I grew up a punk rock kid.
Skateboards. Beaches. Summers filled with salty air and busted Converse. I was the kid with a pocket full of sand and a Walkman full of Ska, Punk, and alt-rock: Blink-182, Green Day, Less Than Jake, Bad Religion, NOFX, Rancid. I wore Vans like armor. Rebellion was the anthem, and kindness didn’t always make the cut.
But something’s changed. Watching James Gunn’s Superman, one quiet quote from a scene in the movie hit me harder than any power chord ever did: Being kind is the new punk rock.
In a world built on sarcasm, detachment, and cynicism, is a man who chooses to be kind. Who doesn’t need to dominate to matter. That’s not weak, that’s rad.
And for the first time in a long time, Superman feels radical again.
From the moment Superman first appeared on newsstands in 1938, he was more than a character. He was a symbol. Born from the imagination of two Jewish immigrants during the Depression, Superman represented hope in hard times. He stood up to bullies, corrupt landlords, and injustice. He was power wielded responsibly.
Fast forward to Christopher Reeve’s Superman in the 1970s and ’80s. Reeve gave us a version that was pure, smiling, and morally unshakeable. He wasn’t cool, he was good. And we loved him for it.
Then came Henry Cavill’s Superman: dark, brooding, conflicted. In a post-9/11 world filled with fear and disillusionment, Cavill’s Superman mirrored our uncertainty. He was still a hero, but one trying to navigate where he belonged.
And now, David Corenswet steps in. Not to outshine them but to restore something they each held in pieces: A Superman who believes in people. Who chooses hope. Who isn’t trying to be liked, but to be kind. And somehow, that’s become edgy again. The more I think about it, the more I realize: In today’s culture, kindness is countercultural. Restraint is rebellion and hope is the new hardcore.
Our media reflects who we are, and lately, it’s been reflecting something a little unsettling.
Take Homelander, a central figure in the Amazon Prime show The Boys. He has all the powers of Superman: flight, strength, invulnerability, but none of the moral foundation. What defines Homelander isn’t his abilities. It’s his need.
He needs to be adored. He needs the cameras. He needs the applause. But it’s not admiration rooted in respect…it’s fear dressed up as worship. He doesn’t lead people, he controls them. Anyone who challenges him is seen as a threat to his ego, not as a person with value. Empathy is absent. Everything becomes transactional. You’re either useful to him, or you’re in the way. In that sense, Homelander isn’t just a supervillain. He’s a cautionary tale about modern leadership. What happens when influence is built on insecurity instead of integrity. He’s a symbol of the kind of power we’ve grown uncomfortably used to: loud, self-serving, performative.
And the worst part? We’ve accepted it. Characters like Homelander, Omni-Man, and Brightburn’s Brandon are dominating our screens and cultural conversations. They’ve become what we expect from power: cynicism, violence, emotional detachment, and entitlement.
That’s exactly why David Corenswet’s version of Superman matters right now. It’s not just a return to form, it’s a direct response to the direction we’ve gone. His Superman isn’t desperate to be praised. He isn’t trying to prove how strong he is. He doesn’t need to control people to feel valuable. Instead, he leads with humility, steadiness, and restraint. And in 2025 that kind of hero, one who uses power quietly and compassionately, feels more subversive than any antihero ever could. Superman doesn’t need a crowd to feel validated. He doesn’t need to crush someone to feel strong. And he doesn’t need to be feared to matter. That’s not weakness. That’s leadership.
This is the Superman Iron Giant would have looked up to. If you’ve seen The Iron Giant, you know the moment. This towering weapon of war, built to destroy, makes one final choice before saving the world.
“You are who you choose to be,” Hogarth tells him.
And the Giant: gentle, trembling, and emotional, whispers one word: “Superman.”
He wasn’t choosing power. He was choosing purpose. He didn’t admire Superman for flying. He admired him for choosing to protect a world that didn’t understand him. For being gentle because he was strong not in spite of it.
And now, Corenswet’s Superman finally gives us that version again. A reminder that strength doesn’t have to be cruel. That leadership doesn’t have to be performative. That you can be powerful and still have a heart.
So what does this have to do with leadership?
Everything.
Because real leadership today isn’t about who can talk the loudest or dominate the room. It’s about who has the emotional strength to lead with calm, clarity, and care. Especially when the world pushes you to do the opposite.
I’ve seen it in business. I’ve seen it in politics. I’ve seen it in men who’ve forgotten that the goal isn’t to win arguments, it’s to protect people. This Superman reminds me that kindness is courage. Restraint is power. Compassion is rebellion. And honestly? That sounds more punk rock than anything I ever blasted on my headphones as a kid.
We grew up thinking rebellion looked like mohawks, middle fingers, and bands in basements. But maybe rebellion today looks like treating people with dignity, even when you don’t have to. Maybe it looks like being a boss who listens, a father who shows up, a man who chooses to care.
Maybe it looks like Superman. The one the Iron Giant believed in. The one who believes in us even when we don’t believe in ourselves.
You are who you choose to be.
Choose well.
