Rapunzel is my favorite superhero.

A few weeks ago, my little brother grappled with that provocative question only October could pose: what to be for Halloween. Being an intrusive older sister, I couldn't watch him make such a critical decision without giving him my advice.

"Be a ninja," I suggested.

"I was a ninja last year."

"Then be Darth Vader."

"Maybe."

"A superhero?"

"I don't want to be a superhero."

"But you've never been one before! You have to be a superhero at least once."

"Then you be one."

"Maybe I will. I'll be...um. Uhhh..."

In that moment, searching for a kick-ass heroine to throw in my brother's face, I saw just how limited my options were. The only choices that came to mind were Superwoman, Black Widow, or some over-sexualized knockoff of another hero. I may not be well-versed enough in superhero culture to know other female protagonists, but the very fact that no other heroines were mainstream enough to have triggered my memory is a red flag.

Truth be told, before I had this conversation with my brother, the male monopoly on heroes didn't bother me. My mental image of a superhero was a muscled, caped man. I realized, though, that in the constant tug-of-war between hero and villain, female characters are nowhere to be found on either end of the rope. Instead, they're ushered off to the sidelines, given sparkly pom-poms, and told to cheer. Even when females are given starring roles, most heroines have no powers but for the ability to seduce, slink around mysteriously, or do martial arts. The women who do have powers are reduced to busty versions of their male counterparts. What does this imply about the genders? That females aren't capable of being extraordinary, of being in a position of power? That men can capitalize on their inherently phenomenal traits but women can't?

After I hit upon this gold mine of revelations, I began to focus my attention on Disney princesses--because if superheroes are the male's archetypal models, then Disney princesses are the female's. I was ready to destroy my childhood memories, determined to hate everything those princesses stood for, but I found myself unable to do so. Although it may be hard to see under the frills, sporadic singing, and apparent naivete, most princesses are superheroes, too.

Mulan saves all of China from the Huns while dodging social barbs. Elsa is a snow queen with such potent powers, she freezes and thaws an entire country, gives life to snow beings, and constructs a multi-storied castle in as much time as it took her to sing about letting it go. Rapunzel can magically heal wounds and reverse aging. Cinderella and Snow White can talk to animals and convince creatures to do their bidding (imagine what they could do with that power if they stopped wasting it on domestic chores).

The problem, then, wasn't that female superheroes don't exist. The problem was that I didn't recognize them. True, princesses are not the ideal role models. However, it's not fair that femininity automatically negates any of their heroic or superhero-esque actions. Just because princesses aren't as macho as male superheroes doesn't mean they should be dismissed entirely. Why can't heroines conquer villains and fight crime, but also wear dresses and sing? A man who uses superpowers to save the day is a superhero. Following that line of logic, a woman who uses powers to save the day can be a superhero regardless of her other feminine traits.

This post may have been a jumbled soup of questions and arguments and thoughts, and I apologize for that. Whenever the issue of people enters the equation, things are bound to get messy. In the end, though, that's the one thing I know for certain: we're all people. Superheroes are people, princesses are people, and people are complicated.

The next time I try to categorize the individuals around me into neat little boxes, I need to step back and remember that each person is an ocean of existence. All I ever see is the rippling surface, not the wealth of life teeming just beneath.