When I see a character's starting sword and armour, I see more than just 1d8 slashing damage and AC 7- there's the sword you were given when you joined the village militia, man, that was a proud day! Mother and father were so proud of you, weren't they? And the village bully was scowling since he couldn't kick you around anymore- heck, you decided to join up because you stopped him from pushing around the younger kids, and you wanted to make sure the next time you did so, you could lock him up in the cellar. And is that your sweetheart the baker's daughter waving at you? Of course she is, you look so dashing in your blue-painted armour! Men in uniform- now that's magic no wizard can master!
 
But when you wake up, the sole survivor of your ruined village, that sword and that armour are all you have to survive with- they're what will get you alive to tomorrow. When you strike down Lord Evil Von Doom, it won't be with any paladin's shining sword, no magic blade forged by Odin, but a simple village militiaman's blade. His spells won't be turned aside by a suit of shining platemail kissed by an angel, but by the simple leather armour the baker's daughter admired.
 
And when you step out of Doom Castle, people won't see Sir Goon, the mighty paladin, they'll see... a watchman. A cop. One regular man with a shitty sword and shitty armour- someone who they could really aspire to be. It's hard to relate to a slayer of dragons or a bedder of princesses,  or a king or a knight, but one regular dude with a strong right arm and a stronger heart? Why, that could be anyone- maybe even you, son...