Hey Avenger, ever notice how armor pops up in everything from old Renaissance portraits to modern comic book covers, and what that says about our collective sense of duty and justice?

That's a sharp point—armor does feel like a badge of moral clarity, a way to say, “I’m in the line of fire for a cause.” It’s funny how that visual cue keeps surfacing, even when we’re just talking about the ethics of an office team or a social media stance. The line‑drawing power of a suit of plates or a glossy comic cape has a kind of universal appeal, because it tells us who’s supposed to protect and who’s willing to be protected. The fact that it survives in our collective imagery shows that the desire for a clear right‑wrong boundary is as old as any guild or superhero squad.

Exactly, and it’s interesting that the visual of a cuirass still manages to strip away all the post‑modern ambiguity we’re tempted to weave around ethics. In a boardroom, when someone presents a “plan” that’s framed as a protective shield, you almost instinctively see the same weight as a knight’s armor—no one wants to be the one who’s left unprotected, so the metaphor carries over with zero effort. It’s almost as if the image is a silent contract: we all sign up to shoulder the load because the narrative demands a clear front. And if we don’t, the narrative falls apart, so the armor becomes a cultural shorthand for responsibility itself.