Iron Man and Me

My husband teases me about having a crush on Robert Downey Jr.

I don’t.

Not really.

Tony Stark though…maybe. Well, backstory is needed.

I haven’t ever really had a celebrity crush. When other girls were picking out their favorite *NSYNC boy or swooning over “Jack” (Leo DiCaprio) after seeing the Titanic, I was baffled. Why would anyone have a crush on someone you would never see? Someone who would never know you or care about you?

I’m no different today, and even if there’s a modicum of attraction, it has nothing to do with desire for romantic relationship. I’m all too aware that we’re referring to a fictional character. Plus the real guy seems happily married, not to mention he’s old enough to be my father.

I first saw Iron Man in 2008. It blew my mind. I absolutely loved it. As someone who was raised with old classics, WWII, and John Wayne westerns, this was on a whole new level. My exposure to modern action movies was minimal, and any superhero genre was almost non-existent in my repertoire. Of course, my experience watching the first of the MCU saga is not unique. Iron Man introduced many of us to a new level of cinema magic and ushered us into a fandom we never intended to embrace.

Enter Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Everyone was vying for his attention; to be the one his roaming gaze settled on. He was full of charisma and excitement. The character that began with “bad boy arms dealer”, bent in a satisfactory arc, revealing a conscientious yet troubled genius who needed a wake-up call to step into his purpose and mission. But that’s not what sold me. I hated him in Iron Man 2, relieving himself in his suit, drunk out of his mind. I hated how he treated his friends, stressing out Rhodey and Happy, and especially Pepper. He took advantage of her talents and affection, disregarding how his actions affected her. He was a jerk. I still loved the quippy comebacks, the suit assembly, and the movies as a whole, but the idea that the playboy is what attracted me was repulsive. I was enamored with Iron Man. Tony was too much.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Years passed. We watched as Tony fought with Cap, mentored Peter, married Pepper, saved the universe. He grew and matured, and through that I saw something. I saw the genius in how we were presented with a flawed and immature Tony who slept around and was recklessly irresponsible, and were led to root for him as he woke to the realization that he was capable of making a difference for the well-being of the world and those he loved. His struggles were our struggles. Maybe not my struggles; I didn’t relate to what he did when he was unhealthy, but it wasn’t until later that I realized how close to home all this was hitting. We now had a full picture of who Tony Stark was, his personal growth and evolution laid out before the world as he led the Avengers, flawed and broken, and ultimately sacrificed himself - a far cry from the man who couldn’t remember Pepper’s allergy to strawberries.

Then I experienced my first panic attack. During the pandemic, my stress level was high after being isolated with my kids in winter for weeks without reprieve. Our young dog escaped from the back yard as one of my boys dutifully took the trash out, and because I left the gate open to chase the puppy back into the yard, another of my boys opened the back door and the other dog ran out as well. So there I was, chasing scent-fixated hounds away from the street, terrified that my little boy was going to see one of them get hit by a car. Thankfully my father-in-law had stopped by momentarily, and helped get the dogs securely in the back yard with no further drama or danger. I thanked him, waved goodbye, and went back inside, thinking that I must be really out of shape.

And then I started breathing harder.

I had never actually hyperventilated before that. Within seconds I knew I was having a panic attack and started moving quickly from room to room, gasping and grabbing my chest, trying to tell my kids that I knew what was happening between gulps and reassuring them it would be okay. Thankfully I was able to call my husband as I slumped against the front door, barely able to speak as he calmly talked with me and waited until it was over and instructed me to pace through the house to avoid passing out. It was four days until I felt something like my normal self.

My oldest son is making his way through the MCU. I have been watching with him and started to see Tony in a new light. His struggles were more relatable now and as we watched Iron Man 3, it was like a crack had formed in the silver screen and I was connected. I got it. I understood that reference. Because of who he was and what he was capable of, Tony was responsible for other people. Living, breathing, humans. People he loved, people he respected, and all the other souls that weighed on him because he had a revelation of the precariousness of life and the part he played in maintaining the balance.

There’s a scene in Iron Man 3 where Tony is unable to save Pepper. She dramatically plunges to what is certainly her death, and there’s nothing Tony can do about it. As she slips and he watches in horror, I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands. My husband laughed at me, and I chuckled too.

“You’ve seen this before,” he said.

“I know.”

But suddenly I realize all the weight of these lives are on Tony, and he isn’t capable of preserving and protecting humanity like he hoped. He may have bit off more than he can chew. He may have had too optimistic expectations of his abilities. He might be a bit like me.

I don’t have a crush on Tony Stark. I relate to the character so closely that watching these movies is simultaneously an outlet for my inner experiences, and a comforting encouragement. I’m not alone. I may have talents and passion and skills that give me great responsibility, but there are always others. There’s always a team that assembles with me no matter what’s at stake.

The thing is…

I don’t have a crush on Iron Man.

I am Iron Man.

I love you 3000