Category Archives: Internet Culture

No More Questions

After answering exactly 2871 questions, I’ve disabled my Formspring account. Having one has been a fascinating, puzzling and often unsettling experience — I don’t regret wading unarmed into the pool of madness, but it’s gotten a little overwhelming.

It’s such a strange commentary on the nature of social media that so many people wanted to write in questions to me. I’m not a celebrity, a pop star or a politician; I’m a writer, and not even on anything of particular global gravity — at the end of the day, it really is just video games, which hopefully are a relatively small thing in the grand scheme of your place in the world. If I am considered exceptional in my field it’s because the bar’s not high, which isn’t much to write home about.

That’s part of why Formspring was such an interesting experiment for me, as someone who also likes to write about web culture trends and social media. If you have the opportunity to ask someone who writes about video games any question you like, it seems to make sense you’d decide to ask them something about either video games or writing, assuming those things interest you.

However, I’d say more than half, possibly more than two-thirds of the questions I received were not about video games, by the end: the proportion had ramped up exponentially the more widely-visited my Formspring (and the service in general, as I was a relatively-early adopter) became.

In other words, the more people who came to ask me questions, the fewer of them were actually germane to my work. People wanted relationship advice, to know about my preferences in food, music, liquor, clothing, haircare, art and literature, about my experiences in childhood, about what I am looking for in a partner, and any number of things.

I like answering questions; I’ve said before that I look at my writing online as a way to be engaged in a large-scale conversation on a topic that I love with other people who share that interest. And I’ve observed with some curiosity the trend toward all interactivity, whether that’s gaming or writing and talking online, away from the long-form toward the quick-hit.

I wrote last year about that trend, and how being able to take the pulse of the gaming audience through Twitter contributed to me blogging less, and Formspring was another way to make me feel connected to my audience with more immediacy and more brevity. I guess in my fascination, it stopped mattering whether we were even talking about games too much.

At first, I tasked myself with not refusing any question that was submitted, even if it was nonsensical or something like “y u mad girl” (an actual question which I answered with “iono”). It was its own kind of game; even if someone was saying something offensive, I’d initially respond instead of delete simply because I thought it was so funny and so strange that people would behave that way when we don’t even know one another.

During an interesting period when I’d weighed in about the Dickwolves Thing, Formspring became a place for people to stage arguments with me. That was a contentious topic and many people wanted to challenge me one-on-one. I sort of liked that; if something’s heated and makes me feel passionate, it felt like a brave experiment to take on trolls and debaters alike directly.

I began to get more and more questions; in the past months, occasionally up to 20 a day. I spend about eight hours a day online working, sometimes more if I’m socializing too, and I’d get email alerts and immediately answer the Formspring question. I could probably do an entire extra article or blog post in a day with the amount of time I spent typing answers to Formspring questions about what people should do about something their significant other said, or what my views on religion are, or even something related to my work, like in what contexts I don’t mind long cutscenes and why.

Interestingly, I observed that answering a particular type of question would solicit more of that type. Engaging trolls or talking about sexism would bring more trolls and more confrontational gender questions. I had to start drawing a line — and I learned saying “I don’t want to talk any more about that” would cause people to submit things equivalent to “so you won’t take a stand or express your views, huh?” As if the fact I’d been doing so extensively was disposable to them because I didn’t answer their question, or because my paragraphs-long response was no longer at the top of the page.

But I continued answering questions. Partly because I’d become hooked, the same way you get hooked on your Twitter and Facebook feed. It got to where I’d soldier grimly into that Formspring inbox, dreading what I might find, and yet feel like I’d committed: It says ask me whatevsies, and so I’ve gotta answer.

I felt I was doing some kind of “research”, as if analyzing the volume and tone of Formspring questions could answer my questions — who reads my articles? How are they being received? How am I being received? And yet there was no pattern, no meaning. For example, what factors contribute to Kieron getting questions mostly about his X-Men work versus the weird Wild West of mine? Probably lots, but I don’t learn anything by pegging ‘em. And none of it helps me get my head around what makes people want to stray from the path of their natural life activities to say something chillingly hateful to me.

But even that was empowering and fascinating — I will never know those people, but they all know me. If there are truly such sad assholes in the world, I’m glad I have the ability to make them angry simply by existing. And confronting it on Formspring made me feel even thicker-skinned — I can be as vitriolic as anyone should I want to, but I can’t think of any person I hate enough to motivate me to submit that hatred for their evaluation (and rejection). I must be a pretty big deal to these people.

It goes to one’s head. And it’s distracting, and for what? There was no useful information, no dot-cloud to be gleaned. My friend Mitu Khandaker wrote yesterday at GameSetWatch about how the human brain is incapable of accepting the very real concept of randomness, but that’s what it is.

People ask me questions for the same reason someone Tweets about their breakfast — because someone’s listening and because they can. Because it’s the kind of interaction people do not get to do in their real lives, where you cannot tell everyone in your office unsolicited information about your meal or ask a stranger on the subway whether he believes in God.

It’s been fun, but there are probably better things I should be doing with myself, including prizing my privacy more. There’s definitely a tipping point for social media exposure, and as I said earlier this week, I think I’ve passed it.


[Today’s Good Song: Moon Duo, ‘Mazes’]

Lost Time


Jeez. The holidays come, then I get a flu, before you know it I’ve been away from the blog for a couple of weeks. Lots to catch up on, so forgive me if I just quick link-blitz you for now on a little of the stuff I’ve done here and there in the meantime:

Kotaku: New Year’s Resolutions for Gamers — How many do you think people will want to adopt?
Thought Catalog: How FourSquare Intends To Be Vs. How FourSquare Really Is — Why I think geolocation apps and “games” aren’t “social”. Now with 50% more derision.
Thought Catalog: Five Emotions Invented By The Internet — Deep angst in the digital age.

And I don’t know whether to blame holiday nostalgia for younger days or the sense of juvenile vulnerability brought on by being sick for why I’ve launched on a deep, focused revisiting of Final Fantasy VII on my PSP. And I’m not sure why I assumed a game that I and everyone else loved on such a massive scale that it’s possibly not been repeated since wouldn’t hold up, or wouldn’t be as interesting on reflection.

In a strange way, it’s more interesting as an adult, looking at the little details of the game world, traits of the experience that probably wouldn’t appear (for better or for worse) in modern designs, and try to think about why it was that the FFVII universe seized us in such a lasting way.

It hasn’t even been that long since I tried to think about this, since I was very moved by playing Crisis Core when it came out (although this is my first real play-through of FFVII in some years). I’ve just never really been satisfied by any of the writing I did around it nor by the firmness of any of the conclusions I made. Going to try to do some fun and useful stuff this time around, so stay tuned.

Yeah. Crazy busy, but what else is new?

Other good stuff: While I was sick I watched this “Princess Jellyfish” show basically in one sitting and I am impatient for more episodes now.
Today’s good song: Avi Buffalo, ‘Where’s Your Dirty Mind

Squee Mode


In a predictable state of affairs, writer Leigh Alexander swathed her entire blog in a romantic Persona 3 Portable theme, tweeted on numerous occasions about how she failed to sleep due to Persona 3 Portable, changed her desktop wallpaper from MGS3‘s final boss scene to the above image, and then stopped blogging for two weeks. Guess what she has been doing all this time.

Actually, while I have been playing a lot of Persona 3 Portable, I’ve mainly been writing a lot, once again developing bunches of stories that I can’t wait to share with you as they materialize. Lately, though, I’ve been talking to a lot of developers about the high-stress environment of the game industry. Lots of people get into game writing because they hope to “cross over” — that’s never been me. I feel like there’s nothing that could make me want to work on the other side; let’s pretend I actually did have any game design skills, which I certainly don’t. Writing for the trade I’ve learned something big: I don’t envy them, to say the least!

And having been in games writing for a while now, there are a lot of times, to be honest, that I’m terribly stressed out, too, by the challenges of covering such a specific business — and by the culture of the audience, and I know I’m not alone. And if the audience is capable of causing me so much fatigue and disillusionment sometimes, it makes me wonder what’s wrong with them, too.

I wrote Who Cheers For War last month at Kotaku because I’ve been curious about digging into the darkness I often observe in our hobby — there’s no other way of putting it. Sometimes it even feels like illness. The often unspoken pains that all three spokes of this wheel (devs, media and audience) endure was something I think it’s important to continue to call attention to and examine, and I did this at Gamasutra late last week. Please do check it out and discuss if you missed it. The discussion thread on it has grown epic.

Today at Kotaku, an article about — surprise! — Persona 3 Portable. In my last post I said I hoped to write more about how playing as a female feels different this time around, and I had the opportunity to do that in this month’s feature column. For reference, here’s how it felt for me the first time around, from the archives of my old Aberrant Gamer haunt.

You heard yesterday that GameStop bought Kongregate — Kongregate’s founder, Jim Greer, an industry veteran with whom I’ve had several conversations that make me feel he cares very much about developers, would like you to think twice before applying the “home for indies sells out” narrative to this one, or that’s the message I got from my interview with both companies about the deal.

In other acquisition news, Disney spends quite a sum on third-place Facebook game developer Playdom, and one analyst thinks it’s an over-spend with unclear ROI potential (how’s that Club Penguin thing working out now, I’d like to know?). The contentious environment around social game investments, players and developers, is certainly becoming increasingly fricative, and nothing’s made this clearer than the polarizing response to Ian Bogost’s commentary game, Cow Clicker. For now, check out the heated discussion on his blog about it, and stay tuned for an in-depth follow up from me at Gamasutra coming soon. The whole issue’s fascinating, to say the least.

Speaking of social media, you will notice Blogger has kindly added buttons to allow you to tweet, FB, email and Buzz my posts directly whenever you like. Go for it!

So, also StarCraft II is, uh… something that is happening… it is a game for your computer, a lot of people are playing it, I.. yeah, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about StarCraft. Blind spot. Sorry bros. Are you into it? Lemme know in the new SVGL poll on the sidebar!

The last poll, by the way, showed that the majority of you, at 58%, are not interested in new motion control solutions. 21 percent of you are interested in PlayStation Move, 16 percent prefer Kinect, and only 4 percent of you would like to have both interfaces in your living room. Innnnnnnnteresting! I’ll have to ask you again after launch, when more titles are available…

[‘Today’s Good Song’ is actually an awesome music video! Check out Cosmetics’ ‘Soft Skin‘.]

Nerd Crush

My friend works at a restaurant where I had a little thing with the bartender. “I beat the campaign of Modern Warfare 2 in three hours,” he announces when I come in to visit her one day after work.

“Stop,” I tell him immediately. I decline to greet by hugging, I frown stiffly, and I can hear a worn, thin tone snappish in my voice. “I don’t want to talk about work,” I tell him. I immediately feel bad for being bitchy. He’s a nice kid, and he’s told me before that bringing up “game stuff” is an easy way for him to start conversation with me, and he’s just so enthusiastic he can’t help it, no matter how many times I try to change the subject.
A lot of guys I meet feel the same way, whether they want to date me or not. Such a novelty is it for them to discover a neighborhood gal who presumably “plays video games all day” that they seem over the moon to find a girl they can talk about games with. This should make me feel cool. It makes me annoyed.
Yeah, of course I have played [insert new title here]. It’s my job. And yes, of course you may come over and play [game that isn't out yet] with me. Just bring me a bottle of gin and have something else to talk about, please. My house is not an arcade. Sometimes when I’m off the clock video games are the last thing I want to look at, think about or talk about.
Does this sound really unfair of me? Am I sometimes over-sensitive to people who are just trying to be nice or share an interest in my field? Probably, but try to understand it really sucks for men to continually make of me a novelty. I don’t want to be a novelty. I am not my job.
And I imagine any gal who’s an avid gamer even for a hobby, not for a living, has to deal with the same thing, endless barrages of breathless shock from guys that can’t believe you exist. And maybe gals for whom it’s just a hobby find this flattering. I don’t.
You wouldn’t ask your friend who’s a lawyer for free legal advice every time you see him. You wouldn’t ask your friend who’s a tax preparer to share his expertise gratis. You wouldn’t bug your psychologist friend about your traumatic childhood every time she simply wants to have coffee with you. You pay people for that stuff.
Maybe I should charge people to play video games with me. Maybe I should refuse to talk about them unless I’m being paid. Maybe I should only allow guys at the bar to ask me if God of War III is any good (“yes, awesome.” Like, what else can I reply?) after they’ve bought me a drink.
…Of course I’m not serious. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love it, and while I definitely get impatient at being pigeonholed as some kind of nerd goddess who’s about nothing else but video games, I understand I’m a rarity and I hope I can contribute something useful in my perspectives because of that. It does help me bond with new people, since there aren’t too many of us gamers out there who “get it”.
But I bring it up because so many of you wrote me asking what I think about GameCrush.com, wherein gamers pay for “PlayDates” with real live females. As I said on Twitter, do you really need a girl to tell you it’s demeaning and insulting for you to believe it?
It’s stupid, but y’know, I get it. In Japan, girls get compensated for any number of things, from chaste dates to having lunch with salarymen while dressed up as maids with rabbit ears. Part of me feels like it’s hard enough to be a female gamer in a culture where — well, where men would pay women to play games with them — that they might as well make some money at it. I dunno that any amount of money would be worth the heavy breathing the girl’s gonna have to sit through when she’s playing MW2 with the kind of guy who’d pay women to play games with him.
What if I auctioned off the opportunity to play and discuss the Metal Gear Solid or Silent Hill Series with me at my house? Would you bid on that, let’s say, if it were for charity? Would your opinion change if I for some reason needed the money to keep this blog up? What if I just wanted the money for myself? I am quite sure some of you would, because I am quite sure some of you are here because I am a girl generally determined by others to be pretty. Judging by some of the emails and comments I sometimes receive and promptly delete, a few of you are here only for that.
There’s a really ugly reality to our landscape, and while I firmly believe it will evolve and improve, I am also pessimistic that that ugly underbelly can ever fully go away. The way I see it, it was only a matter of time before someone found a way to capitalize on it. I’m not, like, full of outrage. It’s just dumb, and I didn’t even think it really needed addressing.
I will say I can’t wait to interview the girls about what it’s like, though!

Going Out

At his Cut Scene blog, Variety’s Ben Fritz has responded to ‘Coming Home,’ my much-trafficked, post-Homecoming rant here at SVGL. You could say I wrote it because I was touchy about being the one of the only reviewers to like the game (that did make me feel weird)[*], but what I was touchy about is how highly arbitrary the strikes critics levied against it were. Some reviews complained there are too many health packs and the game was too easy; others said there weren’t enough health packs and the game was too hard.

For the record, I think there were just the right amount of health packs, and survival horror fans know how to pace themselves. Noobs soon learn, and people who prefer plentiful supplies probably should not play survival horror or any game in the Silent Hill franchise.

But that’s neither here nor there! The health pack thing is just an example, albeit a slightly off-point one. Anyway, largely, I was expressing some exasperation at the tendency of reviewers (not excluding myself) to be arbitrarily nitpicky — and what Ben seems to suggest in his response post is that reviewers are actually more inclined to be overly positive than overly negative:

I didn’t see many critics deliberately searching for things to dislike in “Grand Theft Auto IV” or “Halo 3″ or “Mass Effect” or “Super Mario Galaxy” or “Super Smash Bros. Brawl.” On the contrary, these AAA, heavily marketed franchises (mostly sequels) with gameplay very similar to what the hardcore audience has seen and loved before got overwhelmingly positive reviews. Sure, many admitted, the story in “Halo 3″ was inpenetrable and the the combat in “Mass Effect” was wonky and “Brawl” is barely an advance over the last installment and has major problems with online play, but those were largely brushed aside as minor considerations.

I felt the same way about Brawl, actually, and wrote an entire column about how we were sold on it before we even played it because of positive associations with the characters. I agree with Ben on the over-positivity thing in general, which is part of why I was frustrated when I felt many Homecoming reviews elected to miss the big picture and focus on the details, or fault it heavily for things that are a matter of taste without recognizing that there’s an entire swath of the audience who doesn’t have the same taste — when they’d been so willing to wave other franchise titles through with 9′s and without similar close scrutiny.

Ben wrote:

Basically, I think another way of saying what Leigh’s getting at is that many game critics, particularly those who write for avid fans, can obsess over controls or menu design problems in titles that are doing something innovative in tone or theme, but downplay the same types of faults in games that are essentially improvements on the ones they already love.

Thanks, Ben — that’s exactly what I was getting at, actually. I neglected to present the flip side of the coin with an example like Grand Theft Auto IV — as Ben says, now that we’re several months out from its release, we can raise a bit more of a skeptical brow at review quotes like “Oscar-caliber drama”(IGN) than we did when we were still in the afterglow of positive feelings around its release and the fact that our expectations — and desires — for it were so, so high.

And maybe this also helps explain the puzzling “four-month bell curve” that I’ve written about before, wherein titles are considered to be near-perfection at the time of their launch and then suffer a fall from grace — sometimes an out-and-out backlash, as in BioShock‘s case — about four months later.

Now, on one hand it makes sense that games with familiar formulas get better reviews than titles that really try to do something odd. There’s a reason the formula’s being repeated — because we’re familiar with it and it works well. To some extent, games have a laundry list of “things not to do in design,” and often when design avoids those line items, the result is largely similar to other things that have been successful.

That’s just logic; it’s just smart evolution. When a title attempts to explore uncharted areas, it risks stumbling into areas that have been neglected for a good reason — because they don’t work as well. But when we fault them for trying, without recognizing that the game might have done a few new things well, or when we treat creativity or an attempt at inventiveness as a design flaw, we’re sending the industry some problematic mixed messages. We demand innovation and invention, and then we crucify any attempts in that direction.

Ben also said something to the same effect:

The result is that we don’t value innovation or attempts to do something big and new, like make a funny game that’s thematically consistent with an all-time great TV show or create psychological impact through artful storytelling integrated with gameplay, because we obsess on the mechanical problems or the length of the cutscenes. Not that those things don’t matter. But they don’t matter that much, especially for an artistically immature medium in desperate need of innovation and freshness.

The nature of game design suggests that there probably won’t be any overwhelming overnight overhauls. Iteration happens gradually over time, and it probably is a wise strategy — both in terms of design logic and sales numbers — to try and make subtle evolutions on the familiar rather than try something totally new. Very few games go way out to left field and do well unless they are both very skilled and very fortunate — think Portal, Braid, Katamari Damacy.

But the funny thing was, Silent Hill: Homecoming was far from totally new. In fact, it was a subtle iteration on a formula — a formula Double Helix aped quite admirably for not having originated it. It was about as different from prior Silent Hill games as any of them are from each other, and fans will probably disagree widely on whether or not it worked. Fans have always had subtle Silent Hill disagreements — which one’s “the best” and why, for example.

The fact that I read so many forums and comments and get so much email is actually probably a problem as well for me as a reviewer — and for others. All of the reviews I’ve been citing thus far are online. I and my colleagues serve an internet audience. When our readers have expectations, preconceptions or hopes for a title’s outcome, they’re looking to our review to either affirm or deny. Often, our reviews end up being an extension of their feelings — after all, we’re responsible for addressing their concerns and fears as we’ve perceived them, or at least we feel like we are.

Moreover, we’re part of the community, too, perhaps to an unusual extent. I wrote about groupthink and the hype cycle yesterday — if there’s a tidal wave of buzz, we’re riding along on it, too. Interestingly, reviews tend to be the most inconsistent when “the internet” had no preconception or prevailing opinion ahead of the release. Do reviewers feel like they’re “supposed to” like a title just because their readers or colleagues are excited about it, or “supposed to” be extra critical just because there are tons of early warnings? I wonder.

I’m always a little surprised at what the world is like when I shut the computer off — no lie. Even when I go to GameStop, where you’d expect that most of the shoppers would be something “like us.” I end up chatting with other customers and am always disoriented — believe it or not, people shopping at GameStop usually haven’t heard of Kotaku. They haven’t heard that the game they’re in line to buy was delayed twice or is made by the wrong studio.

Then, when those people start to talk to me about what they’ve been playing lately, I’m always surprised to learn that they enjoyed, say, Kane and Lynch. They didn’t notice the problems reviewers did. They never heard of Gerstmann-Gate. They don’t know who he is, and they certainly don’t know who I am. They thought The Darkness was the best game they played last year. They like Geometry Wars but not Braid. They love Madden and don’t even know that “we” snub it.

In other words, they’re normal consumers, and their opinion is different than ours. They have a kind of distance on the industry that we just don’t. I should try talking to these people more often.

I’ve digressed all over the place, but anyway, Ben’s whole response to my post is very thought-provoking and worth reading.

[*]Oh, addendum: Aside from UGO, whom I noted, Destructoid also liked it.