Trade is Trade
She doesn’t swing between skyscrapers on sticky threads. She doesn’t smile for the cameras. And she doesn’t wait to be asked.

Spider-Woman – Jessica Drew – doesn’t fit the standard mould of a superhero. She doesn’t aspire to become a symbol. She works in the shadows, operates on instinct, and acts according to a code that is hers alone. This code, a complex set of personal ethics and experiences, guides her actions and decisions. She saves people, yes – but not for glory. She fights injustice – but doesn’t seek approval. And when she slips out of a hotel window with a freshly folded sheet under her arm, it’s not theft. It’s an exchange. Because, as she says, 'Trade is trade.'

This is not just a tale about a woman in tights. It’s about presence, about power, and about the intriguing concept of rewriting the rules. Who has the authority to write the rules, and who has the power to change them?

This is not just a story about Spider-Woman. It’s a narrative about the authority of storytelling, the politics of inclusion, and the potential for true equality. This is a story that challenges the norms, not just in the superhero world, but in the worlds we inhabit and dream of. It serves as a source of inspiration for the potential of true equality in superhero narratives.

”Lyrics in seven leaps
She bounces off bricks like a rubber ball,
up one wall and down the hall,
a flick, a flip, a mid-air twirl –
don’t blink or miss the scarlet girl.

She doesn’t swing from sticky thread,
She calculates with her brain instead.
No webby mess, no grand display –
just logic, grace, and get-away.

She saves a life before her tea,
then leaps from floor to balcony.
One villain dropped, two more to go –
but first: a jump from the 14th floor.

She doesn’t pose, she doesn’t gloat,
she’ll rather quote a feminist note.
Her venom blasts are sharp and fast –
but sarcasm is what will last.

In a Lycra suit, she scans the scene,
assesses risk (and folds things clean).
A fight? Perhaps. A brawl? Not quite.
She'd rather win it with insight.

And when she’s packed to leave the room,
she moves with catlike, velvet zoom.
She takes no pay, she leaves no debt –
except the maid will surely sweat...

For in her place – no sheet, no shame –
but a journal signed in Jessica’s name.
"Fieldnotes from the Edge" she leaves behind –
a trade of textile... for a wiser mind.”
Malmö, June 2025

Trade is Trade
The phrase' Bytt är bytt, kommer aldrig tillbaka' is a unique and deeply rooted expression in Swedish culture. Its rough English equivalent, 'Once it’s traded, it’s gone-no backsies!', underscores the finality of a trade in Swedish culture. This phrase, which reflects the country's emphasis on honour and commitment, is often compared to idioms like 'What’s done is done' or 'You made your bed, now lie in it.' Understanding the cultural significance of this phrase can provide a unique insight into Swedish values and traditions.

The phrase' Bytt är bytt, kommer aldrig tillbaka' gained popularity from a Swedish radio show in the early 1980s called 'Byteskomik.' This programme, which can be roughly translated as 'Comic Swap' or 'Trade Laughs,' allowed listeners to trade jokes and humorous stories live on air. The show's emphasis on the finality of trades and the joy of sharing played a significant role in embedding the phrase in Swedish culture, making it a part of everyday language and a reflection of the country's values.

Today, the phrase is used colloquially in everyday Swedish to emphasise that a decision or deal is final and not subject to revision. It appears frequently in children’s games and trades, often to lock in choices and prevent complaints. While it does not have an exact English counterpart with the same rhythm and folkloric charm, a few expressions come close depending on tone and context. For instance, phrases like 'A promise is a promise' or 'What's done is done' convey a similar sense of finality, but they lack the unique cultural context of the Swedish phrase.

"No backsies!" – A childish, playful expression used in games, capturing the same whimsical finality. "You gave me the blue one! No backsies!"

"A deal’s a deal." – Stern and businesslike. A way to signal that an agreement stands, no renegotiation. "You shook on it – a deal’s a deal."

"You made your bed, now lie in it." – More moralising, common among teenagers and parents. Accept the consequences of your actions. Classic adulthood.

"What’s done is done." – Fatalistic, Shakespearean. What’s past is past; no turning back.

One character who particularly resonates with the phrase 'Trade is Trade' is Jessica Drew, a.k.a. Spider-Woman. Jessica is a complex character, known for her dry wit and unapologetic approach to life. The phrase' Trade is Trade' encapsulates her attitude towards life – a dry response whenever she leaves a hotel room minus a few items. It's not about theft for her, but about living by her code, much like the Swedish phrase's emphasis on honour and commitment. This phrase serves as a window into Jessica's character, her unique moral compass, and the way she navigates the world, making her a fascinating character to explore.

Just like Spider-Man, Jessica comes from modest beginnings. She travels like any other frequent flyer – business class when lucky, mid-range hotels most of the time. The Avengers have an informal deal with several major hotel chains. For instance, when she and Spider-Man stayed at the Clarion Hotel in Malmö (separate rooms, of course – anything else would violate Marvel’s code of conduct), she followed her usual routine.

“Trade is trade,” Spider-Woman said as she slipped out of her room's window at the Clarion the other night.

She did this often, not because she was a kleptomaniac, but because it was part of her code. She wasn’t so different from the other guests in that respect. People steal everything that isn’t bolted down—towels, bathrobes, blankets, silverware, pots and pans – even the occasional TV. The Gideon Bible on the nightstand usually survives. It’s become such a common issue that most hotels factor it into their budgets – it’s simply part of hospitality now.

But unlike the rest, Jessica always left something behind.

In her suitcase, she always carried a few copies of her own privately circulated magazine, Spider-Woman: Fieldnotes from the Edge. Not available in shops. This particular issue was a feminist special edition, the type of print that hotel staff, especially the women, tended to appreciate. Not just for the content, but because this rare volume could fetch a handsome price online. She knew that. And she felt no guilt about what she took.

She had more towels than she could count—bathrobes adorned with logos from hotel chains across the globe. Ashtrays didn’t interest her – she didn’t smoke.

Mostly, it was bed sheets she made off with. Not from her room, of course – she wasn’t careless. She took them from the housekeepers’ carts, freshly laundered and ready to use.

Trade is trade.
And in Jessica’s world, a clean conscience comes folded in crisp cotton.

Spider-Woman Doesn't Need Web-Shooters

Jessica Drew was never a web-slinger like Spider-Man. Unlike her more tech-dependent colleague, she leaps, bounces between walls, glides, and lands with such feline precision that gravity itself seems to apologise. In earlier versions of the comics, Jessica had small glide membranes beneath her arms — somewhere between a flying squirrel and a ninja — but it’s her body, not the fabric, that transforms her into something even a cat might envy.

She manages falls from great heights with the aid of superhuman agility, explosive strength, and reflexes faster than lightning. Jessica doesn’t need sticky webbing. She’s like a rubber ball. And yet — or perhaps because of it — she has developed a particular interest in hotel bedsheets.

Especially those smooth, tightly woven ones in cotton satin, preferably 300 thread count and with just the right sheen to double as a reliable rope. She doesn’t see hotel sheets as inventory — she views them as available raw material. Multipurpose. Don’t underestimate the hidden uses of linens. In Jessica’s hands, sheets become lifelines, parachutes, gliders, improvised harnesses, or — in more conservative countries — a makeshift veil. And to be fair, she does pay her way. As she puts it:

“Trade is trade. And satin’s cheaper than a broken leg.”

Perhaps now is the time to mention the valuable and timely special edition of Jessica’s magazine — an issue that tackles gender equality among superheroes. Because if they’re meant to serve as role models, the standard matters. The fact that this issue exists and is being discussed is a testament to the evolving landscape of gender equality in the world of superheroes, giving us hope for a more inclusive and representative future.

The short answer? Progress is being made — but oh, so slowly.
Gender equality among superheroes — from capes to power — is still a work in progress, just like in real life.

For decades, the world of superheroes has been dominated by men, particularly in terms of who is central, who is complex, and how women are depicted, both in image and action. Female heroes have been present, but often on the sidelines, in supporting roles, or sexualised and defined by male leads. Only in the past decade has genuine change begun to gain traction.

When superheroes first appeared in the 1930s and 1940s, nearly all of them were white, heterosexual men, typically with backgrounds in science or the military. They wore capes, saved the world, and were shaped by the era’s masculine ideals. Women were present — Wonder Woman, for instance, debuted in 1941 — but they were often limited to being beautiful, controlled forms of strength, constantly objectified: large breasts, narrow waists, and skin-tight suits. Characters like Batgirl, Supergirl, Invisible Woman, and Black Widow rounded out the ensemble but were seldom permitted to drive the story. High heels in battle were more common than inner conflict regarding equal rights.

However, something began to shift. In the 1970s and 1980s, feminist ideas started to infiltrate the comic book industry. Ms. Marvel (Carol Danvers) and Storm from X-Men gained stronger voices. In 1984, She-Hulk received her own series, complete with meta-humour and an awareness of gender clichés. And in 1987, Watchmen arrived — a graphic novel that both criticised and reinforced the genre’s gender roles. In the 2000s, a few women took the lead, notably Buffy and Elektra, but it wasn’t until the 2010s that real momentum began to build.

Captain Marvel returned, stronger than ever — on the page and the big screen. Wonder Woman finally received a film worthy of her legacy and was taken seriously, rather than being treated as decoration. Kamala Khan, a Muslim teenage girl from Jersey City, became Ms. Marvel and demonstrated that a new generation of heroes was possible. Spider-Gwen, Silk, America Chavez, Kate Bishop — suddenly, there were more female characters with depth, humour, and power of their own. Series like Unbeatable Squirrel Girl dared to be nerdy, intelligent, and written for a broader audience beyond the traditional boy demographic.

But is it equal? Not yet. Far from it.

Women are still severely underrepresented among the most central and commercially prioritised superheroes. Male heroes still receive more series, more films, bigger budgets, and longer runs. Female characters lag. The visual legacy of sexualisation lingers, albeit more subtly, and even when women are afforded space, it often occurs within frameworks still coded by male norms. No superwoman has ever donned saggy clothes and had small breasts.

Because it’s not just about gender — it’s about role, power, and perspective. Who gets to fail and still be heroic? Who gets to be angry, unattractive, powerless, and still be essential? Who gets to be the subject of the story, not merely the symbol in someone else’s?

In this context, Spider-Woman – Jessica Drew – serves as a key example. She’s not a character created to be loved (perhaps desired). Jessica isn’t charming like Peter Parker, nor regal like Diana Prince. She’s grumpy, tired, dangerous, competent, and often unwelcome. She doesn’t fit a mould. In her best iterations, she’s not a traditional role model but a presence that demands to be taken seriously. She’s not there to inspire — she’s there to get the job done.

That’s what equality in the superhero realm should signify: not just that women are permitted to participate, but that they get to define the rules of the story, the language, and the driving force. And in that regard, Jessica Drew is one of the few who has begun to redraw the map. We need more stories like hers, stories that empower women and redefine the superhero narrative.

It’s only with her that the structure of the story begins to change.

Female superheroes, though often not at the narrative's centre, are potent symbols of empowerment and inspiration. Their presence, far from being overlooked, should be celebrated for the strength and inspiration they bring to the narrative.

For generations, they’ve been present as catalysts for male development: as love interests, rivals, or dying sisters. They have been the ones saved, the ones lost, the ones avenged – but rarely the ones defining the narrative on their terms. And even when women are allowed active participation, it often takes place within a pre-written framework: she may be strong, but the story isn’t hers.

With Jessica (Spider-Woman), the focus shifts. She is not among the most iconic figures, but from her position – on the margins, partly in the shadows – she is allowed to become something unusual: an independent agenda. She may have emerged from a tradition where female heroes were often created as thematic reflections of male predecessors, but Jessica Drew is not a “female Spider-Man.” She isn’t there to be a girlfriend, a sister, or a sexy sidekick. She’s there to do her job – and to decide for herself when to step in and when to step away. That she also happens to be sexy doesn’t diminish her power.

Within the narrative, Jessica Drew operates according to her internal code. She saves lives without seeking recognition, existing in a world where truths are layered and loyalty is fluid. Her gender doesn’t explain why she’s there, only how others attempt to relate to it. This isn't just about representation – it’s a captivating shift in narrative authority that keeps the audience engaged.

In what appears to be a small act, such as the story where she steals a sheet from a hotel room but leaves something else in return, the power dynamic is reversed. It’s not the hotel’s rules that apply, but hers. And what she leaves behind is far more helpful than a sheet to sleep in. A sheet will wear out over time, but her message will endure.

At that moment, the structure of the story changes. She doesn’t follow the rules – she rewrites them and redraws the game board. It’s no longer about including women in an already established narrative, but about allowing their actions to define what counts, what is right, and what is powerful.

In short, equality in fiction isn’t just about who gets to be seen – it’s about who gets to create meaning. Spider-Woman embodies this concept of 'narrative authority' – the power to shape and define the story, not merely to be a part of it. She doesn't demand space in the narrative; she takes it, shapes it, and leaves her distinct signature behind, thereby redefining the power dynamics in storytelling.

The special issue Jessica leaves in exchange for the hotel sheet highlights the essential point: equality isn’t only about gender – it’s about human dignity. It’s a perspective that is both universal and concrete. And one where tomorrow’s superheroes must lead by example.

Equality means that everyone, regardless of gender, background, or belief, should have the same power to shape their lives, the same freedom to choose their path, and the same worth in the eyes of others. This is a powerful motivator and a fundamental prerequisite for a humane society. It’s about equal rights, equal opportunities, and equal recognition – not as an ideal, but as a fundamental prerequisite for a humane society, instilling a sense of empowerment and hope in the audience.

It doesn’t matter what gender you are, what colour your skin is, what name appears in your passport, or what god you believe in – or don’t believe in. A reasonable person is good regardless, and bad people come in every colour, shape, and tradition. Morality isn’t inherent in gender or culture – it’s formed through action, responsibility, and respect.

Equality isn’t about making everyone the same – it’s about giving everyone the same chance to be fully themselves, without being hindered by outdated frames, stereotypical images, or unjust structures.

That’s where the struggle begins – and continues.

An important point raised in several sections of the bonus edition is that it’s the outcome that counts, not the muscles. Superman may be the strongest, but sometimes it’s better not to smash through the wall. Sometimes it’s wiser to walk around it, dig underneath it, or use cunning – and let the enemy open the door. Just like in Troy thousands of years ago.

The idea is attributed to Odysseus, but the text was written by a man: Homer. In several versions of the myth, it’s Pallas Athena, goddess of strategy, who inspires him to use wit over brute force. She is the mind of war, not its sword, and her presence hovers over the entire Odyssey. The horse was likely her idea from the outset, but it was dressed in male glory.

Just as Odysseus, inspired by Pallas Athena, used strategy to win the Trojan War, Jessica Drew uses her intelligence and cunning to navigate the complex world of superhero narratives. This comparison highlights the enduring relevance of strategic thinking, often associated with female characters, in the context of narrative authority.

Sometimes, it’s better to take the elevator than to climb the walls.