But there comes a point where such fears and insecurities must be cast aside, in the hope that passion will prevail if intellect stumbles. And so, at long last, I approach the topic of:
Night Girl's Hairdo.
That's our Lydda! Mordru may menace, the Time Trapper threaten, and Roxxas rampage, but Night Girl's only thought is, "Is there anyone with a higher bouffante than mine?"
The public story is, Night Girl's got superpowers but only when the lights are out. I guess that's like being superpowerless except from the waist down. Pity she couldn't date Hal Jordan, but in her time all that's left of him is a small plaque (where H.E.A.T. meets weekly) on the site of the bordello where he passed away at age 63 from a heart attack while atop a 20 year old Asian girl in a plasticene Star Sapphire costume. But I digress.
The real truth is, Night Girl's power is her gravity-defying hair. Gargantuan. Monumental. Brodignabian. Night Girl could only exist in the 30th Century because it will take that long for human society to develop words to describe her hair, let alone the X-Serum-based transmolecular superstablizing salon-quality hair-care products to make it possible.
Look at poor Fire Lad, the flaming little poseur. "I've tried and tried," Hot Lips thought, "but even with my own 'club-kid' hair gelled up and spikified half way to Durla and back, I still don't get any attention as long as that pumped up prom queen and her grotesque hair hillock have all the boys staring at her! Oh, why don't boys love ME instead of her! *Choke*"
Think about it, Fire Lad! What idiot wants to go to bed with a guy who shoots FLAMES from his mouth? It's rather limiting, you know. Settle down with some nice invulnerable type; heck, Ultra Boy's game for anything, wink wink.
Regular citizens have no idea what to make of Night Girl's hair. Although they live in a world of miracles like the Potential-Factors Re-Organizer Complex and the Planetary Chance Machine, they are utterly mystified by the Superbouffante of Night Girl.
"Moons of Jupiter!" exclaims Inthefore Ground, gesturing futilely, "it defies even our 30th Century Science (tm)!"
"It's--it's a helmet," stutters his brother, Intheback. "J-j-just like ours! It must be. DEAR GOD PLEASE TELL ME IT'S A JUST HELMET....!"
Of course, these are just rubes from the Rimworld of Va-va-va-voom (hey...I think I rented that movie...!). But even the ultimate galaticky sophiscate, Superboy, is mesmerized by the follicular mystery of Lydda's massive hair-mountain:
"It defies analysis by my wide array of vision powers! It seems impervious to heat vision, Star Boy's mass-inducing power .... even the unfathomable energies of the Emerald Eye! I'm positive I saw it take a direct hit from Validus last week, and yet... nothing! It's some sort of ... super-hair! Is it more power than *gulp* m-mine? Gosh, I sure hope not! That would mean that tomorrow at sunrise, I'd have to shove my hand through her thorax and crush her heart till it fused into a diamond. I hope it never comes to that...!"
All the while, Lydda's owl-insignia smirks, knowingly, silently wise about the dark tonsorial powers of its mistress. At least, until an invulnerable fist wearing a Smallville High ring smashes through it at light-speed....