “Superhero” based out of Clearwater, FL provides roadside assistance in his Corvette Stingray, possibly the coolest form of rlsh transportation so far. Portland, Oregon‘s Zetaman gives food and clothing to that city’s homeless population.
One thing we can learn from these crimefighters… they’re not going away anytime soon. While so far there are only a limited number of real life superheroes operating in the United States and even fewer in Europe, we can be assured that in the years to come more will be revealed.
There are more questions than answers when it comes to the Real Life Superhero. For instance, where do they get their costumes? Why did they start doing this superhero thing in the first place? Where are all the Real Life Supervillains? Don’t fret, reader. I’m sure that there will be answers to these questions in the future. In the meantime, be on the lookout for these costumed crimefighters to be out protecting the public from evil.
The Real Life Superhero (RLS) pheneomenon has steadily picked up steam over the last decade. Just like in Alan Moore‘s comic classic Watchmen, otherwise normal people are suiting up and fighting crime.
Some have attributed the rise of the RLS to the recent popularity of comic book heroes, while others have interpreted it as a cultural response to the national tragedy of 9/11.
Whatever the case, these Real Life Superheroes walk the streets of cities throughout the world (though many are based in the United States) working for the good of their communities. From Rolling Stone to the Associated Press, their adventures have been documented. And while many ridicule the grown men and women who wander the streets in outlandish costumes, it’s undeniable that many are serious about giving back to the community.
Here are 10 Real Life Superheroes who have actually made a difference:
Born: August 7, 1962 Location: Worldwide (Based in Paris) Special Ability: To climb up the sides of skyscrapers Nemisis: Police Means of Transport: Climbing shoes
Everyone on this list has made a difference in some way, but not everyone on this list actually possesses some superhuman power over the physical world.
While Alain Robert‘s ability is no mutant power, it doesn’t even seem possible that a human should be able to climb like he climbs. Robert has climbed many of the world’s tallest structures. He climbed the Sears Tower (recently renamed Willis Tower) in 1999, completing the climb even after heavy fog made the surface dangerously slick. In all, Robert has climbed more than 85 skyscrapers.
And how has he made a difference? By furthering his political goals of course. Robert is an outspoken activist who has taken up the banner of environmentalism in the fight against global warming. In February, 2009, when Robert climbed the Cheung Kong Centre in Hong Kong, he first unfurled a banner directing people to the global warming Web site onehundredmonths.org. Then in April of 2009, he climbedthe Lloyd’s building in London and unfurled a similar banner.
But the grandaddy was his June, 2008 climbing of the New York Times building. Upon reaching the top of the building, Robert let fly a banner declaring, “Global warming kills more people than 9/11 every week.” That’s a ballsy way to get a message across in New York. At least the man stays on point.
#9 Citizen Prime
Location:Arizona Purpose: To educate children and the public at large on safety and preparedness True Identity: Jim, an executive at an unnamed financial institution Means of Transport: Xterra Cost of Costume: $4,000
Not all caped crusaders are losers with nothing better to do, and Citizen Prime is proof.
A financial executive by day, Citizen Prime donns his $4,000 costume, which includes custom-made breast plate armor, and patrols the streets. Citizen Prime separates himself from other neighborhood watch style “superheroes” by distributing literature on how to help in the community and making appearances to talk to children about drugs and crime.
While Citizen Prime has said he respects the work of other superheroes, like the Black Monday Society in Salt Lake City, he takes a different approach by focusing on community involvement. He says the most useful tool at his disposal is a keen sense of humor for diffusing awkward situations.
#8 Polar Man
Location:Iqaluit, Nunavet; Canada Notable For: Shoveling snow from driveways Mode of Transport: Not a polar bear Special Ability: Resistance to cold and isolation
Clad all in black and white with his trusty shovel, nary a snow-covered driveway stands a chance when Polar Man is on the case.
While a snow-shoveling hero from an isolated Canadian town of less than 7,000 might seem laughable, Polar Man has truly made a difference. Not only does he clear walkways for the elderly, he also tidies playgrounds in the summer and takes a keen interest in participating in community events.
Most of the heroes on this list come from major metropolitan areas, which sort of makes Polar Man more valuable. After all, what better way is there to make a sleepy town more interesting than by patrolling the streets and calling yourself a superhero?
Polar Man models himself on an Inuit legend where an unknown white man riding a polar bear brings food and clothing to people in need. It’s just too bad no one has figured out how to use polar bears as a means of transportation, because a snow shoveler on a polar bear would be truly awesome.
#7 Superhero
Born:c. 1969 Location: Clearwater, Florida Mode of Transport: 1975 Corvette Stingray Qualifications: Navy veteran; Police Academy training; professional bodyguard; training in wrestling and boxing Personal Style: Loud and proud True Identity: Dale Pople
It’s a tad redundant to be a superhero named Superhero, but what this Florida crimefighter lacks in creativity, he makes up for in style.
Superhero has made a difference not only by showing up at events and showing off his Corvette and bright red Spandex. Sure that tends to leave an impression on people (and not always the good kind), but Superhero’s real contribution is patrolling the roads and helping people in need of assistance — like people who need a flat tire changed.
“I don’t really know when I made the transition, but just all of a sudden one day it seemed like a good idea to put on my costume and go out and help people with roadside assistance.”
Superhero has proven socially adept enough to find himself a Lady Hero, a fellow superhero in training and girlfriend who he says he met in a gym, where he taught her how to do squat thrusts.
Whether you think Superhero is awesome or ridiculous, (there doesn’t seem to be much middle ground), he does get points for having the coolest mode of transport, and being an actual bodyguard. When Watchmen and Little Children star Patrick Wilson showed up in Florida for the Sunscreen Film Festival, Superhero was on hand to work security.
Born:November 23, 1963 Location: Hamilton, Ontario; Canada Nemisis: Grizzly Bears Purpose: To invent ground-breaking safety gear and body armor You May Know Him From: The Discovery Channel, Project Grizzly
Not a superhero in the traditional sense of the word, think of Troy Hurtubise as the poor man’s Tony Stark (that’s Iron Man for all you non-nerds).
Like those traditional heroes, Troy does have an origin story. Back in 1984, while hiking near Humidity Creek in British Columbia, Troy was attacked by a grizzly bear. He defied the odds by surviving the attack, but was soon consumed with his desire to know more about the fearsome juggernaut of the natural world. But to get close enough to really learn about grizzly bears, he’d have to get close… really really close. Like close enough that he might be attacked again.
Troy’s epiphany came while watching Robocop in his college dorm room in 1987. While most of us would probably disregard any epiphany brought on by a Paul Vanderhoeven film about a half-machine supercop, Troy spent the next 7 years, and most of his money, on developing a bear-proof suit.
The various iterations of Troy’s suit have been the subject of television shows, pop culture references, and even the documentary Project Grizzly. He tests them himself to prove that his suits can withstand being slammed by a swinging log, beaten with baseball bats and even hit by a car.
Troy is currently trying to make a difference by creating body armor for use in combat situations. His most recent suit was based on the Halo videogame and features an air conditioned helmet, a magnetic holster, and a built-in canister of heavy-duty bearspray for use in hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately for Troy, no military or security organizations have shown interest in mass producing the ballistics suits. That might have something to do with the over-the-top nature of the inventor himself. Watch the video at left to see what I mean.
#5 Terrifica
Born:c. 1975 Location: New York City Reason for Fighting: To protect drunk girls from being taken advantage of by opportunistic men Nemisis: Fantastico Means of Transport: Red High-heeled boots Status: Retired
Though she’s hung up the ruby red cape, Terrifica is remembered as a New York City superhero with a very practical goal. Keeping vulnerable girls safe from predatory guys.
Terrifica, later revealed to be a New York artist named Sarah, patrolled New York City bars and clubs where she would try to prevent women from making decisions they would regret by going home with guys who just wanted to get laid. Armed with, among other things, pepper spray, a cell phone, and Smarties candy (for energy), Terrifica said she would try to distract men, who were often intrigued by the sexy, masked girl in a red cape, to give women a chance to get away.
“I protect the single girl living in the big city,” Terrifica told ABC in 2002. “I do this because women are weak. They are easily manipulated, and they need to be protected from themselves and most certainly from men and their ill intentions toward them.”
Interestingly enough, Terrifica did have a nemesis. A player named Fantastico whose attempts to take home women were thwarted several times by Terrifica. Obviously he was not terribly impressed with Terrifica, who, to be honest, does seem to have some issues with guys.
“She seems to have it in for men,” he said. “I’m convinced she is loveless and would love to have the rest of the city as loveless and miserable as she is.”
#4 Master Legend
Born: June 27, 1966 Location: Orlando area Team: Justice Force Fighting Style: Way of the Diamond Spirit Means of Transport: Battle Truck, Legend Cycle Signature Weapon: Master Blaster personal cannon (modified potato gun)
Sort of the grandaddy of American Real Life Superheroes, Master Legend is based in the Orlando suburb of Winter Park, and has been active for the better part of the decade.
Master Legend received national recognition in December, 2008, when Rolling Stone ran a feature story and pictorial on the superhero clad in a silver and black uniform with a German World War II helmet. Though Legend is little more than a middle-aged man in a costume, he’s garnered the support of his community by patrolling the streets, fighting for causes he deems worthy, and working for charity.
His shining moment came in 2004, when he received a commendation from the sheriff’s office for helping to save people in the aftermath of Hurricane Charley.
Though many have called into doubt Master Legend’s bombastic stories, one police sergeant, speaking on condition of anonymity, confirmed to ROLLING STONE that Legend had helped bust real criminals.
From Rolling Stone:
Based on the neighborhood, [the sergeant] figured, Master Legend might be a good local contact. “And sure enough,” the Sergeant tells me, “I start getting calls from Master Legend with information. And it checks out. Master Legend has helped put away a few criminals.”
#3 Zetaman
Location:Portland, OR Purpose: To protect and serve the community True Identity: Illya King Superhero Team: Formerly of The Alternates Cost of Costume: $4,000
Zetaman is the epitome of the comic book nerd turned Real Life Superhero.
Zetaman, who draws and writes comic books in his spare time, patrols in a costume inspired by his favorite heroes. He carries a collapsible baton, a stun gun, an air horn, a cell phone, and perhaps most importantly, gloves and sandwiches.
While Zetaman patrols the seediest parts of Portland ready for anything, he told the Willamette Week that he’s never had to apprehend any criminals. More often than not, Zetaman spends his nights handing out gloves, sandwiches and other useful items to Portland’s less fortunate residents. And while this altruistic action is par for Zetaman’s course, he’s clashed with some other Real Life Superheroes who believe vigilante justice is their true calling.
“I guess it sounds kind of less heroic, but I don’t want to die,” he said. “I wish I had a million dollars, like Batman. But I’m just one guy out there. I’m not strong enough.”
Zetaman also helped organize the Alternates, a Portland-based group of Real Life Superheroes who banded together to raise money for the March for Babies, a fundraiser that grew from the March of Dimes to help ensure infant health. But unfortunately, Zetaman has recently split from the Alternates, stating on his MySpace blog that he can no longer “look past misdeeds on the behalf of friendship.”
But never fear. Zetaman is still out there doing good. His latest project is to raise $500 for the Race for the Cure breast cancer fundraising event in Portland. While the Alternates won’t be working together anymore, Zetaman has put together the Zeta-Corps, which is open to anyone who wants to help.
“I want to get as many Portlanders to join my team, the Zeta-Corps. My plan is to get involved with different charties and have the good citizen of Portland to join me,” he said on his blog.
Not all superheroes work within the bounds of the law. Angle-Grinder Man specifically works against the law where he deems it is being enforced too strictly.
Wheel clamps are a common sight on London’s crowded streets. Parking spaces are a valuable commodity, and their protection has given rise to an entire industry of private businesses whose sole purpose is to go around placing wheel clamps on illegally parked cars. Enter Angle-Grinder Man.
If you were to find yourself one of the many hapless victims of London clampers, you could call Angle-Grinder Man to come by with a big, mean angle grinder and cut right through the clamp. Whether or not you agree with his purpose, you have to agree that’s one way to make a difference.
“I may not be able to single-handedly and totally cast off the repressive shackles of a corrupt government – but I can cut off your wheel-clamps for you,” he said in 2002.
Unfortunately Angle-Grinder Man hasn’t been active for a couple of years, but his anti-clamping message lives on in the common complaints of Londoners.
#1 Superbarrio
Born:Unknown, but likely in the late 1950s Location: Mexico City Reason for Fighting: To protect poor people’s right to housing Nemisis: Greedy landlords and inept beureaucrats Means of Transport: Barriomobile
Hidden beneath a red and gold luchadore mask is a Mexico City man who has gone to great lengths to keep poor tenants in their homes. Superbarrio is regarded in some circles with the same sort of awe children reserve for Batman or Spider-Man. And while he isn’t as fit as either of them, he is very effective.
In 1985, an 8.2 earthquake rocked Mexico City, destroying thousands of homes and taking more than 10,000 lives. In the wake of this crushing tragedy, the demand for homes rocketed, leaving many of Mexico City’s poverty-stricken denizens unable to find a place to live. That’s when Superbarrio Gomez (real name unknown), found his calling.
“One day when I was in my room, I was enveloped in a brilliant red and yellow light, and when it dissipated, I was dressed this way,” he explained in 1988. “Then a voice said to me, ‘You are Super Barrio, defender of tenants and scourge of greedy landlords.'”
Superbarrio ended up running for President of Mexico in 1988, and while he wasn’t ever a serious contender, he made his tenants’ and squatters’ rights platform a serious issue.
While Superbarrio is still a folk hero in Mexico City, where dolls and T-shirts with his image are common, he keeps a lower profile these days. Even though he isn’t as active, his spirit and cause lives on.
Twenty-eight-year-old David “Civitron” Civatarese is a Boston-based real-life super hero. In his day job he works with adults with autism but in his free time, Civitron dons his home-made super hero disguise – a burgundy and orange jumpsuit – and takes to the sidewalk, assisting his community however he can by cleaning up the streets, helping out the homeless or families in need.
He’s part of a growing collective of ordinary citizens across America who have transformed themselves into something – and someone – else, made themselves larger than life. Going under the banner ‘Superheroes Anonymous’, the collective is dedicated to inspiring the super hero spirit in everyone.
Original persona
According to Civitron, it’s about finding out what your individual powers are and finding out how you can use those powers to help your community.
“Many of us dress up as an original super hero persona – and that’s part of the personal journey of going out and changing your life, of becoming the change that you want to see in the world [to quote Gandhi]. We take a look at ourselves, take a moral inventory – and see what we can change. With the persona we provide a template for ourselves to live by.”
The costumes – and the reasons for wearing them – are different for everyone, says Civitron.
“It’s about becoming a living example, not only for others but also yourself. You put on the costume to remind yourself you are out there specifically for the purpose of helping and for living your cause. For others, it’s more about fun.”
Whether it’s Life Lazaros, a New York hipster who wears a black mask and works on the street with runaways and homeless people, or Zeta Man, who coordinates fundraisers in his local hip hop community, the growth of the real life super hero has been exponential in recent years, with close to 200 members across the United States.
Health and safety
But it’s not a question of vigilantism, Civitron is keen to point out. Superheroes Anonymous members act within the boundaries of safety and the law and liase with the police to build upon existing mechanism within society, rather than working alone. They aim to take responsibility within their own community.
Whether you wear a costume or not, Civitron says the guidelines to becoming a real-life super hero are simple:
“Know the law and know what the legal boundaries are. Always be safe… and for anybody looking to become a real life super hero – they should explore themselves, know what they believe to be true, set out to be that ambassador to the world and always stay true to their message.”
**Navigating the World in Superhero Attire: A Lesson from Aikido**
After class, I found myself engaged in Aikido training with Kevin, a seasoned practitioner in his late 60s. Our recent sessions revolved around ground wrestling, an unexpected twist to my usual Aikido routine. Kelvin, with his Japanese heritage, brought a unique approach to our training—complete with unexpected facial expressions that threw me off my game. For the next 20 minutes, we engaged in a playful exchange, making kissy faces and Google eyes, testing our concentration amidst the physical challenges.
Post-exercise, Kevin shared insights into the physiology of Aikido and its relevance to the world around us. “The only thing you can control is how you breathe,” he emphasized. Aikido, according to Kelvin, is about receiving attacks and redirecting them. Physical conflict, he stressed, marks the end of a situation, not its beginning. This philosophy extends to controlling a situation through personal attitude, redirecting force, and choosing an appropriate response.
How does this philosophy tie into the realm of dressing like a superhero?
Choosing to don a costume or uniform immediately alters the world’s perception based on preconceived notions and experiences. Different clothes convey different meanings. A police or military uniform signifies authority, a lab coat implies a medical professional, and superhero attire often elicits a bewildered “What the F—?” response. This initial contact sets the stage for the ensuing interaction, influencing its outcome.
Having encountered numerous Real-Life Superheroes (RLSH) in my relatively short career, I’ve observed that a visually intimidating appearance often provokes negative reactions. People tend to make swift assumptions based on visual cues, and an RLSH who appears menacing may inadvertently trigger hostility. Even my armor, intended to look impressive, sometimes conveys an aggressive tone. To counterbalance this, I’ve taken to wearing a cape during functions to offset the aggressive appearance.
So, what’s the solution?
Earlier, I discussed evaluating personal goals, and the same principle applies to choosing attire. Dressing in spandex and a cape commands attention, even if the reaction is amusement or derision. In this state, an RLSH can effectively present their cause or issue, akin to carrying a billboard. The advantage lies in the universally understood and respected image of a “Superhero,” representing ideals of Truth and Justice.
The superhero concept, I believe, holds a certain purity in the collective public consciousness. These characters embody simplistic ideas of doing right in the face of adversity, concepts that still resonate with us. Utilizing this concept provides a degree of control over any situation, be it fighting crime or engaging in charity work. By dressing as a superhero, a person can shape external perceptions and influence their role—whether they act as the receiver (Nage) or initiator (Uke) in a situation.
For some, avoiding initial confrontation by adopting a stealth approach is preferable. This method conceals true intentions, offering a valid operational strategy. However, for those opting for a more visible superhero persona, the attire becomes a powerful tool. Captain Jackson’s experience of criminals running at the mere sight of him demonstrates the visual deterrent effect. Living an open life, as I do, makes me accountable to the public, ensuring a positive and responsible representation.
In conclusion, dressing like a superhero builds trust with the public. We, as RLSH, stand for ideals, and the trust we build should not be broken. Our attire dictates the beginning of our relationship with the outside world. As we approach the public, we become the receiver (Nage), redirecting external reactions and maintaining composure. Our iconic superhero image channels our intentions to the world, holding us accountable for our actions based on the projected image. Ultimately, dressing like a superhero is a way to establish a relationship between ourselves and the community we aim to serve.
[Note: The views and comments expressed by Zetaman do not necessarily reflect the views of the RLSH community.]
Zetaman, a costumed activist in Portland, Oregon, can be found at [his site](http://www.zetaman.tv) or contacted via email at zetaman@zetaman.tv.
These costumed heroes may look like they have jumped out of a comic book or Hollywood blockbuster, but they are all ordinary people who don’t have one special ability between them – just a super human need to help fix our broken society. Captured by American photographer Peter Tangen, these normal, but anonymous, people make up his ambitious Real Life Super Hero Project. The photos give a revealing insight into a small but growing niche in unusual altruistic behaviour
“I work as a freelance photographer in the film marketing sector and as such I have done photo shoots for films such as Spider-Man and the first of the Batman series starring Christian Bale,” said LA-based photographer Peter, aged 50.”I became interested in the growing phenomenon of normal everyday people adopting superhero personas. However, as I researched more I was struck by the irreverent and almost insulting tone of some of the reporting into these altruistic people, who devote their time and effort into helping others. It isn’t about their costumes or their own personal mythology or mission, it is about the fact that they help people less well off than themselves
Standing just 5ft 6in tall the Crimson Fist is Atlanta’s night guardian. On the night of his inaugural patrol, he happened upon two men attacking another in a dark alley. Without giving a second thought to the situation, he went to intervene. The two men stopped, and apparently freaked out at the sudden appearance of this white-and-red clad, mask-wearing man. Amusingly, the man The Crimson Fist rescued ran away too
“I wanted to produce a full blown movie poster series about the super heroes across North America to highlight the real reasons that these people do what they do,” explained Peter
Contacting Thanatos, a long-standing and respected member of the super hero community, Peter travelled to Vancouver to conduct his first photo shoot. “Getting Thanatos onboard in the late summer of 2009 was an important first step, because the community is known for being guarded after some of the negative publicity they have received,” said Peter. “After I met such a stalwart, other heroes came on board and relatively quickly we had planned and organised a massive shoot in LA at the end of September for 19 other superheroes”
Thanatos, also known as the The Dark Avenger, patrols the streets of Vancouver, Canada providing help to the needy and homeless
A poster featuring Thanatos, who takes his name from the ancient Greek for the personification of death itself
In a real-life superhero world filled with men, Nyx works her mission in and around New York City to help the homeless and those in need of rescue from drugs
Poster featuring Nyx, who began her involvement in the superhero world at the age of 16
Citizen Prime is one of the most respected members of the superhero community. Recently retired, he is still sought out by other superheroes keen to hear his thoughts on their mission and how to develop their mythology
A poster featuring Citizen Prime, who wears a suit of armour designed by a medieval jousting club in California
Dressed as a snazzy New Yorker, Life’s superhero mission is to provide help to the homeless, especially in the freezing cold New York winters. Setting out during the week dressed in mask, waistcoat and jacket, Life has a backpack brimming with toothbrushes, soaps, food and candy bars
As the co-founder of New York’s Superheroes Anonymous, Life wants to help those who need it
KnightVigil: Patroling the Tampa Bay area of Florida, KnightVigil is the medieval-themed guardian of America’s sunshine state
With two batons to protect himself, KnightVigil looks to help the homeless and to catch perpetrators on the run
Helping out in the city of Portland, Oregon, Zetaman is an internet-savvy superhero. He launched ‘The Real Adventures of Zetaman’ online; this was the first broadcast length reality series of superheroes available on the web
Poster featuring Zetaman, so called because he “wanted a name that would look cool in bold italics”. “I try to help the hungry homeless in Portland, Oregon, ” said Zetaman, who is happy to give his real name of Illya King and his real age, 31. “I haven’t ever deterred any crimes on the street, but I am trained in the martial art of Akido”
Covered in a uniform that displays the stars of the original 13 states of America, DC Guardian’s mission is to roam the streets of Washington DC with copies of the nation’s constitution, Bill of Rights and Declaration of Independence. Explaining to passers-by the importance of their nation’s democracy, DC’s Guardian never reveals his face. He says the reason behind this is to allow black, white, Asian or Hispanic people to see themselves behind the mask
Fighting against what he feels is the ‘Bystander Effect’ in society, Super Hero operates in Clearwater, Florida
An ex-professional wrestler, Super Hero is the co-founder of Team Justice Inc, the first non-profit organisation for Real Life Superheroes in the United States
Geist patrols the streets of Minneapolis, correcting gangland graffiti
Describing himself as wearing ‘green Space-Cowboy chic’, superhero Geist patrols the streets of Rochester, Minnesota deterring petty crime, graffiti artists and helping the hungry and homeless. He carries a slingshot and electrified baton, which are legal in Minnesota, but Geist has never had to use them in self defence
