The Wireless Man Era
I wasn't kidding that I did virtually the same pitch multiple times
In The Lost Art of Don Simpson, which is now at press, I publish several examples of freelance jobs I did as a commercial illustrator for internet service providers, web start-ups, and others in the very late ‘90s and early 2000s—many of them revolving around the theme of the coming wonders of technology—high-speed DSL, Bluetooth, and wireless mobile technology.
Self-exiled from the print comic book industry—where I couldn’t get arrested drawing mainstream superheroes by the major publishers—I got occasional gigs from advertising agencies and public relations firms that found my “straight” superhero style, leavened with just enough Silver Age “camp” sensibility, perfect for what they were after.
These amazing technologies—which nobody could seem to envision without resorting caped crimefighters with a sci-fi spin—I dubbed the “Wireless Man era.” I think I may have cornered the market on the genre of using superhero tropes in the commercial freelance illustration market, although it was never more than a tiny niche.
I called this the Wireless Man era after Wireless Man (and his sidekick, Wireless Girl), and in The Lost Art present several examples and variations of the theme. As I write in the Afterword, I must have done almost the identical pitch nearly half a dozen times.
I don’t reproduce the original Wireless Man pitch itself because I wanted to concentrate on finished, inked art in The Lost Art, whereas the original Wireless Man pitch never progress past the early pencil sketch and marker rough stage (somewhere, I think I may have some more refined marker renderings). However, just to prove that it was something of a fad, I’m presenting those materials here, now:
As you can see from the drawings above, Wireless Man is actually a tech nerd working behind the scenes at some company, and he secretly has a crush on Zelda (or whomever), a woman who works in the front office. I don’t recall the ad agency in question providing me with much to go on, much less names or backstories for the characters, since the concept was fairly generic, so I assume I made most of this up on my own volition.
In any case, Daryl (let’s call him) and Zelda, virtual strangers in the workplace, don’t know that in an alternate reality they are partners in crime fighting—or at least, saving the universe—as Wireless Man and Wireless Girl. They have amazing Bluetooth gadgets that help them battle tech monsters, and I even delved into a Matrix-like back story of how Wireless Man escaped “wired” bondage and freed himself with mobile technology (as seen in the first image of marker roughs).
This grim and gritty Matrix world is another dimension, obviously, because in this reality, Wireless Man and Wireless Girl are rather clean-lined, Silver Age superheroes in leotards with sleek wrist gizmos that project information and keep our heroes connected—wirelessly!
Are you catching the drift yet on how stupid this is? But such is the world of advertising.
I remember the pitch meeting at the Pittsburgh ad agency downtown—there was some kind of copywriter or creative director-type guy, and for no reason, a couple of lovely young women who were assistants of some sort. As I talked over the images, I mentioned that Daryl (Wireless Man) had probably never kissed a girl. The women responded, sincerely, with “Aww!”
There would have been a time in my comic book career when saying something like that would have almost been throwing bricks in a glass house, but I was ostensibly happily married at the time. So, I had actually kissed a girl.
Potentially, this would have made for a great coming-of-age story, with Daryl and Zelda finding true love along with saving corporate America with mobile Bluetooth technology—allowing their office coworkers the ability to actually move around their cubicled office spaces with their laptops and still staying connected. Gee whiz!
Unfortunately, the pitch never got beyond the pitch stage, although I recall being paid handsomely, at a rate that in those days compared very favorably to the peanuts being offered in comics. So, there.
The examples of the Wireless Man genre I reproduce in The Lost Art are a bit more polished because they at least progressed to finished art and in some cases were even published—although mostly only seen in the world of non-consumer business advertising. But their narratives were hardly more developed than that of Wireless Man (and Wireless Girl).
Just to prove that I’m not exaggerating when I say I regurgitated almost the identical pitch to various ad agencies and PR firms several times, I recently came across these rough sketches from another pitch:
With Mobile Man, I seem to have been channeling Jim Starlin’s (originally, Gil Kane’s) version of Captain Marvel—not to mention plagiarizing myself—with an emphasis on a more diverse team—a white, bald guy in a dress shirt and tie as well as a white woman (!) in a hot, form-fitting miniskirt—communicating wirelessly. I seem to have faxed these rough sketches, drawn hastily on the back of a notepad from Volkwein’s, a music store in Pittsburgh, to whomever had requested them. I don’t remember whether I got paid for my effort or not, but Mobile Man was another pitch that went nowhere past the rough sketch stage.
A quarter-century later, the Wireless Man era seems almost quaintly nostalgic in its blind optimism in the future, given how supposed communication technology has actually changed our society—hardly for the better in every case. The notion that tech can somehow compensate for a deficit in masculinity—or femininity, or self-esteem in any sense, for that matter—seems about as absurd as the fantasy of an earlier era that lethal doses of radiation could somehow turn you into a Marvel superhero.
But that’s advertising, and that’s comics. For more, check out my publication, The Lost Art of Don Simpson, coming this summer to a personal appearance near you!