The Unlikely Redemption of Stan Lee: Why We Should All Be Embarrassed About Being ‘Just’ Creators
Let’s start with a paradox: A man who co-created Spider-Man once felt ashamed of writing comics. In 2023, that’s as absurd as Tony Stark apologizing for building Iron Man suits. But Stan Lee’s confession—“I used to be embarrassed because I was just a comic book writer”—isn’t just a quirky anecdote. It’s a window into a cultural schizophrenia that still haunts art today. Why do we dismiss mediums that give billions of people joy? And what does Lee’s journey tell us about how society values creativity?
The Embarrassment of Lowbrow Art
Here’s the thing: Lee wasn’t wrong to feel awkward in the 1940s. Comics were the literary equivalent of fast food—seen as trashy, disposable, even dangerous. Critics blamed them for juvenile delinquency! But what fascinates me is how Lee internalized this shame. He wanted to write the Great American Novel. Comics were a paycheck, not a legacy. This mirrors a timeless struggle: creators doubting their own work because it’s deemed ‘popular’ rather than ‘serious.’
I’ve felt this tension. As a kid devouring X-Men, I hid the comics under my bed. Why? Because adults praised my Shakespeare paper but rolled their eyes at Wolverine. We’re taught that art must suffer to be valuable. Lee’s redemption arc—realizing entertainment is valuable—challenges that lie. His epiphany wasn’t just personal; it was revolutionary. He dared to say that making people happy isn’t trivial. It’s essential.
Entertainment as a Lifeline
Let me dissect Lee’s quote: “Without [entertainment], they might go off the deep end.” That’s not hyperbole. During the pandemic, how many of us clung to Netflix, TikTok, or Marvel movies to survive isolation? Lee understood this 70 years ago. He saw comics as emotional armor against a harsh world. Spider-Man wasn’t just a hero; he was a friend to lonely teens. The X-Men weren’t mutants—they were every kid who felt like an outsider.
What many miss is how radical this was. Lee didn’t just normalize comics; he weaponized them. He slipped social commentary into superhero battles. His characters argued against bigotry in the 1960s—a time when that was radical. This wasn’t escapism. It was engagement, dressed in spandex. And yet, even as his creations became billion-dollar franchises, Lee kept repeating: “I just wanted to sell comics.” Modesty? Or a refusal to let success sanitize his original mission?
The Legacy Problem: Who Gets the Credit?
Here’s where Lee’s story gets messy. For all his charisma, he was part of a system that exploited collaborators. Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko—the artists who gave Lee’s words visual life—died fighting for recognition. Marvel’s modern billion-dollar empire is built on their shoulders. And let’s be honest: If Lee had written that Great American Novel, we’d know his collaborators by name. But comics? The industry treated them like factory workers, not artists.
This isn’t just about money. It’s about cultural respect. Even now, comics are the red-headed stepchild of art. Movie adaptations get Oscars; comics get stuck in the ‘kids section.’ Lee’s legacy is a double-edged sword: He elevated comics by sheer force of personality, but he also became the face of a system that erased others. Is that why he kept saying “Excelsior!”—as if to push the medium forward, despite the industry’s sins?
What Lee Got Right About Art (And Why We Still Get It Wrong)
Let’s zoom out. Lee’s journey mirrors a universal truth: Society only values art when it’s monetized. Before the MCU, comics were ‘just comics.’ Now they’re ‘IP gold.’ But does that mean we respect the medium more? Or just the wallets it fills? I’d argue the latter. We still undervalue creators who work in ‘lowbrow’ forms. TikTok dancers, meme artists, fanfiction writers—they face the same snobbery Lee did.
The deeper issue is how we define ‘meaning.’ Lee’s quote about bigotry—“The only way to destroy it is to expose it”—proves comics can tackle profound themes. But we cling to hierarchies: Literature > Comics; Film > TV; ‘High Art’ > Everything Else. Lee’s life challenges this hierarchy. If his ‘embarrassing’ comics inspired movements, mental health resilience, and global fandoms, what does that say about our definitions of value?
Final Thoughts: Embrace the ‘Just’
So here’s my takeaway: The next time someone dismisses a creative pursuit as ‘just entertainment,’ remember Stan Lee. Remember that ‘just’ is a lie we tell ourselves to feel secure in our narrow definitions of art. The real question isn’t whether a medium is ‘worthy.’ It’s whether it connects. And if you’ve ever felt seen by a comic book, a pop song, or a superhero movie—you already know the answer.
Lee didn’t just create characters. He created permission slips for the rest of us to take joy seriously. And that’s the kind of legacy no box office record can touch.
