Shut up already about the Bioshock Infinite box art!
Who's saying what
Let's take a look at the facts. First off, Irrational Games released the box art image, which you can see (and judge) right here.
And that's when people unleashed. Over at Kotaku (a site I unabashedly adore, for the record), Owen Good presented an array of criticisms, ranging from twitterers and Facebook fans panning it for being too generic, to people calling it misogynistic for leaving out Elizabeth, a key female character in the story, who, as a supporting character, is offered a supporting visual role on the back of the box (something most people seem to be blissfully unaware of). Some people even latched onto the burning American flag in the background, missing the point entirely, and proving just how right I am to want to punch them in their collective throats.
Because it doesn't matter. Not even a little bit. The box art is marketing, pure and simple, and putting a badass Pinkerton agent named Booker DeWitt in a frankly arousing pose on the cover in period clothing with sparks flying around him is a brilliant marketing move. Men want to be him, women want to be with him. Also, plenty of men will want to be with him, and women will… the point is, he's an extremely appealing hero figure, and the artwork depicting him is gorgeous.
But even if the artwork was god awful, which it isn't, it wouldn't matter. You think the box will be taken into account once the reviews come out? Do you really think that academics will extol the merits of the original cover of Moby Dick whilst discussing the narrative? Did critics ceaseless battering of the poster for The Kings Speech in any way affect the film itself? No. Of course not. It's irrelevant.
No, shut up. It's irrelevant. Let it go. Whether or not the game is good is genuinely up for debate, but not until the game comes out. But until then, stop acting like a horny teenager waiting in bed for their first lay to wander in from the bathroom, and whose impatience has reached such dizzying heights that they've started mindlessly humping random items of their pending paramours clothing. Slow your roll. This isn't the game, it's a shadow. A promise. Paul Revere rang his bell and yelled that the British were coming, but at no point did even the most subhuman moron lament the discordance of the notes issuing forth from his frigging bell.
*drops microphone and walks out*
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