Let me start with a question: When was the last time you heard someone say, 'I’m a comic book writer’ with pride? Stan Lee, the man who shaped modern superhero culture, once did. And he was embarrassed by it. That’s not just a relic of the past—it’s a mirror held up to how society still treats creative work that doesn’t fit into traditional prestige boxes. Lee’s admission in 2010, 'I used to be embarrassed because I was just a comic book writer,' feels like a punch to the gut when you consider how much of our collective imagination he helped build. How does a man who created Spider-Man, the X-Men, and Black Panther feel shame about his craft? It’s a paradox that reveals a deeper truth: for decades, comics were seen as disposable, a niche for kids, not a serious art form. And yet, here we are in 2023, where Marvel movies gross over $20 billion globally, and people still don’t fully grasp what that means for the creators behind them.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Lee’s journey reflects the broader struggle of artists in marginalized mediums. He didn’t start out wanting to write comics. His dream was to pen the 'great American novel.' But when he found himself in a room full of publishers who dismissed comics as 'childish,' he had to pivot. And that pivot changed everything. Imagine trying to convince a publisher that a story about a brooding alien with a radioactive spider bite could resonate with adults. That’s what Lee did, and he succeeded because he understood something most people don’t: entertainment isn’t a lesser pursuit. It’s the glue that holds societies together. When people are stressed, bored, or lonely, they turn to stories. And yet, we still treat comic writers like second-class citizens compared to novelists or filmmakers. It’s absurd. If Shakespeare wrote a comic book today, would we call it 'just a comic book writer’s work'? Probably not. But that’s exactly what Lee was told for most of his career.
The irony deepens when you consider how Lee’s creations became cultural touchstones. The X-Men, for instance, were a radical statement about identity and acceptance long before they were movie stars. They were a rebellion against the idea that heroes had to be perfect. And yet, when Lee was alive, he had to fight to get his characters on TV screens without being watered down. The 1978 'The Incredible Hulk' series tried to strip away the comic’s grit, turning Bruce Banner into a bumbling scientist. It was a betrayal of the medium’s potential—and a reminder of how little respect comics had in the mainstream. Lee, though, never stopped fighting. He became a pitchman, a public face for comics, and a vocal advocate for their legitimacy. But even he couldn’t escape the stigma. In his later years, he’d joke about how he’d never imagined his stories would become billion-dollar franchises. That’s the tragedy: he spent his life creating worlds that defined modern pop culture, yet he had to apologize for doing so.
Here’s what I find especially interesting: the industry has changed, but not enough. Today, comic writers are still underpaid, undercredited, and often sidelined in favor of executives and actors. When Disney or Warner Bros. makes a superhero movie that earns $1 billion, the writers who conceived those characters rarely see a fraction of that. It’s a systemic failure that Lee himself would have railed against. He once said, 'If I’m half as good as everybody said I am, I’m far too good to be wasting time with ordinary people.' Yet he spent his life with 'ordinary people'—the readers, the fans, the creators—who made his work matter. That humility is what made him extraordinary. But it’s also what makes the current state of the industry so shameful. We’ve normalized the idea that someone who writes a comic book is somehow less valuable than someone who writes a screenplay. It’s a hierarchy that doesn’t make sense, and it’s one that Lee would have fought tooth and nail to dismantle.
So where does this leave us? Stan Lee’s legacy isn’t just about the characters he created—it’s about the battle he waged to prove that comics were worthy of respect. His quote about being embarrassed is a reminder that cultural value is often determined by who holds the power, not by the quality of the work itself. And that’s a problem that still lingers. The next time you see a Marvel movie, remember that it’s not just a blockbuster—it’s a testament to the people who believed in stories that were once dismissed. But more importantly, it’s a call to action. If we truly value art, we need to stop treating comic writers like they’re still in the shadows. They’ve earned their place in the spotlight. And if we don’t start recognizing that, we’ll keep repeating the same mistakes Lee spent his life trying to correct.
