A casual eye to my social media presence will reveal that I love, love Wonder Woman.
I entered (and lost…insert sad face) a Wonder Woman themed contest.
I donned a skirted Wonder Woman costume and gave an embarrassingly earnest speech about reclaiming my Amazon-ness for my Miss Tall International talent.
I have waaaayy too much Wonder Woman paraphenlia. Totes, mugs, t-shirts, stamps, stickers, temporary tattoos…
I drove three hours out of the way during a road trip to visit the Wonder Woman museum.
I have dressed up as Wonder Woman (at least once) for Halloween since 2014.
When I work out in the gym, I either imagine I am training for a Trumpian apocalyptic Hunger Games situation or to be a cast as an Amazon sister to Wonder Woman in the movie sequel.
Once, I cajoled my boyfriend into allowing me to come to the Harlem kindergarten class he taught dressed as Wonder Woman.
You read that correctly—I asked to do this.
I remember changing in the unisex restroom of the school, realizing for the first time just how skimpy the costume was. The pantyhose I brought to stave revealing too much ripped as I slid them on and I texted Josh in a panic from inside the restroom, afraid I was going to give the wrong impression of female empowerment to five year-olds.
The kids were wide-eyed at my costume and presence (my Wonder Woman boots are about 6″, increasing my already tall frame to 6’8″). The teachers were in various states of confused merriment and thankfully did not kick me out of the class. At times, when I was bending down to help the kids with their reading, I would see that my boobs were starting to hang outside of my corset and hastily tuck them in. I worried a lot about my starred booty shorts that day.
Thankfully, no children were scarred for life and they even humored me with assuming a Wonder Woman pose at the end of the day.
The Wonder Woman movie is opening June 2nd.
I will refrain from wearing my full Wonder Woman costume, but I may be wearing my Wonder Woman bra and panty set.
Underneath my muggle clothes. Le sigh.
I will nerdout hard for Wonder Woman. All day. And I am so ecstatic that this movie is looking like an actually polished superhero film and not some cheap-ass summer throwaway. It’s even directed by a woman (Patty Jenkins who directed Charlize Theron in the 2003 feature Monster).
One day, I will attend Comic-Con dressed in some obscure iteration of Wonder Woman. Finally, my Wonder Woman mania will make sense for I’ll be among brethren of all stripes. I won’t even have to worry about the shortness of my starred hot pants.
I love Wonder Woman because she stands for feminine strength and compassion. Because she has kinky, feminist beginnings and always has to save her cute, but hapless boyfriend Steve Trevor. She is an Amazonian princess steeped in mythology. As a woman enamored of mythology, how could I resist the origin story of a warrior princess born to Hippolyta (Queen of the Amazons who makes a guest appearance in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer’s Night Dream) whose daddy is sometimes Zeus and often clashes with the war god Ares?
Her changing looks and attitudes, from exuberant patriotism to being a 1960s mod girl to resembling a rabid Cross-Fitter reflect national anxieties on the lines between womanhood and power.
She aint perfect: She has an invisible jet. Sometimes she gets so skinny that I feel relieved she is a true demi-goddess, because otherwise, she’d probably get her ass kicked. I still wish there were more black women superheroines who weren’t derivatives of their male peers or one-lining muscled brick houses with asses that outsize Jupiter.
I want more for us.
Still. This Wonder Woman love is not going anywhere. What’s great about being a great big nerd about what you love is that people will send things your way. One friend bought me a Wonder Woman water bottle (thanks Lucia!) Friends will send me interesting mash-ups on Instagram and limited-time only t-shirts.
My boyfriend bought me a Wonder Woman lightswitch cover. Heart.
I have talked with Wonder Woman fan-girls (and fanboys) all around the world. We laugh at the weird knowledge we carry about Diana Prince, admire the various illustrative creations of the George Lopez directed comic book line, giggle about the funniest Linda Carter Wonder Woman series episode, remind each other about #wonderwomanwednesday. We talk about how cool it is that while Superman and Batman are summoned to engage in wars, Wonder Woman is who the people call when they want to end one.
About five months ago I took an eight hour bus ride to New York City from Pittsburgh. On the ride, I read through the Wonder Woman series The Circle. This Diana Prince was complicated, trying to balance her otherworldly powers with the compassion the world so needed, all while being misrepresented and misunderstood by the very people she was called to save. A deeper surge of recognition took root in my gut, warmed a path to my heart.
I know I am not an Amazonian princess who can fly and deflect bullets. But, I am a woman who is trying to figure things out, who is oftentimes anxiously straddling the lines between woman and power, holder and held, not-giving-a fuck and empathy.
Most of the time, my fangirling is pure fun, a sort-of socially acceptable way to exhibit the unabashed enthusiasm I never really had access to as a child. I’m sure this is the story for many cosplayers, comic-con attendees, superhero obsessed adults. We finally have a chance to play.
But, sometimes the play can help digest lessons that no first person essay or therapy session could. If Wonder Woman feels confused about the right way to be a woman, perhaps it’s not so strange that I still do too.
I will fangirl for Wonder Woman always. Or until my future children beg me to stop picking them up dressed in full costume.