When I was 10, I was regularly teased by a neighbour, who I’ll call Tim. I dealt with this logically. I fashioned a costume that included a cape and a mask and dropped an anonymous letter in Tim’s door asking him to come to a particular place at a particular time. I signed the letter “a stranger”.

My plan was to appear in costume on an overlooking hill, and in a deep voice (I practised) demand he stopped picking on “Patrick”. Tim would, obviously, break down sobbing in fear at the sight of me, a 10-year-old wearing a curtain and a balaclava with a bobble on it. I would then disappear into the fog (I imagined there’d be fog) my secret identity assured.

Luckily, I forgot to go to the rendezvous (I had a lot on). The mystery of that summer, in our neck of the woods, was who sent Tim that “love letter.”

I learned then that being a superhero wasn't a great solution to most problems. Nonetheless, superheroes are more popular than ever. Joss Whedon's Avengers spin-off Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is back tonight (Channel 4) and next week sees the return of Arrow and arrival of The Flash (Sky). Meanwhile, Batman prequel Gotham is on Channel 5. Netflix is making a series of shows based on Marvel characters Daredevil, Luke Cage and the Defenders. And apparently there are also superhero stories being told on a fringe medium called cinema.

American exceptionalism

Most of these characters were invented between 1940 and 1970 and are still, for the most part, paragons of American exceptionalism and self- reliance – bespectacled nerds who transform into muscle-bound herofolk to play out revenge fantasies with cod-philosophical justifications (“With great power comes great responsibility” or, if you’re Batman, “my paaarents are deaaaaaad!”).

Here are some things that can turn you into a superhero: finding a magic ring, being bitten by a radioactive insect, signing up to a government super-soldier programme, getting a blood transfusion from a mongoose, being raised on an island of proto-feminist separatists, being hit by an atom bomb or, less appealingly, having your family murdered in front of you.

Dubious powers

Early on in the genre’s development, all the main gimmicks were taken – invulnerability, flight, lazer eyes, pervy ‘lassoes of truth’, dead parents – and this led to dubious innovations. Starfox (an Avenger we hopefully won’t see in the movies) can creepily make women fall in love with him. Matter-eater-lad eats matter. The Red Bee is a superhero who dresses like a red bee. He does not have bee powers, but he does have a pet bee called Michael, who emerges from a pouch in his belt to sting people.

Superheroes are still deeply impractical. In the debut episode of The Flash, super-fast Barry Allen's super-scientist mentor, Dr Harrison Wells briefly suggests that instead of dressing in a leather bondage-suit to fight crime, they should analyse his superfast healing powers and revolutionise medicine. "Shut up Dr Harrison Wells, you big stupid head!" I shout at the telly. Luckily, by the end of the episode, Wells is cheering Flash on as he runs around a baddie really fast. Now that's science!

Batman is my favourite irrational superhero. His superpower is basically being rich. He’s a member of the 1 per cent who dresses in tights to beat up members of the underclass in the company of adolescent boys. He spends a lot of time brooding on rooftops about the decline of “his” city” (a possible Ted Talk, Mr Wayne?).

But don’t ask, “Is this the best use of your wealth, Batman? Might the city be better off if Wayne Enterprises paid for less armoured supercars and paid more tax?” He’ll beat that talk right out of your stupid head with his Batarang.

When superheroes don’t instantly choose street-brawling as a vocation, they are punished. In his origin story, Spider-Man brattily refused to use his newfound skills to apprehend a robber. In punishment, the writers have the same robber kill his uncle. As lessons go, it’s a bit heavy-handed. Then again Spider-Man co-creator Steve Ditko went on to create the slightly deranged Ayn Rand- influenced superhero “Mr A”.

Made for Television So superhero actions don't always make sense, but television's recent rediscovery of the genre totally does. There's a sporadic tradition of telly superheroes going back to George Reeves' Superman in the 1950s, but since the 1990s, superheroics have been edging forcefully towards the telly mainstream (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Heroes, Smallville). Television's visual effects have improved. And narratively speaking, it's a better medium for superheroes than film. Comics have long dealt with the ambitious story arcs, complex continuity and world-building we now associate with TV drama.

Okay, many of the TV (and film) versions are a little too obsessed with the grim and gritty superhero comics of the 1980s (like Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns), comics which asked important philosophical questions, such as: "What if superheroes were real? Wouldn't that be awesome?" and "What if superheroes were sexy and violent and said bad words?"

In fact, there's nothing particularly "realistic" about someone dressing as a bat to fight crime instead of going for bereavement counselling. And the best contemporary superhero comics – from Grant Morrison's All Star Superman to Matt Fraction's Hawkeye – acknowledge the joyous silliness of the genre. TV superheroics would benefit from some of this attitude.

But I’ll quit quibbling. I love superheroes. So welcome back to television, you costumed nuts. I think you’ll like it here. Now, does anyone have some curtain fabric I can borrow?