Category Archives: just a thought

Covetous, or how Andrew Brophy made me think long and hard about my approach to life

Covetous. That’s apparently what a video game manifestation of me would look like, according to indie superstar and my good friend Andrew Brophy.

He has this hilarious theory, see, that game developers look like their games, in much the same way dog owners look like their drooling pooches. (It’s something that will be expounded upon eventually in the nascent game development fashion blog Indie Ankles, I’m sure.) Seeing him discuss it with a couple of other game devs on Twitter recently, I butted in to ask what a video game based on me would look like. I always figured I’d be the tangle of words in a work of interactive fiction, or perhaps something wistful, beautiful, and immensely sad in tone, like Dear Esther. (Wishful thinking up in here.)

But apparently I more closely resembled Covetous’ little melty boy-thing. Thanks, Brophy.

Continue reading

Protected: I’m only bleeding

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Protected: Pocket Pains

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

On women “kicking ass” at games

I’m sick of waking up each morning to read yet another news story about a close-minded douchebag gamer being sexist. Yesterday it was some charmer claiming to have bedded women on Sonic bedsheets; today, the perpetuating and justification of sexism in the fighting games community. But you’ve heard these stories already, and that’s not what I’m going to talk about.

What I do want to bring to light is a common response to this: that women should totally be taken seriously in games, because “women can kick ass too”.

Stop saying that. Seriously.

Having a girl say “he was just sexist because I was more skilled than him at Starcraft 2″ creates the same kind of hierarchy amongst women that Cosmo does when it offers articles titled “100 Things His Ex Didn’t Do In Bed”. Such a hierarchy suggests that certain women are less deserving than others of misogynistic treatment. It perpetuates a culture where women are pitted against each other, competing to be the “best” female player, competing for the attention and validation of their male peers.

“But Katie, are you sure you’re not just saying this because you suck at games?” you might say.

Who fucking cares if I suck at a game? Who cares if I’m even good at a game? Why does a women need to be skilled to be respected as a person with a hobby? Why can’t she just be respected because she’s a human being?

Most people are not brilliant at games, whether they’re guys or girls. But the guys don’t have to worry about personal insults of their skill based around their gender. So why is it so common to hear things like “I am a skilled gamer, and this is why you should respect me as a woman”? This creates an expectation of women gamers that the guys simply don’t have to worry about, and it can be used to justify sexist behaviour towards the less skilled majority. How are women less acquainted with gaming going to feel if they want to give online gaming a go? How would a new player handle the inevitable abuse if there’s a clear distinction between her, the noob, and the women who make a point of being better than others?

If we placing ourselves above other women that way, they may feel they have even less of a right to speak up about their experiences. You’re not helping feminism by pointing out that you can “kick a guy’s ass”. You’re only degrading other women, and you’re really not even helping yourself.

Edit: This post is in no way about games journalism or criticism, and is no comment on or justification of my own contributions to it.

A few words on sex in Mass Effect

Hey, you! There’s a new podcast out there by the Game Taco guys and I’d like you – yes, you! – to listen to it! They were kind enough to invite me onto the show a second time, due to all of us having been involved in Melbourne’s 48-hour game jam. Myself, I hovered at the shoulders of game developers by day, wrote letters about my observations to Kotaku’s Mark and Tracey by night, and helped judge the games at the end of the whole thing. Game Taco’s Smoo and Mr Ak did some hovering of their own, and Anna was the only one actually brave enough to participate as a developer.

So last week, we all gathered to discuss our experiences; forward the podcast to an hour in if you’re interested in just game jammery. Besides that, we also discussed Dragon Age’s assimilation of Felicia Day, hidden object games, a cat MMO (!), and sex in Bioware games. I had massive fun recording this podcast, so yeah, have a listen.

And under this cut, just some additional thoughts on the handling of sex in Mass Effect.

Continue reading

No, I will not play SWTOR with you.

It’s beginning to really bother me: the number of people asking what SWTOR server I’m on, what my character’s name is, whether I want to group with them and hey girl do you wanna join my guild, I can help you level up and shit.

I’ve had people get angry when I’ve declined to give them my character’s name. I’ve had people adopt the condescending “disappointed” demeanour. I’ve even had someone imply that I deceived them because I was the one who had “convinced” them to buy the game, with some implication that I would indeed play it with them. (I have never, ever said to someone: “YOU HAVE TO GET THIS GAME SO WE CAN PLAY TOGETHER.”)

Nobody has the right to get angry with me. Leave me alone. I have played with a grand total of two people outside of my usual gaming group, and both times were mistakes that ruined the experience enough to make me want to ragequit. I’d rather stick to the very small number of people I know I can trust.

Here is why I do not want to plat SWTOR with you, or really, any other game either.

Continue reading

On Hipstamatic, Myspace angles and feeling goddamn fucking awful all the time

All right, I’m saying this not because anybody said anything, not that anyone even cares, even, but because I’m almost ashamed of myself.

I uploaded a new profile photo of myself yesterday to Facebook and Twitter.

I’m not sure if it’s myself or my Anxiety Cat counterpart speaking when, upon receiving some sort of comment on or acknowledgement of this new photo, I instantly think, “Fuck. They see me for the self-absorbed attention-seeker I really am.”

I mean, stepping back for a moment, trying to dissociate myself from what I know of the photograph’s subject (that’d be me, yo), I don’t think it’s a terrible photograph. I like the frilly, tissue-papery pink thing in my hair. Hey, I totally didn’t botch my eyeshadow the morning it was taken. I’m assured that wearing my hair in a bun doesn’t have to be matronly. I look like a wistful, babyfaced version of myself, like a manifestation of all the Lana Del Rey I’ve been listening to lately.

But I wonder if the self-posturing for the photograph shows. The thirty-plus shots I took in pursuit of the perfect angle. Do people look at it and wonder if I would really wear that headband in public? I never wear my hair like that. Instagram filters are so overused now. And hey, isn’t this the third hundredth photograph of myself that I’ve uploaded recently? Why are there ten times as many photographs of me on my Facebook page than there are of anything else? How can I possibly live with myself, being a wannabe hipster using self-taken Myspace portraits on the internet?

I don’t know if anyone ever thinks that, looking at my photographs, but I wonder.

I remember the glee with which hipster-haters retweeted this article on Twitter. “Nostalgia for the present,” says its author, is actually a “viewing of the present as increasingly a potentially documented past.” So Hipstamatic users are pretentious, then. Desperately living up to fantasies of having lives as coloured as their hippy parents’, and emulating with their photographs the love and sweat put into developing a documented memory of yesteryear, never mind that each carefully orchestrated photograph was merely a two-second snap on a smartphone.

Well, let me tell you that I’ve no such delusions. I take the photographs because I know that I am insignificant, and have no expectations of my life meaning something to anybody.

I immortalise myself as something pretty because I spend the rest of my time feeling goddamn fucking awful about myself.

I was not the pretty girl at high school. Friends would tell me that maybe I’d actually be pretty if I straightened my hair, or grew taller. A modelling agency called me fat. My mother asks me all the time if I actually like having freckles (“shouldn’t you cover them up?”), and still each time I see her, without fail, she will comment on my weight. I can be big one week and anorexic the next. Point is, I’m never perfect, and I’m never even okay just the way I am.

iPhone photography cushions me. In bed at night, before I fall asleep, I put the photographs through the filters. I watch my life take on different hues.

The Myspace angle conveniently diminishes or hides all but my face, which is usually sufficiently touched up with mascara or lip gloss. Instagram’s Valencia filter bleaches the flaws out of my skin, making all those dermatologist appointments I’ve endured worth the money I’ve spent. I used Infinicam to exotify, romanticise a photograph of palm trees by my father’s pool, taken last time (and probably the last time, ever) I was in Kuala Lumpur. Something about the green sky and the dying sun’s rays makes me forget, momentarily, how his new wife had turned on me, told him that she never wanted to see my face again, convinced him that their home wasn’t open to me should I ever return to Malaysia. I look at the photograph and see KL frozen, epitomising the place that was my home for so many years. I don’t have to think about the fact that it is a home to me no more.

I have a lot worth celebrating, I know. But as the days shift towards the end of my arts degree, I become more and more aware of the years I spent doing nothing but being depressed. I feel old and constantly exhausted. I can’t help feeling that there’s so much more I should have achieved by now, but I’ve learned that even if I fail, looks should be enough to get a girl by. Right?

So I upload these ridiculous self-centred photos, and will continue to do so. I don’t hope that my present will one day become a glamorous past that others will look back fondly on. I just want to feel okay. If I can document the few seconds in which I don’t look as miserable as I feel, maybe I can convince others that I’m okay, too. Maybe I’ll eventually even convince myself.

The Space Between

So a few weeks ago, I volunteered to do a post for Critical Distance. It’s a great weekly round-up of games-related criticism from blogs and websites, and while I’ve always skimmed its entries and clicked a few links – mainly those pertaining to games I was familiar with – I volunteered because I thought it could get me reading much more deeply into games criticism than I had already been doing.

And it did. I did the round-up again last Sunday, and while I was stressed out and barely had the time for it, I was fulfilled by all the great writing out there. It had me thinking miles a minute about games I had played and games I’d never even heard of.

It also had me thinking about the way that we use blogs.

It’s amazing what a person can achieve through something that sounds so inconsequential and ugly (seriously, say it to yourself: “blog”. Don’t you feel ridiculous?). Some use it as a diary of sorts of their gaming adventures, random thoughts and anecdotes collected in one space; others post veritable essays about very defined topics. It’s quite brilliant, looking at all the other bloggers out there, seeing how they’ve used the medium to carry their message.

It inevitably had me thinking about my own blog. What the hell is my message? I actually have no clue. I know that it took me two weeks to come up with a name for this thing, and that my mission was to have a site on which I could say, hey, I am capable of writing and thinking!

… But I don’t think the thinking part of that has come through very clearly. I was new to the games criticism scene a year ago, and pretty much blissfully blind to how volatile opinionated discussion can get. (You’d think this was politics, not video games.) While I enjoyed putting my thinking process here on the internet to begin with, I’ve been in enough heated arguments by now to need to think twice, thrice, and too many times again before stating anything that falls outside of popular opinion. Frustratingly, it’s been quite detrimental to my output, and you’ll notice how infrequently I update this blog. I play it safe now. Most of my recent entries have simply been links to my writing elsewhere on the web. I avoid stating certain opinions because boy, am I tired of arguing with people so set in their views. I avoid getting truly honest here because unlike a year ago, I have a few people watching this blog now, and revealing such honesty makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. I feel like my breathing room is limited so as to avoid offending anyone I respect and don’t want to damage relations with.

I’ve kept – and you’ll pardon the pun – my own critical distance from this blog. When it comes to writing, for some reason I feel that something huge but unknown is expected of me, and I’m scared that I won’t deliver. So I don’t. At all.

This is why I’m so grateful we have a place like Critical Distance, and that I get to participate in it. It makes me feel a little better about having a dissenting opinion sometimes, and it’s made me realise that I don’t necessarily need to write in an essay-like, emotion-free way to get a point across. There are so many bloggers doing such a good job without seemingly stifling themselves, and I envy that. I’d like to work my way up to it again.

So you might see some changes here at Alive Tiny World. I might get a little more ranty, a little more emotional, a little more personal. I have other interests I’d like to touch on now and then – fashion, travel, droning indie music (seriously, I’ve not listened to anything but a single Belle and Sebastian album for a month). I might even share some fiction, because fiction is, after all, what I started blogging with some ten years ago. How do these things even intersect with the nerd culture I’ve settled into? I don’t know, but it might be fun feeling out the corners of this strange space myself.

I’m sorry if it’s just the nerdery that you visit for, and I understand. In the end, though, I have this online space that I’d like to use a lot more, and I really do feel that honesty, flippancy, and I’ll-do-whatever-the-hell-I-like is going to help me improve, both as a writer and a critic.

But then there’s that other side of blogs. The public side, the fact that a blog is on the internet and open to readers and their interpretations. So to the few of you who read this regularly, I’d like to know: what do you visit for? What have you liked and disliked about Alive Tiny World? Where would you like to see this thing going in the future?

In any case, it’s been a great ride so far, and I’m appreciative of anyone who has stuck with me so far, even in spite of my inconsistency. If you haven’t already, hit me up on Twitter. Say hi. I’d love to get to know you. (And visit Critical Distance. It’s hyperlinked. Go!)

Bossed around

I’m an extremely slow gamer at the best of times, but I’m breaking my own records with Deus Ex: Human Revolution. Despite loving the original and even going so far as to pre-order DX:HR, a move I don’t usually bother with when it comes to new games, I only really started playing it last week. I wanted to finish Catherine first (which is an experience I need to eventually get off my chest, though I keep waiting for it to settle, hoping something will become clear in reflection…). And when that was over, I found myself playing DX:HR at roughly a sloth’s pace.

After finally finishing that first mission over three or four nights of staccato playing sessions, I was turned loose on Detroit. This was an absolute gaming dream for me, to comb through a world so verisimilitudinous*, completing sidequests and idly talking to NPCs at entirely my own pace.

So after a week of this, when my friends are already on their second or third playthroughs, I’d just barely finished up in Detroit. Last night, I finally encountered what I’ve heard far too much about from other players, something that perhaps contributed to my dawdling in Detroit’s slums. I was enjoying the game so much, you see, and I didn’t want to believe that such a rich game could employ such a cheap method of driving along its story. I didn’t want to believe that I was going to have to wrest myself from the trap of the unavoidable boss fight.

I see now what Twitter was talking about, and you can add me to that list of people complaining about the bosses. It’s not that the first fight with Barrett was difficult – after the initial shock of being dumped into the big brutal mess, it was fairly easy to figure out what to do, especially after watching Twitterers exchange tips on defeating him. And it’s not necessarily that the fight didn’t gel with the rest of the gameplay up to that point, either. My problem was that it was insulting.

Besides a shaky start, the rest of the game had been a gorgeous experience. I loved that there were numerous approaches to each puzzle, numerous ways of taking out enemies. I spent an hour alone in Jensen’s apartment, zooming in on the tiniest details, examining the way in which his renaissance furniture and the strangely creepy greeting cards scattered across his bedside table contributed to such a well-designed virtual space. Until that point, the game, for me, had been about choice. I could choose where to go and how to deal with people in my way. I could choose to leave my pilot waiting as I combed the city for hours, ticking off objectives to unrelated but fulfilling sidequests. I could choose between infiltrating gang territory through sewers, or facing it in head-on combat. I could choose to doss about in Jensen’s sweet apartment doing absolutely nothing if I damn well wanted to.

Facing this boss felt like a mockery of the choice that had been afforded to me. I felt as though the game had suddenly turned on me, hissing, “Did you choose to be stealthy? Because you chose WRONG.” The x-ray vision and hacking augmentations I’d acquired were suddenly useless. I was a skinny child pitted against the bully of a sudden thoughtless, inconsistent mechanic.

Taking to Twitter to voice my complaints, as per usual, returned a chorus of others who knew exactly what I meant, who said, just wait until the second boss. But a couple of other voices stood out. Someone said that the boss fights “weren’t THAT bad”, that they “took nothing away from the game at all”, that I was just “being picky”. Besides, the boss fights in the original Deus Ex were just as terrible; why didn’t I complain about those?

Given the unsubtle first boss fight in DX:HR, it was natural for guns-blazing players to not notice just what made it so awful; it was a boss tailored to their playstyle, after all, while us stealthy players suffered as a result of our earlier choices. The original had its own boss fights, yes – and it also offered stealthy methods of overcoming them (I will never forget the devastating power of uttering two, seemingly insignificant words: “Laputan machine”). The Barrett fight catered to one style of player only, and screwed over the rest of us who had waited so long to play a decent stealth game. It was a poorly-designed encounter that gave no thought to what the player had done to get to that point, something that appeared to have been dumped into the game as an afterthought, because hey, games are meant to have bosses, right? Though the original Deus Ex had provided such a strong base for its sequels to stand on, it felt as though DX:HR didn’t want to stray too far from today’s formula of a constant stream of action. The effect was punishing for those of us who did.

I’m heading back into HR tonight, though, and because I’m finally getting sent to China – a whole new world to explore painstakingly – I can forgive the game. Still, I feel a little mistrusting, and I know that at least a few more predictable encounters lie in store for me. I think I’ll dawdle for awhile yet.

* Credit to Mark Duval for introducing me to this awesome word.

“It’s time to stop being afraid”

I had a big, rambling post planned and half-written when this piece by games journos Laura Parker (Gamespot AU) and Tracey Lien (Hyper, Kotaku, freaking everywhere) went up early this afternoon. They’ve said everything I was going to far more succinctly and eloquently than I could have hoped to do, so go and read them right now.

A commenter on Ben Abraham’s piece on challenging sexism at Gamasutra said that he believed that “women don’t seem to particularly want to have this fight”. The comment was ignorant and dismissive of the issues at hand, but it brought up a good point: females in the industry don’t vocalise their opinions nearly as much as their male counterparts. Laura and Tracey outline exactly why: fear.

I can’t claim to be anywhere near as accomplished as these two women, but believe me, I feel that fear too (and, honestly, I could even partially credit it for my lack of accomplishment). It paralyses me every day at university, where I’m studying towards a game degree in classes that are dominated by young men.

In my first year, in my very first subject, I was the only girl in the classroom. I was soon asked whether I played the Sims, because “That’s the only game girls like, right?” When I honestly replied that I played the Sims as well as other games, I was asked if I played them to impress FPS-playing boys. There was an inherent implication that a girl could not be capable of having any profound, personal experience of a game the way a man apparently could.

Three years later, it’s evident that my classmates haven’t been educated much more on the topic. I watched as a girl was harassed repeatedly by a male who felt himself a more ‘worthy’ gamer because he played lengthy RPGs and she preferred casual games; she eventually dropped out, wrongly believing his repeated statement that a ‘casual gaming girl’ like herself could contribute nothing to the games industry.

When I tried to report the plagiarism of one of my school projects by two other (male) students, I was told by the (male) lecturer that I was taking things too seriously and that I was simply being ‘emotional’ – an insult that only ever seems to be leveraged at women, regardless of how composed or otherwise they may actually be.

An intelligent postgrad student told me that she felt crushed by the domineering attitude of her boyfriend of the time, who believed that he knew far more about games than she did because he played CoD4 several hours a night, while she ‘only’ wrote about them for her thesis. Another time, when only myself and one other girl were able to name an obscure PS2 game that a lecturer had brought up, a guy sitting behind me muttered, “Must be a girl game.” In yet another class, sweeping pronouncements about women’s apparent inability to engage with games was snidely justified with the statement, “My mother is a woman. Believe me, I know how women work.”

After three years amongst these people, after all the high distinctions and top-of-the-subject marks I’ve earned, I’m still given frustratingly little consideration because of my gender. I’m still made to believe that my opinions cannot possibly account for anything, and whenever I try to stand up for my ability, the “you’re being emotional, you’re taking things too seriously IT’S ONLY A GAME” card is inevitably played.

**

So I’ve learned to be silent. So has Tracey, and so has Laura, and so have too many other women in the games scene.

It’s a silence echoed in a recording of Freeplay’s ‘Words That We Use’ panel. In spite of the unrest manifesting itself on Twitter, that room, save for the panelists, was dead silent. The question has been asked a few times since, especially by panel members coming forward to make their own statements on the event: If we were so angry, why didn’t we speak up sooner?

Partway through the panel, the audience members were asked to raise their hands if they contributed to games criticism, or were interested in doing so. Seated near the back with a bunch of other games writers I knew through Twitter, a sea of hands shot up around me. My own remained firmly in my lap, furiously tweeting. I could see Ben Abraham at the corner of my eye, gesturing for me to get my hand the hell up, looking perplexed as I continued to not stand up for my own ability as a game critic.

It was Ben who would later stand up for us – to demand to know why the panelists couldn’t name a single female critic when he was seated next to two of them, or why an audience member thought it was possible for the gender issue to “sort itself out” without any further discussion. I was incredibly moved by Ben’s speech and thanked him after the panel ended, but I also felt extremely pathetic. How could I have stayed so quiet? What did it mean, that I had to wait for a man to stand up for me?

**

Reading Tracey and Laura’s email exchange is an incredible relief. I know now that my repression is not self-imagined. If two of Australia’s most prominent women in games writing feel the same crippling fear that I do, then the problem is clearly far more widespread than those in the industry would like to believe. Their coming forward would have been incredibly difficult, but if enough people read and listen to what they have to say, things will become a little easier for the rest of us women.

And you know what? I’m glad Ben stood up that day – not for us, but with us. As he would tell me in an email later, “It’s not cool. It pisses me off. And as such I’ll weather whatever blows and criticism it takes to stand with you and other women against sexism.”

Other Freeplay Stuff: Link Round-up

There have been a few developments since my last post here. Brendan Keogh’s fantastic analysis of the panel’s discussion of criticism is still generating debate. Panel member, journalist Andrew McMillen, has kindly provided a full audio recording of the hour-long panel. Ben Abraham’s excellent opinion piece on the topic of sexism went up at Gamasutra yesterday morning; both the article and a handful of the comments are worth a read, including thought from panel member Alison Croggon. Panel chair Leigh Klaver has made a blog, amusingly titled “THAT panel”, in response to a blog post by Searing Scarlet. Freeplay coordinator Paul Callaghan has blogged about the panel, amongst many other Freeplay things, here. Finally, Drew Taylor, another one of the panel members, wrote up his side of the story in a comment on my last post; it’s the most engagement we’ve had from the panelists so far, and I would really appreciate it if you would give it a read.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 130 other followers