Now, I am actually going to do something
that you guys do every single day.

I'm going to ask you guys
to judge me right now.

The Bumbys were just doing it;
it's very appropriate.

Take a good look,
and describe me in your head.

Now, based on those descriptions, 
how would you categorize me?

By my height?

By my skin color?

By my hair?

Now, would any of those descriptions
scream comic-book editor?

Maybe my t-shirt, actually;
I think that might have given it away.

But no, probably not.

I'm actually one of the few South Asian,
female comic-book editors out there.

I think, actually,
I might be the only one,

so for any of you South Asian females
interested, it's a good gig.

I highly recommend it.

Holler at my ladies? No?

All right, that's cool.

Now, what I do as a comic-book editor
is I make things up.

I work with creators

to tell the most uncanny,
amazing, sensational stories

about seemingly ordinary individuals

who come to possess
extraordinary identities.

We call them superheroes.

Now, when I was first asked
to speak at this event,

it was actually after the announcement
of a character I had co-created:

Ms. Marvel, the all-new Ms. Marvel,

was the first Muslim American superhero 
to have her own series.

It really was the most obvious thing 
in the world in my mind.

I had created a character 
that I could identify with.

And yet it was quite possibly

the biggest publicity that Marvel
had seen in quite some time.

Parents called us,
thanking us for creating a book

that they could finally share
with their daughter.

Fans called us thanking us

for creating a character
that they could finally relate to.

We'd clearly tapped
into something really powerful,

something people had been craving 
for quite some time.

And yet it was the simplest idea, 
just masked as the craziest.

Now, to understand
the origins of Ms. Marvel,

we have to take a trip

to a land far, far away,

[It was New Jersey]

(Laughter)

a long, long time ago,

where - come on -

where a young girl with a cowlick
and bad taste in clothes

never felt like she could fit in.

She didn't look like
the other girls in her class,

couldn't eat the delicious,
delicious BLTs that they could eat.

She began to become fascinated with bacon.

What is that delicious meat?

She had no idea.

Her parents weren't on the PTA.

She didn't get Christmas presents.

And in fact, she had to wear a t-shirt 
over her bathing suit

every single time she swam.

So clearly this girl was different.

But she did have an outlet,

and it wasn't her parents, who she adored,

who just didn't quite understand her yet,

or her three older brothers,

who were too busy
with hair gel and light sabers

to pay any attention to her.

It was something else
altogether different.

It was the X-Men.

Yes! Yes!

(Applause)

The X-Men were mutants,

individuals with mutated and enhanced
genes that triggered in adolescence,

giving them superpowers.

It was the coolest thing in the world.

A woman with brown skin and white hair
who can manipulate the weather,

a gigantic beast of a man with blue fur,

a shy girl with a Southern drawl
who couldn't touch anyone.

So these people were
that little girl's safe place.

These people she understood
because they, too, were different.

And it also helped that they
also wore ridiculous-looking outfits.

I don't know, Mom, I have no idea
what you were doing in that picture.

I apologize.

So, the X-Men embraced who they are.

Adamantium claws, weird
weather-controlling habits, mutations.

They owned it:

they knew who they were,
and they would defend it, no matter what.

So every Saturday morning,

when this little girl used to rush
down the stairs to watch that show,

she felt a little less alone

because they had fulfilled a need
to see herself in the world outside.

So, let's talk about why that need
existed in the first place.

Now, remember when I was asking 
you guys earlier about categories?

Why don't you guys think about
the categories that you all belong to.

I'm going to do that up here for myself.

So, I am a Muslim, a woman,
an American, a comic book editor,

a short person, a lazy person, a nerd -

you can ignore that, though.

Now, the strange thing
about defining yourself in this way

is that it simplifies who you are.

How can everything that I am
be encompassed into a label?

Now, some of these labels
we choose for ourselves,

others we're born into
and others are assigned for us.

But regardless, all of them
come with preconceived notions -

assumptions and expectations -

of what they mean.

So if I'm Muslim,

people may expect that I cover my head,

that I don't associate with men,

that I don't drink alcohol.

Others may assume that I'm a terrorist -

I'm not -

that I hate Americans.

Well, I'm an American,
so I certainly don't hate myself,

sometimes.

I'm an oppressed woman.

I'm way too stubborn for that.

You can ask my poor parents;
they deal with it every day.

Now, because we allow others
to create these definitions for us,

we inherently accept them to be true,

whether it's a conscious decision or not.

So at some point, the line between
perspective and reality begins to blur.

When we are told by others,
constantly and incessantly, who we are,

when we allow others to define ourselves -

whether it's the media, 
our parents, our friends -

we begin to accept a standard of self
that is not of our own choosing.

We become a splintered version
of the person we are destined to be.

I remember in junior high school -

it was actually right after
the first World Trade Center bombing,

and it was a very confusing time for me
for a bunch of reasons,

but in particular
because it was the first time

my religion was made
synonymous with violence

in such a public way.

I'd walked into school the next morning,

and a classmate who I'd never
actually talked to before

tapped me on the shoulder,

and he said, "Hey, tell your people
to stop attacking us."

I was confused, hurt, stunned.

"Us?"

I thought I was "us."

I certainly wasn't "them," was I?

That would be the first time

that I saw the way the world viewed
the category I belonged to.

Names like Muhammed, Ahmed, Sharif,

names I had grown up with all of my life

were equated with terms
like "terrorist," "hate monger," "enemy."

I was angry at those men who had warped
my faith into a vengeful weapon,

and at the same time at the media
for propagating those stereotypes.

I swung from self-defense to self-doubt,

pride to shame.

Who was I? What side was I on?
Where did I fit in?

I had no idea.

For years, I had
constantly measured myself

against images
that looked nothing like me.

I didn't see myself in the TV,
in the classroom or in magazines.

And suddenly, my face was everywhere
with a big red X painted over it.

Why did I feel so uncertain
and insecure about my identity?

I'm going to throw some
social-psychological jargon out at you

to make myself sound really smart.

There's something
called a "stereotype threat,"

and what it says is that individuals
of a particular group

internalize and react to the negative
stereotypes associated with that group.

So because I'm so afraid
of everybody thinking

that all those bad things
that people say about me are true,

sometimes, I don't act
to the best of my abilities.

I underperform.

Whether it's academically, socially -

I was definitely
an introvert for a reason.

And basically what that means
is that you act against your true nature

because you're constantly trying
to live up to other people's expectations

or deny their assumptions.

You mask who you truly are.

So, how to we deflect these threats?

Yes, you're right: with more jargon!

There is something
called a "mirror-neuron theory."

What it means is that your brain neurons
react in the same way,

whether or not you
are the one doing the action.

So, if I'm watching you
eat a really delicious cheeseburger,

my brain is reacting in the same way

as if I was eating that really delicious
cheeseburger myself.

Which is why the Food Network

is quite possibly the greatest
programming of all time.

Only show I watch!

Now, imagine if what we saw on the media

reflected a positive portrayal
of the group that we belonged to.

How would our brains react?

How would our perceptions change?

That was the secret of the success
of the show "The Cosby Show,"

the groundbreaking and intelligent sitcom

that truly helped to adjust
perception of African Americans.

It was the first of its kind.

By focusing on the comedic
trials and tribulations

of a successful and lovable family
that just happened to be African American,

it took away those
limiting qualifiers of race

and helped to redefine what it meant
to just be an American family,

all through the power of story.

Now while we look to the media to bring us
the stark realities of humankind,

we seek stories to find
some emotional connectivity with it.

Stories give us a glimpse into
the inner workings of the human spirit,

its pitfalls and its potentials.

And they stir within us a desire
to reach the excesses of our imagination.

They challenge us and force us to look
at one another for who we truly are

in the hopes of possibly
connecting our souls,

and for that reason, they are sacred.

And at the same time,

they can be the shields
against the threats to our soul,

threats to our identity.

So what the mirror-neuron theory is saying

is that it's human nature
to follow the actions of the masses.

We repeat and/or believe
what people tell us to believe -

about others and about ourselves.

So why not tell stories
that are empowering and aspirational

and challenge us to be better?

(Applause)

That is exactly what superhero stories do.

The history of comics is about the misfit,

the unlikely hero,

the ability to create greatness
where there was once doubt.

The unassuming Peter Parker,

the wallflower who's picked on
and misunderstood,

gets bitten by a radioactive spider

that gives him extraordinary powers
and extraordinary responsibilities.

Yet his path is filled with villains
who would doubt his determination,

who would threaten those he loves,

threaten his life choices.

And yet Spider-Man, being the hero
that he is, would always swing back,

he'd always beat the bad guy

and he'd always get the girl.

Or girls, in Spider-Man's case.

Lots of love drama there.

For 75 years, Marvel has been telling
the tale of the outcast behind the mask.

It's through his flaws and desires that we
connect with the heart of the character

so that when he emerges as a hero,
we have a real reason to champion him

because we understand
those struggles too, don't we?

And we also want to move past them.

Heroes make a choice to fight injustice,
to protect the innocent,

to put the balance back
on the side of the good,

no matter how much
they sacrifice of themselves.

They're willing to die for it
because they've chosen who they are.

And they will defend it no matter what.

So when that little girl
sat rapt to attention,

all those years ago
at her television screen,

watching the X-Men,

it wasn't just because they had taken her
on an astonishing adventure.

It's because they told her
that it was okay to be different.

In fact, you had to fight for it.

Because we all
want to be heroes, don't we?

And wouldn't it be amazing
if heroes looked just like us?

So why does a character like Kamala Khan
resonate with so many people?

Like the first African-American
and Latino Spider-Man, Miles Morales,

Kamala Khan is so much larger
than just a pop-culture icon.

She came together

in response to that global
subconscious desire for representation

for those Muslim American,
bacon-sniffing, short, nerdy girls like me

and for anyone else,

regardless of their gender,
sexuality, race, religion,

who just feel like misfits themselves.

In the actual Ms. Marvel series,

Kamala Khan is just a girl
trying to fit in.

She's constantly negotiating,
renegotiating who she is

and all of the rules that come with it.

Where does she belong?

She has no idea.

She's still figuring out
that journey to her authentic self.

But all she knows

is that she does not want to be limited
by the labels imposed upon her.

So really, Kamala Khan's story
is everyone's.

It's about confronting the labels
you've been assigned

and sculpting them and redefining them

until you figure out who you truly are
and what you actually believe.

One of my favorite mottos -

actually I have it written
on a post-it over my computer.

I look at it every single day,

and it was said by a poet named Rumi.

And it goes,

"Do not be satisfied with stories,
that which has come before.

Unfold your own myth."

And that is our challenge.

Every single one of us,
no matter the categories we've inherited,

we must unfold our own myth.

And it won't be easy.

We're constantly navigating,
rearranging, reinventing

others' expectations
of ourselves every day.

But every word we write
in the narrative of our own lives,

we come closer to uncovering 
what's beneath our own masks,

maybe even embracing that true misfit,
that true crazy one within.

Oh, it'll be a fight, that's for sure.

But that battle for your soul,

for your authentic self,

it's worth it, isn't it?

It's bold; it's brave.

In fact, I would say it's heroic.

So now it's your turn.

Tell me your story.

Thank you.

(Applause)