Video game designer/ critic Anna Anthropy's book The Rise of the Videogame Zinesters was a call for people - inexperienced or otherwise - to create highly expressive, personal games. This would automatically solve one of the medium's longstanding issues - a lack of diversity within the industry. The response has been extraordinary. Experienced game designers like Anthropy are reaching out by providing newcomers with tutorials on how to get started. There have been weekend long game jams, where people are encouraged to use one of the more popular pieces of software to create their own games, share them, and play each other's. Critics are becoming creators.
Mainichi, an autobiographical first foray into game design by games critic Mattie Brice, is titled after the Japanese word for daily life. In it, the player assumes control of Mattie, a transgender person of color, as she first wakes up in the morning. We see a a top-down cross-section of her home. As Mattie wakes, she reminds herself (informing the player) that she has plans for coffee with a friend soon. Shall she go back to sleep until then? This is the first of several choices the player gets to make to decide how Mattie's day goes.
Before coffee time, there are several things that can be done, as explained by Mattie's inner monologue. Besides getting extra rest, which would take up all of our free time before our rendezvous, we can play video games in the living room, head into the kitchen for leftovers, and bathe before putting on Mattie's makeup in the bathroom. However, there's not enough time do everything.
Like I have a habit of doing in videogames, I chose what came naturally to me, what I would probably do in this situation. I played video games. Then I ate some leftovers. By now it was time to leave. I walked Mattie out of her home, onto city sidewalks, only a few small blocks from the cafe. I took the most direct route to the cafe, staying on the same side of the road, crossing safely at sidewalks before making my way through a crowd of people. Here, I was met with several disparaging remarks from people in the crowd about my appearance and gender. One person even cut off my path to ridicule me before shouting, outraged, "THAT'S SOMEONE'S SON!" for all to hear.
At the cafe I was put in my place. After the cashier called me sir, the cute barista who I attempted to make conversation with greeted me with a casual "Hey, dude" that felt like a punch to the gut.
The scene in the cafe ends by dissolving back to the start of the game, Mattie rising from bed, wondering if she should get some extra rest before meeting her friend for coffee. This time, I don't bother with video games. I bathe, get made up, and head for coffee. On the street, people's reaction have improved, but I'm still the center of attention, and that asshole is still getting in my face and hollering about being someone's son. After the cafe scene, it's back to square one. This time, when I head outside. I cross to the opposite side of the street and consciously avoid coming into contact with anyone at all.
There is no right way to go, no points or rewards for choosing one route over the other. We're free to subject Mattie bigotry as many times as we can handle, to try to ignore hateful comments and not let them get the best of us, but doing so only serves to make the other side of the street seem more appealing.
There's no completion. We're just making a limited amount of simple choices in Mattie's own personal Groundhog Day, but the paths available are distressing, lonely, and gutting. There's no other way.
Perhaps most poignant was what happened on day four. After spending all of my time getting Mattie ready to leave the house, forsaking extra sleep and video games yet again, I realized exactly what I was doing. I was sitting here, a white cisgender man, playing a video game in what was left of my spare time before going to work. When I walked outside to go to work and passed by people on the sidewalk, I was greeted with an actual civilized greeting or I was blissfully ignored entirely. My daily routine suddenly felt surreal and jarring.
That was my privilege punching me in the face.
I'm reminded of my own awkward, insecure adolescence when I'd keep my head down, make little eye contact with people I'd walk right by on the sidewalk and generally tune out the world with music streaming through my headphones. It was part of growing up. Strangers weren't constantly making harsh snap-judgments about me, I was just anxious and paranoid. Any perceived personal slight was largely imagined, I knew that rationally, even if I didn't believe it quite yet.
Playing Mainichi, it's apparent that positive self-talk and well-meaning advice from friends can only go so far. The experience isn't fun. It's sobering, and I'm grateful.