Superior Marketing #1 Review: When Superhero PR Goes Off the Rails

WEPA, mi gente, let me tell you something right out the gate: Superior Marketing Issue #1 is one of those indie comics that walks in wearing a superhero cape, then immediately tosses that cape over a dumpster fire labeled “public relations” and says, “Yeah, fam, this is the real battlefield.” And you know what? It works. Big time.

From Hat & Glasses Comics, writer Chase Muir comes out swinging with a premise that feels fresh, funny, and painfully accurate in this era where one bad video, one viral clip, one messy press conference, or one “oopsie, my bad” can turn a so-called beloved hero into the internet’s daily punching bag. The setup is simple but slick: in a world where superheroes are everywhere, being powerful is not enough anymore. You need branding. You need messaging. You need damage control. You need someone to explain why you just accidentally wrecked a monument without sounding like you learned empathy from a parking meter. Enter Superior Marketing Services, the agency trying to make heroes look heroic even when the heroes themselves are out here making things worse with Olympian-level confidence and bodega-level self-awareness.

The issue kicks off with a public dedication ceremony in Power City honoring civil rights icon Greg K. Vaughan. It’s supposed to be respectful, emotional, civic-minded, the whole wholesome enchilada. Then a robot attack crashes the moment, Paragon shows up, and instead of saving the day clean, he turns the statue into rubble. Boom. Instant chaos. The crowd goes from confused to furious faster than a New Yorker realizing the train skipped their stop. The optics are awful. Not just “bad press” awful. More like “someone take this man’s phone, cape, microphone, and possibly his oxygen” awful.

That is where the comic gets its sauce. Because Superior Marketing is not really about superheroes punching robots, even though yes, we get action, lasers, hover boots, imposters, and all that good comic book sugar. The real punchline is that hero culture has become brand culture. Chase Muir understands that modern fame is not just about what you do. It is about how people clip it, caption it, misunderstand it, remix it, argue about it, and then somehow blame a multiverse variant by lunchtime. That angle gives the book bite without making it bitter. It is satire with a smile and a side-eye. Smart stuff, but not dressed up like it is trying to impress a professor with elbow patches.

Rhea R. Raines is the engine here, and she is immediately one of the best parts of the book. As the CEO of Superior Marketing, she has that “I have not slept, I have twelve fires to put out, and I still have to pretend this is fine” energy that every overworked boss, creator, publicist, editor, and podcaster on Earth can recognize. She is sharp, stressed, capable, and clearly juggling more than the office chaos. That missed-call thread with Carrie gives her a personal heartbeat beneath the comedy. It is not fully unpacked yet, but it lands. You feel that there is a life outside the crisis room, and that life is being pushed to the corner while the cape-client circus eats the whole day. Real talk, that hit. Anybody building something while trying to show up for family knows that pressure. Oof. That is not comic book fantasy. That is Tuesday.

The supporting team is built with clear comedic purpose. Steven Lee, the digital marketer, lives in the trenches of online discourse, tracking hashtags, comments, fake accusations, and the eternal question of whether the internet is mad for a reason or just bored with Wi-Fi. Alice Johnson, the designer, brings visual problem-solving and a little creative sass to the room. Will Donaldson, the account strategist, has that practical “we need to survive this client” vibe, though he also has ideas that feel like they came from a whiteboard after three coffees and one bad night’s sleep. Then there is Ned Newman, the intern paid in experience, which is one of the most villainous phrases in modern labor, let’s keep it a buck. Ned becomes the kind of poor soul who starts as office background noise and ends up physically dragged into the brand strategy. That is comedy with bruises.

Paragon is written as a hilarious disaster. He is not evil, at least not in the obvious “twirling mustache and monologuing near lava” way. He is worse in a funnier way: oblivious. He has the confidence of a golden-age hero and the emotional intelligence of a haunted toaster. Watching Superior Marketing try to script him, dress him, redirect him, and keep him from saying something catastrophic is comedy gold. His apology makes things worse. His instincts make things worse. His attempts at helping make things worse. This man is a walking brand liability with abs. Fam, that is dangerous.

Omaik Neiv’s art gives the book the right kind of animated pop. The expressions are doing heavy lifting here, and that matters because the comedy depends on faces. Rhea’s exhaustion, Steven’s digital dread, Paragon’s clueless grin, Ned’s panic, Will’s “please let payroll survive” face, all of it reads clean. The character acting is crisp, and the layouts move with a nice balance between workplace sitcom pacing and superhero spectacle. When the story is in the office, the panels feel busy but not messy. When the robot chaos hits, the action opens up and gives the page some air. That shift is important. It keeps the book from feeling like just people talking in rooms. Instead, it feels like the office comedy and superhero mayhem are wrestling for control of the same comic.

Taiky M.’s colors bring that bright superhero world energy while still allowing mood to sneak in when needed. The public scenes have that open daylight shine, perfect for civic disaster and live-camera humiliation. The office scenes use stronger emotional color punches, especially when Rhea’s stress spikes or the team’s plans start sliding off the rails. The green-screen setup, the dark costume gag, the big robot sequence, the laser-eye madness, all of it gets that colorful comic-book snap. It is fun to look at. Clean, loud, energetic. No visual molasses here.

LetterSquids deserves credit too because comedy lettering is not just putting words in balloons. Timing matters. Placement matters. Sound effects matter. The issue uses big expressive SFX to punch up physical comedy and superhero destruction without burying the story. The dialogue stays readable even when the page is juggling jokes, panic, and chaos. That is not easy. Lettering can make a joke land or trip over its own sneakers, and this book’s rhythm mostly lands on beat.

The cover by Alberto Hernandez Rivero also does its job beautifully. It sells the concept before page one: a weird, lovable, stressed-out marketing crew perched above something much bigger and darker than them. That image tells you this is not just a cape book. It is a workplace disaster comedy inside a superhero universe, and everybody involved is probably one bad client meeting away from eating cold pizza on the floor.

Now, keeping it real because that is how we do at Comic Crusaders, the issue moves fast. Very fast. Most of that speed works because the comedy has momentum, but a few beats could use a little more breathing room. Rhea’s personal life thread is interesting and deserves more oxygen in future chapters. Same with the team dynamics. The cast is strong enough that I wanted a little extra time with them outside the immediate crisis machine. Also, some of the satire around internet outrage and fake online narratives is sharp, but the book has room to go even deeper there. Not heavier, just deeper. The concept is strong enough to carry more bite. Let the teeth show a little more next time, because the premise can handle it.

But as a first issue? This thing does exactly what it needs to do. It introduces the world, defines the tone, gives us a memorable cast, makes Paragon a top-tier walking PR nightmare, and ends with enough disaster fuel to make you go, “Yeah, I need issue two, because these people are cooked.” That final turn takes the story from “save the hero’s image” to “oh no, the hero’s image might literally get somebody flattened.” That is how you escalate, baby.

Superior Marketing Issue #1 is for readers who love superhero satire, workplace comedy, creator-owned weirdness, and stories that understand the modern world is basically one giant comment section with weather. It has shades of classic cape parody, modern media chaos, and indie comic hustle all blended into something with its own flavor. Not too cynical. Not too safe. Funny, clever, colorful, and ready to build.

Chase Muir and the team have something here. Hat & Glasses Comics is stepping into the ring with a concept that feels marketable, expandable, and mad relevant. In a crowded superhero landscape, Superior Marketing finds the angle most cape books ignore: the people who have to clean up after the “savior” saves the day sideways. And fam, that is where the magic lives.

Superior Marketing Issue #1 launches on Kickstarter September 7, 2026, and if you like indie comics with brains, jokes, chaos, and a superhero who desperately needs to be removed from all microphones, keep this one on your radar. Follow the campaign, follow the creators, and get ready, because this is the kind of book that could sneak up on people and become a cult favorite before the internet even knows what hit it.

CRUSADERS SCORE:
4/ 5

Pre-Launch Page:
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/chasemuir/superior-marketing-issue-1

Kickstarter Launch Date:
September 7, 2026

Writer: Chase Muir
Artist: Omaik Neiv
Colorist: Taiky M.
Letterer: LetterSquids
Cover Artist: Alberto Hernandez Rivero
Editor: Andrea Lorenzo Molinari
Variant Cover Artists: TBA
Publisher: Hat & Glasses Comics, self-published

Follow / Newsletter Links:
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TikTok: @the_comic_chase
Facebook: Hat & Glasses Comics
Substack / Newsletter: chasemuir.substack.com