The Masters of the Universe

I still remember the first time I laid eyes on He-Man. It wasn’t on TV. It wasn’t in a comic book ad. It was on a store shelf at Hills Department Store.

Back then, Hills was the place where dreams lived. Their slogan was “Hill is where the toys are!” And that wasn’t just hyperbole. Hills was the real deal when it came to toys. Their toy department felt like a sacred space, especially towards the end of summer when new toy lines were starting to arrive and the shelves were being freshly stocked for the coming holiday season. I was trailing behind my mom, probably begging for a pack of Big League Chew or an early peek Halloween costumes, when I turned a corner and saw them. Bold, muscular figures in blister packs with names like Skeletor, Beast Man, and Man-At-Arms. I didn’t know who they were yet, but they looked important. Mythic. Dangerous. Like they came from a world where battles were fought with swords and sorcery, not just lasers and spaceships.

The packaging was electric. Bright colors, dramatic poses, and those mini comic books tucked behind each figure. I stood there, transfixed. I didn’t need a cartoon to tell me this was something special. The toys spoke for themselves.

My mom let me pick one. I chose Skeletor. Maybe it was the skull face, maybe the purple armor, or maybe I just liked villains. I didn’t know his backstory, but I knew he was powerful. I carried him around the store like a trophy, already imagining the battles he’d fight once we got home.

It wasn’t until weeks later that the cartoon debuted. Suddenly, those mysterious figures had voices, personalities, and a whole universe to live in. That opening theme was bold, heroic, and a little mysterious. It felt like a call to arms. “I have the power!” wasn’t just a catchphrase. It was a promise. A promise that adventure was just a channel flip away. One thing I knew for sure, I had to get He-Man to battle my Skeletor figure that I already owned.

When I finally got He-Man with his bulging muscles and Power Sword in hand, it felt like balance had been restored. My bedroom floor became the battlefield. Couch cushions were mountains. I’d reenact scenes from the cartoon or make up my own, complete with dramatic speeches and slow-motion sword fights.

The toy line was unlike anything I’d seen. Each figure came with a mini comic book that expanded the universe even more. I’d read those little comics until the staples wore out. There was something magical about how the cartoon, the toys, and the stories all fed into each other. It felt like Mattel had built a secret clubhouse just for kids like me, and every new figure was a key to another room.

Castle Grayskull was the holy grail. I begged for it non-stop until Santa Claus left it under the tree that Christmas. The commercials made it look like the ultimate fortress with its drawbridge, trap door, and eerie green skull façade. When I finally got it, I spent the entire day setting it up, arranging my figures just right, and defending it from imaginary invasions. It wasn’t just a toy. It was a portal.

Even the villains had personality. Beast Man, Mer-Man, Evil-Lyn. They weren’t just bad guys. They had style. And the names were so literal, so over-the-top, and yet so perfect. I’d memorize them like a sacred list, reciting them to my friends on the playground like I was revealing ancient secrets.

Looking back now, Masters of the Universe was more than just a cartoon or a toy line. A shared language among kids of a certain age. We didn’t just play with the figures. We became them. We shouted “I have the power!” in backyards and basements, believing for a moment that we really did.

And maybe we did. Maybe that was the real magic of it all. For a few years, Eternia wasn’t just on TV. It was in our homes, our imaginations, and our hearts. And it’s a place I still long to go back to today.