Todas as manhãs, com gestos automáticos, visto o fato, rodo as pontas da gravata com uma destreza inconsciente, ponho os óculos. Ao fim da tarde, abro os botões da camisa, penduro o casaco, visto as calças de ganga, sento-me no chão, sem medo de me sujar ou amarrotar. É normal que, com o passar dos anos, venha a tornar-se difícil determinar qual é a minha verdadeira identidade. Num dos monólogos finais de Kill Bill v. 2, Quentin Tarantino explica que a diferença entre o homem-aranha e o super-homem é que o primeiro esconde-se no fato de super-herói e o segundo esconde-se no fato do alter ego. O único consolo das manhãs, enquanto faço o nó da gravata frente ao espelho, é ver que ainda sigo o modelo homem-aranha:

When that character wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spiderman and it is in that characteristic, Superman stands alone. Superman didn't become Superman, Superman was born Superman. When superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent, his outfit with the big red “S”. That's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears; the glasses, the business suit, that's the costume; that’s the costume that Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us, and what are the characteristics of Clark Kent; he’s weak, he’s unsure of himself, he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race.