1966: Yes, Please Kill Clickbait

I read an interesting piece earlier on the subject of clickbait. I won’t quote it extensively here as I recommend you read it yourself, but I will provide a handy link for you to do just that. Here. Go on, I’ll wait.

The article makes a lot of good points, but the one which stood out most strikingly to me was the suggestion that “via clickbait, many companies believe they can do away with the concept of demographic”. And it’s absolutely true: the concept of a “target demographic” when it comes to Internet-based publications is fast becoming a thing of the past in favour of casting a wide net in the hopes of snagging as many people as possible.

It feels like it’s getting more and more transparent, too; I don’t know if this is simply because I’m aware of it from the inside — during my latter days at USgamer, I spent a lot of time publishing walkthroughs for new games to draw in the clicks, so believe me, I know clickbait — or whether outlets really are getting more and more transparent. But when, for example, sites like Forbes Games (games, note) are publishing articles about something that happened in last night’s Game of Thrones (a TV show), or sites like Polygon and Kotaku are trying their level best to relate real-world events to video games in as ham-fisted a manner as possible, something is very, very wrong.

I’ve mentioned before that I very much miss the “golden age” of magazines in the mid-to-late ’90s. Magazines each had a distinctive voice, style and target audience. Some, like the Official Nintendo Magazine, were aimed at kids, and used layout, language and presentation to match. Others, like Zero, were aimed at slightly older people who enjoyed a bit of irreverent humour. Others still, like ACE, were aimed at the general games enthusiast, not someone loyal to a particular platform. And others still, like Page 6/New Atari User, which my father, my brother and I all used to contribute to, had a tightly focused target audience of platform enthusiasts who were into more than just games.

While certain sites do still have “voices” to an extent thanks to well-known writers, there’s less and less to distinguish between them, particularly as the default “thing to care about” for these publications these days appears to be Social Issues like sexism and racism. But I find it hard to take these articles seriously when they clearly very much fall into the clickbait category — Polygon’s recent piece on The Witcher 3 maybe possibly probably being racist was a double whammy, in fact, combining two pieces of bait: the name of a popular current release, and an accusation that said popular current release is, in some way, bad and wrong. Whether or not it’s “right” to read the piece in that way — or in a manner which suggests If You Like The Witcher You’re Okay With Racism — is kind of besides the point; people do read it that way, and they quite understandably take umbrage with the implications suggested by articles like this. Same with Kollar’s piece on Dungeon Travelers 2 from a while back, though in that case the game was largely unknown and it was the publisher Atlus that was the “household name” to draw people in and then slap people around the face with a bit of This Is Problematic bullshit.

I remember before this dark period of games journalism started when a lot of people were attacking Kotaku for different reasons to today. In fact, there’s a relevant entry on this very blog from that very period, in which I explored the possibility that Kotaku might have actually been doing what I’m arguing for here: pursuing a specific demographic.

Targeting a specific demographic isn’t a negative thing, and we need to stop thinking that it is, because if you spread yourself too thin, you don’t serve any of your audience to their satisfaction. One size does not fit all, and not everyone wants to read about the same things. And that’s fine! What we need is more diversity of opinion and more places for people to go and get different viewpoints. And that’s something we’re not getting at the moment — at least not from the commercial sites. It’s pretty telling that the small, independent sites out there are doing a far better job of this than the big names — and it’s absolutely criminal that sites like this are, at present, unable to make money thanks to the business’ continued reliance on the clickbait model rather than something more fair and less manipulative.

Ultimately it’s best to find places you enjoy reading that you feel “speak” to you, but if I may give a recommendation to those of you who are into similar sorts of games to me: do check out Digitally Downloaded; editor-in-chief Matt Sainsbury and his team work hard to provide interesting, thought-provoking and well-written pieces of criticism about a diverse array of games as well as anime, manga, film and literature. They manage to produce pieces of relevant social and cultural commentary and criticism and relate them to games without pointing fingers or pandering to anyone; its writers are passionate and believe in the things they write, and the result is a site I continue to enjoy and respect even as I’ve switched off from reading most of the mainstream games media these days. It’d be great to see sites like this grow, and the industry as a whole evolve.

Will it happen? Well, that’s partly up to you, isn’t it?

1965: Some More Words About Vita

I feel like I’ve written this post a number of times before — indeed, I had to search my own blog just to make sure — but I feel it’s time we talked about the PlayStation Vita. Again, because the issues I described last time really haven’t improved a great deal — at least not so far as the press is concerned.

Sony’s handheld is a wonderful platform. It’s arguably the most distinctive of all the currently available platforms — with the possible exception of Nintendo’s 3DS — thanks to its unique library of titles, and it’s very much carved out its own niche.

By virtue of this, however, the platform is, by definition, not ideal for everyone. Despite originally being marketed as the most powerful handheld on the market — and I don’t have the tech specs to hand, but certainly from casual observation I don’t doubt that claim — Vita is not a platform on which you should expect to play a lot of “triple-A” games. And this is what has led some people to regard it as a “failure”; a seeming lack of the big hitter franchises like Call of Duty, Assassin’s Creed and Battlefield on the platform coupled with the apparent lack of support from both triple-A studios and, at times, Sony itself doesn’t paint a particularly rosy picture.

But here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter. It may not be entirely what Vita was originally positioned as, but Vita’s niche serves a passionate market. Several passionate markets, in fact: specifically, the market that enjoys localised Japanese games (or, indeed, those who like to import, since Vita is region-free, unlike the 3DS) and the market that enjoys interesting, creative and/or experimental independently developed Western games. Between those two niches — which have a certain degree of crossover — Vita has an astonishing library of quality games, even without the heavy hitters of the industry.

And who wants to play visually spectacular triple-A games on a tiny screen, anyway? Triple-A isn’t playing to the platform’s strengths at all, which explains why since an initial few attempts — most notably an Uncharted game that apparently wasn’t all that bad but not as good as the PS3 installments, and an absolutely terrible Call of Duty spinoff — triple-A developers are paying the console little to no mind. (Ubisoft is something of an exception to this, though their smaller titles are very much designed with an “indie” philosophy in keeping with the Vita anyhow.)

Vita’s strength is its portability, and its best games are those that cater both to short play sessions and longer marathons. The many, many quality role-playing games that grace the platform are testament to this: although RPGs are typically regarded as somewhat slow-moving, in most cases those that have been designed specifically for Vita have been put together in such a way that you can fire them up for a few battles and still feel like you’ve had a worthwhile experience. The Neptunia games are a good example; their dungeons are short and their battles super-quick, but if you want to sit down with them for a few hours at a time as opposed to a few minutes, there’s plenty of depth to explore there, too.

So what’s my point? Well, mostly bafflement, as expressed by a number of us Vita enthusiasts on Twitter earlier today when we saw yet another article snippet berating the handheld for no particularly good reason. We found ourselves questioning exactly why it’s treated this way, and why it’s still regarded as a “failure” or “dead”. The misinterpretation of Sony’s recent “legacy platform” comments certainly didn’t help, though one can lay at least part of the blame at the feet of the press for that one for poor reporting.

Another possible perspective is to do with what I’ve just talked about: the niches that Vita serves. A while back, Polygon’s Phil Kollar — a supposed JRPG expert and enthusiast — posted a particularly obnoxious article berating Atlus for localising Dungeon Travelers 2, a dungeon-crawling RPG starring a cast of cute girls that has a lineage which can be slightly indirectly traced back to an eroge called To Heart 2. (Read my response here, if you’re bored.) Kollar lambasted the game while clearly having little to no knowledge of it whatsoever and no desire to explore or investigate it, and he’s not the only one to post such a piece. In other words, it’s little surprise that popular perception of Vita suffers when it’s typically ignored in favour of the big-budget PC and console triple-A flavours of the month — except, of course, when something “problematic” rears its head and gets all the “progressive” types in a tizzy.

It’s probably a gross oversimplification to consider that Vita might be suffering at the hands of the press because many of its games don’t fit neatly in with the “progressive” ideology that most mainstream gaming sites are presently trying to peddle — this viewpoint ignores the numerous successful Western indie games, including the more experimental, arty end of the spectrum, for example — but I can’t help but feel there’s a bit of truth in there. To return to Neptunia, for example, we’re talking about a series of games that has grown from very humble beginnings in 2010 into one of the most popular, recognisable, prolific and varied series in the whole Japanese niche gaming market, but is it ever acknowledged by the big sites? Is it bollocks.

Anyway, fortunately, despite the perpetuation of the “Vita has no games, Vita is dying/dead” narrative, the platform is very much alive, well and beloved by those who have taken the time to understand what it’s doing and engage with it. I have a healthy collection of Vita games in both physical and digital format; a somewhat more dedicated friend on Twitter has over a hundred games for his Vita in both physical and digital format, and the new releases out of Japan don’t look like slowing down any time soon.

One thing that’s become increasingly clear to me as the years have passed is that the press is rapidly losing relevance, and the numerous “social commentary” pieces that regularly rear their ugly heads are an attempt to move with the times and evolve. Fair enough, but that’s not what I want to read in most cases; meanwhile, that which I used to get from games magazines and websites — enthusiastic discussion of games I’ve played, and recommendations of games I might like to play — I now get from social media, via personal interactions with the people who actually matter when it comes to this sort of thing: the people who are actually playing them.

As a former member of the games press, it’s a slightly frustrating and disheartening situation to see. But so long as Vita keeps coming out with great games that I want to play — and two new ones arrived just this week (Moe Chronicle and Operation Abyss), so I don’t think that will be a problem — I’ll keep talking about it, and I’m far from the only one who feels this way, thankfully. It’s just a pity it’s so hard to make people outside our circle of enthusiasts listen.

1960: Preview a Game Like Polygon

FIFA 16 is a game about football, and you probably want that

FIFA 16 should be celebrated for its inclusion of women players -- better late than never. — FIFA 16 should be celebrated for its inclusion of women players — better late than never.

There’s a joyful cheer from the crowd; a roar of approval and a vibrant expression of intense approval. But I can’t join in; I know it’s not real.

It’s literally not real. It’s a virtual crowd in a virtual stadium, applauding, cheering and yelling in delight at a goal that didn’t happen. But that doesn’t stop some of the other real people who are nearby joining in with their own whoops, hollers, shouts and cries.

I’m at Wembley Stadium in London, spiritual home of football — at least in the United Kingdom. Some of my companions clearly feel that coming here is like having the opportunity to visit the Holy Land, particularly as we’re in one of the mysterious event rooms that the public don’t usually get to see. Even those who aren’t looking at the screen seem excited; they’re pointing at pictures on the walls, and at the view through the window out onto the pitch.

I envy them a little as I stand back, sipping my fizzy water and munching on a canape, wishing desperately that there was someone else here who wanted to have an open and frank discussion about the situation in Syria. But there isn’t. I’m alone; so very alone, even though this room is full of people. I’d find it distressing if I weren’t so used to it, but this is my life thanks to the choices I’ve made: doomed to forever operate on the fringe of events like this, unable to participate or even put up a convincing facade of excitement at the abject tedium I so despise unfolding on the screen in front of me.

The game at times lacks racial diversity, but the presence of women after so many years makes up for this to a certain degree.

The virtual crowd cheers again, and there’s a roar of approval from my assembled colleagues; apparently whoever it is that has the controller right now has scored an impressive goal against the carefully selected PR person: I’m guessing they play well enough to show the game at its best, while simultaneously being able to let my peers win and give them a sense of satisfaction and send them away with a positive impression of this dreadful, interminable, never-changing series of awful games.

But do any games truly change? After all, we’re still shooting people of colour in obviously Middle Eastern allegories. We’re still relentlessly collecting objects in what is clearly a potent metaphor for capitalism that shoots straight over the head of most people. We’re still upholding traditional gender roles and tacitly encouraging the approval of the patriarchal status quo — a status quo that objectifies and exploits women — over more progressive attitudes. And we’re still playing the same old sports; outlets for attitudes of toxic masculinity that are only distinguishable from the never-ending stream of games allowing testosterone-fuelled men to indulge their wildest, most perverse of rape culture fantasies by the fact that they are slightly less violent than Call of Duty and Destiny.

There are women in FIFA 16, which I suppose is worthy of some praise, and football games by their very nature include a healthy number of people of colour. But the outcry from the vast majority of the Internet over the inclusion of women’s teams in this installment indicates that the world of sports games is still very much a man’s world — but only if you’re the right kind of man, of course. I’m not the right kind of man, it seems; I’m happy to see women included in the game as a step forward for progressiveness rather than, as some particularly obnoxious Facebook comments had it, the chance to “combine boobs and football”.

I finish my fizzy water and head for the table to pour another. I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn around to see who is trying to attract my attention. It’s the PR person who was playing the game a moment ago — I think her name was Ashleigh — and she’s giving me a gentle smile.

“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” she says.

“No,” I say. “I’m not.”

I want to elaborate, to tell her that attending this event is a living hell for me, that there is literally anything I would rather be doing than taking a look at a game I have no interest in that represents a sport that I despise with absolute passion owing to its use for continuing the dominance of the prevalent toxic patriarchal attitudes in society. But I don’t. After my admission, I simply take another sip of water.

“You should give the game a try,” she says, still smiling — though I have a feeling that it’s changed from a genuinely warm smile to a false one. She proffers a DualShock 4 controller; I contemplate it for a moment, its wonderful ergonomic curves bringing to mind the body shape of a beautiful woman who cares not for whether she’s “beach body ready”, but then I shake such borderline misogynistic thoughts from my mind lest Ashleigh can see the beast of suppressed lust in my eyes and dismisses me as yet another perpetuator of rape culture rather than the progressive feminist that I actually am. “You might enjoy it.”

“I don’t think I will,” I say, giving her a smile of my own. Then I put down my unfinished glass of fizzy water, head for the door and don’t look back.

It’s raining outside. The black clouds overhead mirror the darkness in my soul. There’s a flash of light and a clap of thunder, and I realise, as if given a message from a non-specific divine entity, that I am wasting my life.

(Disclosure: This article is a parody of this monstrosity that hit the Interwebs yesterday to much well-deserved derision.)

1941: What Happened to the Games Press?

I find myself thinking this a lot recently, particularly as sites like Polygon do increasingly stupid things on a seemingly daily basis (just recently, they managed to piss off the entire community of people who enjoy modern niche Japanese RPGs with a spectacularly ill-informed piece that I posted a lengthy rebuttal to over on MoeGamer, and subsequently baffled everyone by complaining that The Witcher 3 didn’t appear to have any black people in it, and that in a setting where, canonically, women are treated like shit, the women were treated like shit) and I find myself increasingly turning to smaller sites on the few occasions I do actually want to read someone else’s thoughts about games — and to Twitter on the more frequent occasions when I want to talk about games with people who share my interests.

The games press used to be the very definition of “enthusiast”, in that it was, well, enthusiastic. Upcoming new games were anticipated with excitement, unexpectedly brilliant games were celebrated, legendarily awful games became famous in their own right. In most cases, coverage was handled in a light-hearted, humorous and often irreverent manner, not afraid to crack politically incorrect jokes and generally seem like the people responsible for it were actually having a good time.

These days, I go to a site like Polygon and often come away feeling like its writers actively hate the medium they claim to specialise in. It seems like every other week there’s a new big controversy of some description, and these sites seem to take it upon themselves to take a Firm Moral Standpoint on such issues, usually with the strong implications that If You Don’t Agree With This, You Are An Awful Shit and Should Probably Be Killed.

Sometimes these controversies become justifiably big deals — although, to be honest, it’s getting harder and harder to think of genuine examples, simply because of the amount of noise spouted on a daily basis. It’s the “Boy Who Cried Wolf” syndrome; the more you shout and scream and rave about How Awful Everything Is, Oh My! *faints* the less likely people are to take you seriously. Particularly when it’s just so incongruous; I can’t quite work out if the abrupt gear-change into “by the way, this is misogynist and probably racist too” in Polygon’s otherwise very positive review of The Witcher 3 is hilarious or tragic, but either way, I can’t take it seriously any more, because it’s just parroting the same points I’ve seen over and over again, without any real consideration of context.

I think back to the days when I used to read games magazines before the Internet came along and ruined that industry. I think back with fond memories on the specific magazines I used to read — mostly the ones my brother worked on, for obvious reasons — and can actually remember a lot about them: the articles therein, the games covered, the reasons I liked taking them into the toilet to read while I was having a shit even if I’d already read them from cover to cover multiple times. Advanced Computer Entertainment (aka ACE); Zero; Mega Drive Advanced Gaming; Control (later Super Control); ST Action; Atari User; Page 6; The Official Nintendo Magazine; N64 Magazine; PSM; GamesTM; PC Player; PC Zone; EGM; OPM; and doubtless some others I’ve forgotten — I don’t remember any of these magazines ever taking a Firm Moral Standpoint on controversial issues, and I certainly don’t ever remember them directly attacking either portions of or their whole audience. (Well, except for Charlie Brooker’s “Sick Notes” section in latter-day PC Zone, in which people wrote in to him specifically to get insulted.)

Meanwhile, today, we have a far more fast-moving games press in which articles are generally disposable, forgettable, designed to get quick, immediate clicks right now and, for the most part, not remain “evergreen” and stand the test of time. That means a rise in tabloid-style controversy and moral panics, and a decline in writers having the opportunity to express their own specific, creative voices or specialisms. And that’s really sad.

One positive thing that is coming of the growing sense of dissatisfaction a lot of people like myself feel with the big gaming sites is the fact that smaller sites are on the rise, and doing a good job from a content perspective of catering to niches that are typically underserved by the mainstream publications. The situation isn’t ideal as yet — most of these outlets aren’t able to pay their staff, since making money from writing words on the Internet is harder than it’s ever been, given people’s reluctance to pay for things online, and even greater reluctance to allow themselves to be advertised at — but it is undergoing a change.

I’m glad to see that, in some respects, but sad in others; as time goes on, we move further and further away from what I now recognise, with the rose-tinted spectacles of +1 nostalgia, as the Golden Age of Games Magazines. Fashions come and go, of course, but with the way the media has been advancing over the course of the last ten or twenty years, I don’t see us returning to anything like it any time soon.

1905: Gr8 B8 M8

At the time of writing, the biggest hotness in gaming — at least so far as the press is concerned — is From Software’s latest game Bloodborne.

Bloodborne is a big release for Sony’s PlayStation 4 platform and the latest unofficial installment in the notorious “Souls” series that previously brought us Demon’s Souls, Dark Souls and Dark Souls II. (And, if you’re a From software purist, the King’s Field series, too.)

The Souls series is one that I have tried on a couple of occasions to get into, but never really managed to click with. I played a bit of Demon’s Souls when it came out after I heard a friend enthusing about it — I was particularly enamoured with its creative online features — but set it aside quickly after I became frustrated at having to repeat the same 30 minutes of gameplay over and over and over again just for, in some cases, taking a wrong turning and running into an enemy that is, I later learned, intended to act as a signal that You Should Not Be Going This Way. I tried it again recently and got a little further, but didn’t really feel much in the way of incentive to go back — it’s very light on explicit narrative (although very strong on implied narrative), and I’m someone who pretty much needs an explicit narrative push as an incentive to continue playing something — so I’m probably going to call it a day where I am. I decided to give the series another go when Dark Souls first appeared on PS3 and Xbox 360, but found myself similarly frustrated and not really enjoying myself, and consequently I haven’t touched Dark Souls II and have no intention of ever playing Bloodborne.

All this is a little besides the point I want to talk about today, but I just thought I’d slot it in anyway for context. The short version is that while I respect the Souls series for what it’s doing, I don’t really personally enjoy it. And that’s fine; I don’t expect everyone to enjoy every game out there, but at least to give things a chance before writing them off. And, for me, the Souls series has had its chance, but I certainly don’t begrudge anyone who does enjoy it their enjoyment.

Instead, what I did want to talk about today relates tangentially to the Souls series — and specifically Bloodborne — right now, but is a fairly widespread issue at any given point. And that’s the fact that, given the majority of the Internet’s continued reliance on ad-based revenue models, if something is the latest hotness, then that thing needs to have the absolute shit covered out of it to ensure people keep coming back day after day to, in theory anyway, devour every little piece of Bloodborne (or whatever the latest greatness is at the time you’re reading this if it’s far in the future) information that there is out there… even if said information isn’t particularly interesting or adds anything meaningful to broader gaming discussion.

The reason I bring this up is today I saw a headline on one site that simply read something along the lines of “You can complete Bloodborne even if you’ve never beaten a Souls game”. Now, that may be true — I can’t comment with any authority on whether Bloodborne is more or less accessible than the Souls games — but frankly, I’m not sure I really care, and thus I don’t really know who this article is for. The people who like Souls games are probably on board with Bloodborne already, while the people who don’t like Souls games — like me — have had three games (plus DLC) to try and learn to love them; in other words, if they’re not already on that train, they’re probably not taking that trip.

Again, though, the amorphous audience that article is for is besides the point: it’s a symptom of the aforementioned issue where whatever is “big” at any given moment has to have hundreds of articles written about it at every opportunity, even if said articles don’t really add anything to broader gaming discussion. And the sole reason is to try and attract people to the page and consequently earn some ad revenue. It is, in theory, providing people with the content they “want” to read, but in fact it’s more focused on the potential revenue that can be brought in by the eyes on the page.

Clickbait, in other words, though perhaps not in quite such a hyperbolic manner as sites like Buzzfeed and its ilk employ.

For a business, it is, of course, important to try and make money through appropriate means. But in doing this, the online press — and the games press in particular — does a disservice to its audience, because unfortunately when you’re writing informative articles or criticism, you can’t simply ignore your audience and focus on the bottom line, because otherwise you’ll end up without an audience. And it may be the case that the audiences for a lot of sites really are lapping up anything Bloodborne-related with aplomb, however vapid it might be. But I know I’d much rather see two things than the situation we have at the moment, where every major site’s front page is practically interchangeable with one another: I’d like to see different sites covering different games at different times, and I’d like to see much broader coverage of the medium as a whole, perhaps with more sites specialising in particular genres, subject matter, types of game or even theoretical/ideological viewpoints.

In order for that to happen, though, we need a fundamental rethink of how we consume content on the Web, and a fundamental rethink of how content creators can make money from that content. Because as wonderful as it is for people to do things “for the love”, it would be even more wonderful for people to be able to make a living out of doing the things that they enjoy — and that they’re good at. At the moment, people who are writing for sites are mostly slaves to the SEO stats, with occasional exceptions, and that’s a real shame.

We are starting to see steps in the right direction, at least. Services such as Patreon, IndieGogo and Kickstarter provide alternative means for people and companies to get some money coming in. Several sites have experimented with subscription models, with varying rates of success. And the audience’s growing dissatisfaction with the big names in the business over the course of the last couple of years has encouraged smaller sites to take some bold steps to distinguish themselves and make themselves unique: specialising and declaring that they’re going to focus on a particular type of content; listening to what the audience says it wants (and, importantly, doesn’t want!) and providing that rather than relying on provocative clickbait or predictable coverage of The Latest Big Releases; exploring alternative revenue streams other than just ads; and giving voices to people — and viewpoints — outside the sometimes rather incestuous-seeming echo chamber that is the inner circle of professional games journalism.

We’re certainly a far cry from the golden age of newsstand games magazines, where individual publications had very distinctive voices, styles and ways of covering games. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back to something along those lines, but I’d much prefer it to what we have today.

1883: Social Justice, Public Shaming and Why I Want My Friends Back

I’m probably going to upset a few people with this post, but this is something that has been festering inside me for quite some time; something that I need to release by talking about it. I hope doing so will help me feel a little better, as well as make the people who care about me aware of the way certain increasingly prevalent attitudes in popular culture make me — and, I’m sure, others like me — feel.

I’ll kick off with an immediately contentious statement: I completely understand why the term “social justice warrior” is used as a pejorative.

I will immediately qualify this by saying that I do not think the concept of social justice is unimportant, nor that it is something that should be swept under the carpet and ignored. There are still problems with attitudes towards marginalised groups in society. There are still groups out there whose sole reason for existence is an irrational, burning hatred of certain people. There are subsets of passionate fans in all interest groups — be it video games, sports, movies, books, anything — who do not have a positive influence on the community as a whole.

However, I believe that for the most part, human beings are fundamentally decent people. I’ve met my share of assholes, sure, and seen evidence of people being mistreated, insulted and even threatened online — although, on that note, I will also say that we’re collectively a little hasty to jump to the descriptor “death threat” when it isn’t always particularly accurate. But I’ve also met enough decent people in my time in this world and on the Internet to find it difficult to believe that the world is the seething morass of hatred and prejudice that the most passionate advocates of social justice — the aforementioned “social justice warriors” — believe it is.

Let me clarify my earlier statement. The term “social justice warrior”, as I see it — and as many others see it, too — does not simply apply to anyone who believes in social justice, otherwise there would be no need for it; it would simply be a means of describing pretty much everyone who isn’t an asshole. Rather, it describes, as noted above, a particularly passionate and outspoken advocate for social justice — and someone who is not above using particularly unpleasant tactics to try and get their point across. Tactics like public shaming; insulting; “othering”; discrimination; ignoring opinions based on socioeconomic, ethnic, gender or sexuality groups; dogpiling… the list goes on, and, you’ll notice, these are all things that anyone who truly stands for social justice should really be against the use of, regardless of who they’re aimed at. A “social justice warrior” would discount my opinion on all this, for example, because I’m a white, straight, heterosexual, cissexual male: the very definition of the concept of “male privilege” that many of them cling to so very desperately.

Why is this a problem, though? It’s easy enough to ignore and filter out other bile-spewing groups based on hatred — when was the last time you accidentally stumbled across neo-Nazi ravings without deliberately going looking for them, for example? — so why not just tune out these people? Well, the answer to that is simple: unlike other hate-spewing groups, these loudmouths are increasingly infiltrating mainstream popular culture having positioned their approach as being “correct” from a moral perspective. My experience of them has largely been in the video games sector, but from what I understand, they’ve had a fair crack at numerous other communities over the last few years, too.

Let me explain why they bother me so much, and hopefully, my dislike of their tactics will become a little clearer.

A few years back, a games journo friend of mine — Jeff Grubb of GamesBeat — wrote a news story. I forget the exact details of the story (and can’t seem to find the original since GamesBeat’s numerous refreshes over the last few years), but it involved, as I recall, Twisted Metal creator David Jaffe making some contentious statements that involved the hypothetical punching of a woman in the face. Jaffe wasn’t advocating for violence against women, of course; doing something like that directly would be tantamount to career suicide; if I remember correctly, the context was something to do with playing multiplayer games and reactions to winning and losing. The details of the story itself are somewhat unimportant, anyway; what I’m really concerned with here is the reaction to it.

Jeff wrote the piece on Jaffe’s statements from a factual perspective — as a reporter, without editorialising. Different publications approach this sort of thing in different ways: more blog-style sites like Kotaku have no problem with their authors saying exactly what they think about a particular issue, whereas GamesBeat’s parent site VentureBeat is more of a business-centric publication that is less concerned with drama and more with simply reporting what has been going on.

Because Jeff didn’t condemn Jaffe’s statements in the article, however, he attracted the ire of an early incarnation of the “social justice warriors”. The situation became worse as he attempted to defend himself on Twitter; as time passed, more and more people, including high-profile games journalists with large followings, started attacking him — rather than Jaffe, who arguably should have been the subject of their ire, though even that’s debatable, given what I recall of the context surrounding his comments — and publicly shaming him, denouncing him as an “example of white male privilege” and effectively setting hordes of followers on him. I became seriously worried for his safety and wellbeing while this was going on.

This wasn’t an isolated incident, either. Numerous times over the last few years we’ve seen outspoken members of the industry with social justice leanings adopt the tactic of publicly shaming and bullying, even going so far as to threaten people with ending their career. Most recently, we’ve seen Polygon’s Ben Kuchera attacking a member of EA’s customer engagement team over the latter’s concern over community-made Twitter “blacklists”; in previous months we’ve seen the widely celebrated writer Leigh Alexander threatening to end people’s careers, feminist critic Mattie Brice throwing a hissy fit when someone called her out on a sexist joke and all manner of other atrocious behaviour. It simply isn’t acceptable.

All this isn’t to say that these people can’t voice their concerns. What I do find myself violently disliking about this culture of public shaming that has been growing over the last few years, however, is that there’s little to no “right of reply” in most cases. Once someone is branded as a misogynist, sexist, transphobe, racist or whatever by these self-appointed crusaders of morality, there’s no recovery from it. They have no opportunity to say “well, hang on a minute, here’s why you’re not quite right there…” and no opportunity to criticise the arguments being levelled against them. More often than not, critics of Kuchera, Alexander et al are swiftly blocked, silenced and/or mocked, simply because the “social justice warrior” position has been successfully positioned as the “correct” attitude. The same thing happens when anyone attempts to start a conversation surrounding feminist critic Anita Sarkeesian’s Tropes vs Women video series; while she does attract plenty of hate-filled bile — and that, let’s be clear, is always unacceptable — she and her team appear unwilling to engage with or discuss legitimate criticisms of her work, and often post deliberately provocative statements seemingly with the sole intention of drawing the trolls out to point and laugh at them.

Now, I’ve been standing on the sidelines throughout all of this. I have, thankfully, never been attacked by these people, even when I was working in the mainstream games press on GamePro and USgamer, even when I was writing about notoriously provocative and controversial games such as Senran Kagura and other titles from Japan. Perhaps I was just too small fry for industry “megaphones” (as Alexander calls herself) to bother with, and I’m not complaining; the fact I made a point of remaining positive while acknowledging these titles weren’t for everyone helped me build up a decent audience who appreciated the work I did, particularly as it was in stark contrast to the majority of other sites out there.

So why does all this bother me so much? Well, because it’s deeply, deeply frustrating, and because the culture of fear that these people are perpetuating online makes me very nervous about speaking on certain topics for fear of being ostracised. More important than that, however, is the feeling that it’s driven a wedge between me and a number of friends whom I no longer feel particularly comfortable talking to because I know they’ve drifted more towards the social justice side of the fence — or, in some cases, become outright zealots. I miss those friends greatly, and it makes me extremely sad that I can’t talk to them any more simply because I don’t share their ideological viewpoint — or, rather, I do, but I fundamentally disagree with the methods through which they go about expressing that viewpoint.

What should people do instead? Simple. Champion the things that you’re fond of and believe in, without putting down other people for what they enjoy. Diversity isn’t just about creating experiences that “everyone” can enjoy, though that’s part of it. Diversity is also about creating experiences that appeal to specific audiences. There’s nothing wrong with that; in fact, it makes for more interesting, more focused pieces of entertainment that feel personal and relatable. Cater to men, women, heterosexual people, homosexual people, cissexual people, transgender or transsexual people, white people, black people, Asian people, anyone you like. Accept that some things are not “for” you — though that doesn’t need to stop you from finding enjoyment in them, as the number of otome games I’ve enjoyed over the last few years will attest — and celebrate the things that are. If you believe that there aren’t enough works catering to the groups you consider yourself to fall into, throw your support behind those that do or even make your own. Just, for God’s sake, don’t ever position yourself as The One Correct Attitude and point the finger of shame at anyone who doesn’t fall within your own specific worldview, because that’s where the majority of this nonsense is coming from.

I’m not a misogynist. I’m not a sexist. I’m not a racist. I’m not a transphobe. I’m not even an anti-feminist or a men’s rights advocate. I just want these “social justice warriors” to understand that what they are doing is not, in fact, championing diversity; it’s stifling conversation and creating a culture of mistrust between developers, players and press — and between friends.

I hate it. And I wish it would go away. And I want my friends back.

1791: Future Press

I was browsing Twitter earlier when I came across the following quote, retweeted by someone I follow.

“If you’re a writer writing about video games, I recommend you get your face in front of a camera to prepare for the future.”

My initial reaction to this was a fairly straightforward “fuck that“, but then I contemplated it a bit further.

I still don’t agree with the premise. The written word is a powerful medium and to unequivocally declare, as some people do, that its days are very much numbered is to show that you’re extremely blinkered. Yes, there is a large audience out there who enjoy video-based content, but they’re just one group who occupy the somewhat younger end of the spectrum. And while this is an important group to court — particularly as they’re one of the key demographics for the video game industry — this doesn’t somehow mean that all the 30-40 year olds who have grown up with computer and video games since their inception are immediately irrelevant. What it should really mean is that content should be provided to cater to these different audiences, who have very different wants, needs and expectations from media relating to their favourite things.

I’m not sure how representative an example of a 33-year old gamer I am, but personally speaking, I’m not a big fan of video-based content for the most part. I can’t stand Let’s Plays, for example — I’d rather play the game myself, and there’s no way I’m going to watch someone play The Binding of Isaac or Minecraft for literally hundreds of episodes — and I’m not a fan of the numerous variations on the “angry dude shouting about something” formula that proves quite popular.

Exceptions for me are things like TotalBiscuit’s “WTF Is…” series, in which he spends 20-30 minutes giving a good overview of a diverse array of PC games, including everything from the options available in the menu to how the game itself actually works; Yahtzee’s “Zero Punctuation” series, which doesn’t rely on game footage at all and is instead actually more of a well-written comedy series that happens to explore specific games as its central premise; and Extra Credits’ (usually) intelligent discussions of all manners of game culture. These are all carried by strong personalities and well-written content, and for me represent the best that video game videos (you heard) have to offer.

Thing is, though, I’m not always in the mood to sit down and watch a video — particularly longer stuff like TotalBiscuit’s 20-30-minute affairs. I’m not always in a particularly ideal situation to watch a video, either; perhaps I’m on my phone in an area of poor signal or in an environment where I can’t put sound on — in both those cases, this makes video almost completely useless as a medium of delivery, whereas text is absolutely fine in both scenarios.

Despite all this, though, I can sort of see why more and more people are turning to these video content producers. The overall quality of video games writing is rapidly going down the pan, to my eyes, and it’s at least partly due to the continuing reliance on the clickbait advertising model. The need for page views has lead to many individual writers (and even publications) jumping aboard the insidious and obnoxious “social justice” train, stirring up pointless Daily Mail-style moral panics and controversies at every turn under the guise of cultural criticism. Long-form pieces such as those that Polygon used to be renowned for clearly don’t draw in readers in the same numbers as a table-thumping opinion piece about how terrible it is that you can kill prostitutes in Grand Theft Auto V — and, by the way, let’s just recall that the games press a few years ago was quick to quite rightly point and laugh at any mainstream publications that pulled this still exceedingly stupid line of criticism — and thus we get more and more of these perpetually outraged pieces driving frustrated readers away from sites and towards personalities who don’t subscribe to these ridiculous, borderline hysterical viewpoints.

But it shouldn’t have to be a case of one or the other. There should be a range of different opinions and writing styles; those of us who enjoy the written word shouldn’t be pushed away from it in the direction of video by the fact that all these issues are only ever explored from one single sociopolitical perspective. That’s what’s happening, though, and unfortunately I don’t see it getting any better any time soon.

I’m glad I got out of the games press when I did. I don’t want to sit in front of a camera — I don’t look good on camera: I’m fat, I have bad hair, I’m perpetually unkempt (even when I try to be… kempt), I have terrible dress sense, I have dry skin on my face that flares up when I’m stressed and, moreover, I find it terribly difficult to act naturally when being stared down by a camera — and, on the writing side, I have absolutely no desire to become a source of further moral panics or fuel the perpetual outrage machine. So there doesn’t really feel like there’s a place for me anyway.

It’s sad, really; there’s a clear gap in the market here for some old-school media — magazines! — of the ilk we had in the ’80s, ’90s and early ’00s, but no-one seems to actually want to fill it. I can’t be the only one hungry for this sort of thing, can I?

1718: The Joyless Wankers of the Games Press

What I’m about to write would have been enormously unprofessional a few months ago, but since I’m no longer a member of the games press, nor do I have any intention of going back any time soon, I am more than happy to express myself freely.

My statement is simple: If you’re that cynical about video games, find something else — anything — to write about.

I say this after a day in which not one but two utterly dreadful articles were brought to my attention — I’m not going to link to either; you can seek them out yourself if you’re that interested.

First up was the review of Fairy Fencer F over on my former stomping grounds of USgamer. After witnessing… the reviewer in question’s review style on a couple of other Japanese role-playing game titles — most notably the actually rather excellent Tales of Xillia 2, which he panned — and the fact that, back when I was still on the staff, he wouldn’t review Atelier Rorona Plus on the grounds that a Google Image Search for the game looked “creepy”, I wasn’t altogether surprised to see that he tore this title to shreds, also. And he did so in such a way that told me three things: 1) he had a pre-existing dislike of the company that produced the game (Compile Heart) 2) he hadn’t taken the time to engage with the game on anything more than the most superficial level and 3) he simply didn’t give a shit about JRPGs as they exist in 2014.

I haven’t yet played Fairy Fencer F, but given the way in which the review in question was expressed — telling people who might actually be interested in the game absolutely nothing about the game, its story or its characters and instead bashing Compile Heart and its parent company Idea Factory, bemoaning easily ignored technical issues and generally looking down its nose at people who might want to play it — I don’t have much faith in it as a whole. I intend to give the game a fair shot myself once I have time to settle down with it, and when I do I intend to provide some detailed thoughts on the subject over at MoeGamer, much as I did with Tales of Xillia 2 recently.

Now, games journos will often point out how stupid it is to disagree with a review, which is, after all, a subjective opinion. And it kind of is; if you like something which someone else hates, then great; more power to you. But what we had here was more than that — it was an outright unhelpful review, instead more concerned with scrawling “I Hate Compile Heart” over everything than actually providing any sort of interesting, helpful analysis or criticism. It actually felt borderline insulting at times — though thankfully not so much as the site’s notorious Hatsune Miku Project Diva F review, which was so offensive to fans of Japanese games that emphatic complaints from me and my then-colleague Cassandra led to the formation of my JPgamer column.

If this was a one-off, I wouldn’t mind so much, but the reviewer in question has now done this several times — leading me to question the motivations for assigning him (or him stepping forward; I don’t know which way round it was) to these titles in the first place. As the former staffer who single-handedly built up a ton of goodwill with fans of niche titles that get ignored at best, marginalised or even ridiculed at worst by other sites, I can’t deny that it smarts a little to see all that goodwill getting well and truly pissed up the wall by giving the sort of games that I would have been all over — and that my fellow enthusiasts would have loved to hear more about — to someone who clearly and obviously hates them. Something that helped make USgamer unique has been lost; now it’s just another site with a predictable “loljapan” attitude about it. I would rather the site simply didn’t review these titles at all than let this joyless arse anywhere near one ever again, but sadly it’s not up to me. How very disappointing.

But let’s not get too hung up on Fairy Fencer F because this was, surprisingly, not the most stupid thing posted today. No, that honour goes to the epic-length editorial over on Polygon about finding the tutorial to the new Lord of the Rings game troubling. Why? Because at one point, you sneak up on your wife and kiss her, using the same control scheme and animations as you use later in the game to assassinate people and monsters. Somehow this bizarre objection was spun out to somewhere in the region of 1,500 words — an impressive achievement on the part of the author to take that long to say absolutely nothing, I must admit. (Although frankly, given the state of some of the entries on this blog, I’m probably not one to talk. But eh; there’s a difference between a professional, commercial games site and a personal blog I use as an outlet for mental detritus.)

Polygon has been going down the toilet for a long time; I can’t say I’ve ever been a particular fan of their uniquely pretentious brand of games journalism, nor the sanctimonious attitude of several of its staff writers, but since ditching their features staff a while back — the one part of the site that actually had anything meaningful or interesting to say — it really has been circling the drain. I wasn’t surprised or angry to read this article today after someone pointed me in its direction earlier; my only real reaction was a sigh and a shake of the head. Games journalism in 2014, ladies and gentlemen; better to say 1,500 words of nothing at all about the week’s big release than, you know, say nothing at all. Because if you make people angry you’ll at least get some page hits as people share it indignantly.

Today has been one of numerous days that I’ve looked back on my time with the games press and thought “That was fun while it lasted, but I don’t want to go anywhere near that ever again.” If a prerequisite for being a member of the games press of 2014 is being a joyless wanker who can’t find the fun in anything, then count me out. Give me a call when you ditch the clickbait business model, fire all these miserable tossers and start bringing on board people who are actually enthusiastic — even passionate — about this exciting medium. I won’t be sitting by the phone waiting for your call, however; I’ve got better things to do.

You know, like playing games… and actually enjoying them.

1633: Newshound At Rest

Having stepped back from the games press — not entirely through choice, as previously noted — I’ve had the opportunity to reflect on the way I read games sites in 2014.

And the simple answer is that I, well, don’t.

I had a feeling that this was the case. Being involved in the endless hype cycle for games that really don’t need any more hyping up was starting to make me cynical even back in the GamePro days — hence my conscious decision to focus on unconventional, interesting and quirky stories rather than endless retreads of press releases from Activision, EA and Ubisoft. It was a decision that paid off in the short term — people started coming to GamePro to get away from the identikit coverage from other sites, and my stories contributed to a significant growth in traffic… right before the site folded, leaving us all out of a job. Bah.

On USgamer, aside from the news coverage — which I found increasingly hard to care about, particularly as we started having to refocus our efforts on covering the things that would definitely pull in traffic (i.e. the “big name” games of the moment: the aforementioned games that don’t really need any more coverage and hype) rather than the interesting, unusual and underexplored areas of the business — I was fortunate enough to have a certain degree of leeway to write the sort of things that I’d want to read from a games site. Thus the JPgamer and BOARDgamer columns were born, providing specialist coverage on niche subjects — while neither of these would be likely to bring in readers by the millions, they were both the sort of things that would keep people coming back week after week, and judging by both the regular commenters and the disappointment expressed by readers when my departure was announced, they were successful in maintaining a solid, specialist audience.

Looking around at the other big sites, though, I’m seeing very little that makes me want to hang my hat on that community and call it my own. I’m seeing lots of very similar stories about how amazing No Man’s Sky is supposedly going to be, or how awesome Destiny is supposedly going to be, or “everything we know” about Mass Effect 4/Dragon Age: Inquisition/Halo 5/whatever for the umpteenth time. I’m seeing very little stuff to read with any real meat on the bones, in other words — and with Polygon, the site that was supposed to reinvent games journalism, laying off the majority of its features team, it seems that interesting, long-form critiques and other, non-review, non-preview, non-news pieces are rapidly going out of the window.

And when sites do attempt to try something a bit different, it’s inevitably on the increasingly tedious subject of sexism. This isn’t to deny that there’s plenty to talk about and criticise here, but the majority of articles on this subject are so blitheringly ill-informed with their GCSE Sociology-level critiquing of a subsection of the business as a whole — frequently completely ignoring parts that don’t fit their ham-fisted, half-baked theories — that they’re just painful to read, particularly when the author becomes so enormously defensive that they start insulting their readership rather than acknowledging the actually quite valid criticisms that come up in the comments section.

Or video. Fuck video. But that’s a rant for another day.

Instead of professional games coverage, then, I instead tend to look to my friends. I discuss what I’m playing on Twitter, on Google Hangouts and on the new Squadron of Shame forums. Impassioned reports — positive or negative — from people I know and trust is infinitely more interesting than a carefully PR-orchestrated preview of a game that will inevitably be at least a little bit disappointing when it finally releases. I’d rather hear about something that’s out now — that people have actually played, that I can track down a copy of and play should I like the sound of it — than something that, in many cases, is a year or more away. I’d rather hear about amazing discoveries that were released five or six years ago and sank without trace than something I can’t install and play right now. And I’d rather share my stories and join the conversation than be preached to.

Essentially, then, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really give a shit about the modern games press in its current form. And I’m quite possibly not alone.

Which might explain why I’m in the situation I’m in now. Hmm.

1619: Reflections on Working in the Games Press

As I’ve noted a few times recently, my time with the games press is shortly coming to an end and, short of an amazing offer coming my way that I’d be a complete idiot to turn down, I’m not going to be pursuing further work in that enormously competitive industry. It’s fairly unlikely I’ll be pitching many freelance pieces, either, although I may find the time to do a few in between other things.

Since this is largely, then, the end of my career in the games press, I feel it’s probably an appropriate time to reflect back on my time doing it and what, if anything, I’ve gained from it.

Let me preface this by saying that working in the games press was something of a lifelong dream for me, ever since I grew up with both my father and brother working for Atari magazines. My brother John, when he left home, began working on various magazines over the years and built a career for himself that eventually culminated in high-profile positions at 1up and Gamespot as well as the launch of his own site, the sadly defunct What They Play. His career was an inspiration to me that I hoped, one day, to be lucky enough to follow in the footsteps of. Because, frankly, there’s a significant amount of luck involved in getting anywhere in the games biz… much as there’s a significant amount of luck involved in not suddenly finding yourself without a place of work.

I contributed a number of pieces to various publications over the years as I proceeded through school and on to university. I wrote reviews and articles for the same Atari magazine my father and brother did; I wrote reviews and walkthroughs for UK games magazine PC Zone (may it rest in peace); I wrote tips books and guides for The Official UK Nintendo Magazine, in the years before… well, let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye. But I didn’t seriously pursue a full-time career in the business — it didn’t seem like something feasible, and in the meantime I was at university studying and trying to work out what I was going to do with my life. (I opted for teaching, which turned out to be a Bad Choice from a mental health perspective.)

Whizz forward a number of years and I’m in a bad place. My wife has left me and I’m staring down the oblivion of my life as I knew it. But there was a small glimmer of hope — I was writing for a small site named Kombo. Kombo didn’t pay particularly well — certainly not enough to live on — but it was something. I was writing professionally, gaining some important and helpful experience and getting great feedback. It was a start.

Eventually, Kombo folded and, through various combinations of circumstances, I found myself working for GamePro, a site and magazine that my brother had been in charge of previously, but had since moved on to pastures new. My work for GamePro was initially sporadic and occasional, but over time it grew to a proper part-time gig and eventually a full-time position on a wage I could actually live on.

I had to make a choice partway through my time with GamePro, though. I had an interview with a software company in London, who actually offered me the job. At the same time, GamePro offered me the full-time position. The wages were similar, but the software company required me to move to London (expensive, plus not exactly friendly to my then-burgeoning relationship with Andie, with whom I now own a house) whereas the GamePro gig allowed me to work from home.

It seemed like a simple choice. I turned down the software company and told GamePro I’d continue working for them full-time. Eventually, I got to a position financially where it was practical for me to leave home again and start living with Andie.

All appeared to be going well for a while, until the collapse of GamePro one December. It was a quiet death; I came down to start work one morning, checked my email and discovered a message thread already in progress with everyone seemingly panicking about what was going on. The site was closing, it seemed, and so was the magazine. Everyone was being laid off. There was nothing we could do.

Thankfully, a former colleague at GamePro was working for a business-facing site that focused on mobile and social games, and she offered me regular work for a very generous pay package indeed. Mobile and social are two of the most objectionable parts of the video games industry for numerous reasons, but work was work and the pay was great for what I had to do, so I sucked it up and continued, happy that I had the opportunity to write and still leave myself time to pursue other interests.

But it didn’t last.

I realised something was wrong with the site when all my colleagues suddenly announced their departure within a day or two of one another. The new management who had taken on the site were… not great, to say the least, and it was looking very likely that the generous pay packet I’d become accustomed to every month was soon to shrink to literally less than a tenth of its size.

I jumped ship. Fortunately, around the same time this was all happening, a former colleague from GamePro got in touch about USgamer and, well, you know the rest. Now, almost exactly a year after the site officially launched, I’m staring down unemployment, again through no fault of my own, but due to a shift in the way the site is doing business.

I’ve worked hard for every outlet I’ve had the privilege to work for professionally. I’ve graciously accepted feedback to improve my work — a particular shout-out to Mr Jason Wilson (formerly of GamePro, now of VentureBeat) here, whose copy-editing skills helped me refine my craft in a way no other editor had done in the past — and made an effort to improve and challenge myself as and when I can.

And yet even with a work ethic like that, there’s no guarantee of a stable job. Each time a site folded or restructured and left me without a position, I’ve effectively had to start again from scratch, often with a big gap of unemployment leaving an unsightly hole on my CV in the meantime.

For me, this isn’t an acceptable or desirable way to live. I cannot, in good conscience, look for another job in the games press knowing the inherent instability and volatility of the business, particularly now I’m a homeowner and having no money has even more severe consequences than in the past. My dream is crumbling into dust, but it’s been crumbling that way for a while now; what I really wanted to do, it turns out, was to write for magazines, but that hasn’t been an especially viable option for many years now, thanks to the Internet and the way in which we consume media these days.

More importantly, the way in which outlets make money — you know, with which to pay their staff — has changed. Readers on the Web expect their content for free — attempting to get people to pay money for text is a losing battle. As such, there just isn’t the same amount of cashflow coming in as when a magazine is pulling in money from every sale from the newsstands. It also leads to “clickbait” articles, whether these are top 10 lists designed to encourage readers to read, agree and/or disagree, or provocative, inflammatory op-eds about whatever social justice issue is on the Tumblr sociologists’ radar this week. Overall quality of content suffers as a result, and good quality writing about specific subjects goes all but ignored, leaving the games press a shadow of what it could be, and all outlets looking like slightly reskinned versions of each other.

And then there’s the growth of video to consider, too, but that’s probably a matter to discuss another day.

In other words, then, a career in the games press is simply not a viable option for me any more. Eternal respect and well-wishes to my peers out there who can make it work — whether on a salaried or freelance basis — but I simply can’t do it any more with my current life situation. It’s sad, but oddly I’m less cut up about the death of my dream than I thought I would be; it’s become increasingly apparent over the course of the last four years that the games press I’ve been working in is not the same games press that I wanted so desperately to be a part of for so long. That games press is long-dead, replaced by something very different that I’m not entirely sure is sustainable in its current form.

But it’s not my problem any more. I wash my hands of it all. I’ll continue to write about games on my own time, for the love of it, and if I can make a bit of money off it, so much the better. But career-wise? I’m looking elsewhere. And I’m not looking back.