Today I woke up to a message from a friend: "Have you heard of this new game? It's like a gacha for Wikipedia articles."
My answer was, obviously, "Yes." Wikigacha is a delightful little game, a wonderful parody of games like Pokémon TCG Pocket in that it both satirizes the idea of making a game out of opening digital card packs, by applying the concept to something as mundane as a Wikipedia article, but also perfectly replicates the ridiculous joy of playing Pokémon TCG Pocket and unlocking completely worthless digital items, made in the image of actual trading cards that somehow sell for a stupid amount of money — all without nagging you to spend a single cent. My friend put it best when she described her experience playing it this way: “Last night I got hooked on it. I really felt like I was gambling.”
She was being facetious when she said this, of course. Wikigacha is a completely free game with no paid items, so the comparison to gambling immediately reads as ridiculous; and, regardless, finding yourself being kept awake at night by the ecstasy of pulling an ultra rare “Presidency of Barack Obama” trading card is just inherently immensely stupid — even writing about it feels a bit insane, like trying to explain a simple joke —, but this style of tongue-in-cheek, slightly shameful indulgence in pulling the arm of an abstract slot machine is exactly what the game is being praised for, and probably why it became famous in the first place.
The practice of taking a mobile game with questionable monetization mechanics and stripping it of its in-app purchases, while keeping every single aspect of its design meant to pressure you into paying for hitting the big glowing “BUY NOW” button is taking over contemporary independent gaming to the extent it’s almost a fad. From Balatro’s pinging points tally and psychedelic video poker inspired UI, to Megabonk’s purposefully barren landscapes interrupted by screen-filling hit point counters, indie game players have found themselves enraptured by post-ironic digital casinos where there’s no monetary incentive to chase a jackpot.
And it’s easy to understand why. It’s been a bit more than a decade since virtual currencies, loot boxes, battle passes and the like completely took over video games, and, though they were the object of much resistance from video game nerds when they came out, they’ve essentially become facts of life1. At the same time, gambling as a whole has taken over wider culture to the extent that every street corner and webpage I wander into is littered with ads for casinos or betting apps. Even the places free from high scores and big prizes are increasingly being 'gamified' — my personal favorite is my smartwatch's little animation with confetti and bright colors every time I hit 10k steps in a day, a number some Japanese guy completely made up.
These games provide a way to indulge in the overstimulating euphoria we’re being advertised without accumulating disastrous debt, while also still allowing us to mock the wider culture. I myself have spent dozens of hours in the past year or two sinking time into these games, and I don’t regret a thing. They are so fun to play. I would compare them to watching films like Scary Movie, Last Action Hero or, my personal favorite sitcom, Community. Mobile “time-waster” games have now been popular for so long they’ve solidified as a genre and become mired in cliché, much like slasher horror and sitcoms had in the past. We now have a whole generation of players and developers who grew up playing them and making them, and we can’t help making fun of them — both out of love, and out of hate.2
Last week I talked about the "Techno-Pastoral”: the desire to return to the technology of the past, the cycles of nostalgia that create ever-shifting conceptions of a tech 'Golden Age' and the tech 'detoxes' we chase to free us from what we deem 'addictive'.
Going back to old technology, returning to “the pastoral”, is one of the many ways we attempt to rework our relationship with technology. These games are doing the exact opposite. They’re embracing the new, the addictive design and the overwhelming aesthetics of our time in order to trick the more critical into indulging in them and, intentionally or not, providing space for more insightful critique.
Some may find this trickery pervasive, perhaps normalizing the very thing they’re supposedly critiquing, and there’s a chance they’re right. But as someone who avoids games I perceive as having predatory monetization, this genre has forced me to come face to face with the reality of video games in a highly transformative way. I love going off about the joys of entering a flow state, where your brain becomes so focused on achieving a high score or beating a level that the controller melts into your hand and reality fades away to give way to a kind of hyper-focus where you’re not even thinking about the buttons you’re pressing, while wholly unaware of that term’s history in the discipline of psychology that drives the design of casinos and other gamified products.
Companies seeking infinite profits have twisted the flow state, the established mechanisms of arcade-style video games to further their own goals. By reversing this appropriation, and swapping out the cartoony kid-friendly aesthetics of most mobile games for those of sleazy 80s casinos and 30 year old video games, these games make us realize how tenuous the line between the games console and the slot machine really is.
This isn’t to say video games are slot machines, or that the pleasure they incite is inherently evil or manipulative, but they’re doing something, right? I find the honesty of games like these to be a wonderful way to force critical thought on the power entertainment and technology have on us, in a similar vein to how the jingoistic honesty of a Tom Cruise action movies makes them perfect vehicles for critique. It’s discomforting to think of my hobbies this way. I’ve come to love that discomfort.
1 poncle, the dev behind the hit that really kicked this trend into high gear, Vampire Survivors, is a former gambling industry developer.
2 I’m sure Jean Baudrillard would have some choice words on this phenomenon, but I’ll leave that task to someone more daring than me.
Further Reading
Luck be a Landlord is, in my opinion, the best expression of this genre of video game. It’s available pretty much everywhere, and not that expensive. I heartily recommend you play it;
My friend Sage, someone who knows a lot more about critical game theory than I do, speaks of bleed often, a concept about how games (be they video games, or table-top or live action role playing) affect our perception of reality and ourselves. They told me this article is required reading, and so I’m extending the recommendation to you all: Bleed: The Spillover Between Player and Character | Nordic Larp
Thank you for reading noReturn! This’ll be a (hopefully) weekly newsletter, out every Friday (subject to change), consisting mostly of my musing on everything Media™ related. Tech, film, games, music, whatever I please.
If you want to come along for the ride, consider subscribing to be emailed every time I post. If you enjoyed what you read, consider donating on Ko-fi.