If you worked with raspberry pi emulators, or retro gaming handhelds you'll notice a common theme pop up a lot in comments and on reddit boards. Setting up these devices can be a hobby unto themselves. Curating roms, downloading logos and screenshots, scraping data, picking themes, tweaking and customizing until... you realize your done. Maybe you should actually play a something.
... And then you'll see threads of people talking about the same thing.
Hey, have any of you guys actually played anything? I mean I messed around with mine and loaded a few classics, but now that I'm done, I... don't know what to do with it. I feel like I had more fun setting it up than playing with it.
Now, there is nothing wrong with enjoying the process more than the end product. A garage carpenter doesn't necessarily make a chair for the pleasure of sitting. They can make it for the pleasure of making. Sitting is a bonus. That part isn't the problem. The problem is... the sadness that comes after, the sense of loss someone feels when you're not prepared for this.
You'll see this with nintendo themed "man caves" or whatever, where having the games... having the right screen and the right connectors, isn't enough... having the games of your childhood aren't enough. Gotta collect more, gotta try and get everything. Satisfaction isn't playing a new game, satisfaction is "New in Box". The hobby switches form. The hobby is no longer playing video games. The hobby is paying tribute to the memories of your past, the aesthetics of video games. What they can't force themselves to play anymore was still, at some point, formative and important to them. They can't let it go. The music, the pictures, the symbols of these old game still resonate in their heart.
So instead of actually playing, they construct shrines of worship to the warm, comfortable memories of their youth. This is, of course, nostalgia.
I hate on nostalgia a lot but there isn't anything inherently wrong with it. In most places, it doesn't matter. The people whose love of Star Wars hasn't grown in decades can still watch the movies they like and enjoy them. A few hours, a few times a year, relaxed on a couch...
Gaming, on the other hand, takes some stubbornness. It takes some skill. Investing Effort. Investing the increasingly scarce resource of time.
It's more than understandable. We grow an change with time. The problem is when that they don't recognize any of this. So when they go back... there is nothing but a weird emptiness and frustration. For those who don't even realize they've grown out of gaming entirely, gaming becomes an endless line of disappointing games, and growing backlogs, scattered with a few high points. We don't know how to manage nostalgia in the gaming space.
Hell, by we, I feel like I'm only speak to my fellow Millennials. Those of us who have been on the content treadmill from the start, back when games advanced so quickly, year by year, that we never had a moment to stop and collect our feelings. Deeply influential pieces of media in our lives got let go off within years, or even months, because the next thing was that much crazier. Whenever I look at the release timeline of the 90s I feel like I'm going insane. "All those things couldn't have happened that quickly."
We call things retro and they feel retro because our whole timeline was stretched by the insane technological race we grew up in. We'll argue up and down, comparing eras and design styles but... I don't think I've ever seen a Zoomer refer to a game as retro. Some games are merely old. These new gamers exist, seemingly, at the end of time, free to pick from the fruits of the past. A lot of them aren't too technologically savvy, but those who are use emulators end up using them more freely and explore more deeply than a lot of my peers. The peers who don't emulate "because it just doesn't feel right". On their couch, in their pajamas, on a sunday, playing on a fuzzy CRT. They're not burdened by our memories. They're us, picking through our parents vinyl, free from context. Their childhood memories aren't being rushed out the door for the next thing like ours were. They're... kinda free?
But we exist at the same time as them. At the end of time. The freedom to reach back to the past at our leisure has been there since NESticle came out in 1997.
I'm not even sure who I'm talking to. While I personally know too many peers who have fallen into this nostalgia trap, most of them don't follow me in places like this. And not every zoomer is some super media literate history hunter either. Most aren't. Most people aren't. But my interactions with these groups and how they contrast each other keeps rattling in my head. I'd much rather talk to a 20something about the SNES than someone of my age group. Because if a 20something is playing old games, they probably have a cool attitude and curiosity while... many of my peers cling to the past like a childhood blanket they've long outgrown. They don't need to throw the blanket away -- it's a precious memory. But they also need something to actually cover them up. They don't realize they're freezing to death.
I said on twitter (those threads are... here, here, and here) that if your favorite NES games now were the same as they were 30 years ago then I don't want to talk to you about old games. Not that you're hurting anyone, not that you're taste must be bad, but... 30 years is a long time. The games might not change, but you will. If your opinions haven't changed in any major ways (even if it's as simple as 'I played Mother 10 years ago and it's in my top 5 now!') that implies that... you haven't had any active growth in your gaming tastes and opinions.
Which is fine! We can talk about something else! Not everyone should care about old games, but too many people who say they care have let their emotions stagnant for decades. They say they care because gaming became their identity and now they're stuck. Stuck regurgitating the same canon they are too incurious to stray from and that they themselves can barely manage to replay. You have to let the relationship you have with these games change. You don't have to throw out your blanket, but you can't rely on it to keep you warm. You've grown too much.
The biggest issue with those twitter threads was... accidentally implying that the change was the point. That you need to cast away everything you loved, painfully, to grow and to find the 'correct opinions'. Instead what I'm saying is... the change should be unavoidable. The relationship you have with your long term friends, the family you still have in your life, changes, year to year, decade to decade. You both change, and the context of your relationship changes. You feel like nothings changed, but the vibe now vs 10 years ago has shifted. You can't stay the same. At best things are similar. Heck, if it hasn't changed at all, something is probably wrong. Every interaction is a chance for tiny changes that enrich and build upon what was there before.
I always hated the notion of "wishing you could experience something again for the first time". To me, it always felt like wishing you could start a friendship again from scratch. My relationship with media is active. Each time I replay a game my experience with it grows. Our relationship grows. People say you only get to do something for the first time once, treating your first time like this precious, ephemeral experience that must be protected at all cost. But how can that compare to an experience developed over years or decades? Like sex, the first time has all the memories, but it's also usually some of the worst you'll ever have.
Every game you play, every movie you watch, every book you read is context and experience that changes, even if only minutely, how you feel about everything else. You don't have to replay something a million times, you can think about it after new experiences, wondering about how it re-contextualizes what you felt the last time you played. As you understand the history surrounding things, as you get better at judging, appreciating and naturally enjoying things with their context and historic place in mind... your opinions on other things will change. It's not that 8 year old you liked dogshit and now you like The Good Stuff -- you will probably like some good things less while developing an appreciation for things you used to hate. Hell, you might end up loving a few things that are objectively bad. But you'll be somewhere new, emotionally, exploring, and developing deeper, richer relationships with the things that are important to you. Nothing gets thrown away, it simply changes. Just because an old top 5 favorite game is now in your top 50 doesn't mean that relationship is gone or that you hate it. Things simply change. People change.
I make new games that draw from old games... but I can't say I really feel nostalgia for these titles because to miss something, it has to go away. IWBTG isn't about games I loved in my childhood, IWBTG is about games I love. I didn't like NES Castlevania games until I was almost 30 and now I'm 40 making the same quasi-fan game I've been making for over a decade.
(If you think an opinion on a game can change a lot in 10 years, imagine how you feel about a game you started 10 years ago)
I still feel nostalgia. When I go to upstate New York, to my grandma's house I barely see, laying in the moss I barely get to touch, looking at the sights I barely get to see, I feel something. When I hear a pop punk song that meant the world to me in 95' that I haven't thought about in 20 years... hearing the opening notes when I'm not expecting it hits something deep inside me. There is nothing wrong with nostalgia. But if I love something enough to make it an active part of my personality, to make it a part of my whole life... I owe it a real, active relationship.
It's been a long time since I've talked about this, but being completely broke after graduating from college and having nothing but my PS2, a pair of Swap Magic discs, and a stack of burnable DVDs to play games with in mid-2013 is the single biggest reason I both still love games as strongly as I do today and attained the breadth of knowledge and experience about unlocalized Japanese game history I'm so lucky to have. When you're in that sort of position, exploring these old Japanese games partly just to try novel experiences and partly to stay in touch with the language after graduation as best you can muster, you quickly learn that canon isn't really this universal metric that somehow transcends time and language and culture. It's an entirely relative and ultimately localized phenomenon, whether it's to a niche community of fans or developers or on perhaps a slightly larger geographic scale. Even the most dominant forces of nature in one region or on one platform can be an inconsequential footnote elsewhere simply by virtue of a lack of access or proper commercial support. Canon is what individuals and, at most, like-minded groups of people make of it and when you learn it's okay to immerse yourself in different ones, it's nothing short of liberating and it gives you a much better idea of the truly big picture that exists for a given subset of games than the most popular accounts of game history alone will ever provide.
Popular western nostalgia doesn't have room for things like open world pachinko RPGs. Things like eroge, or dating sims, or games about summer vacations, or countless other types of games that didn't fit the molds that platform holder themselves deemed acceptable for foreign consumption—a structure whose very existence in past years should give people pause if they think the media they love ever arose through pure meritocracy. That nostalgia cannot even conceive of these sorts of things existing or at the very least mattering to people. Yet all of these games did exist and I can tell you from talking to plenty of Japanese players and developers over the years, they did matter to people in different orbits, and sometimes they made a difference on those games that did make a bigger, more international splash. Invisibility through one lens doesn't inherently mean irrelevance through all lenses, and the sooner you learn to appreciate that, the sooner your relationship with games becomes one of genuine enrichment and not simply visceral, repeated consumption in search of sustenance masquerading as content.
Even for all of the industry's current problems, some of which I myself I have to confront myself on a daily basis, I've never loved games themselves more than I do now, and it's been truer with every passing year since committing myself to this path. I owe a lot of that to my willingness as a 23 year-old to forsake historical Canon as an unimpeachable, unyielding force and learn to embrace games as individual texts. Text that have their own contexts and may well exist in conversation with other games, but individual texts as valid to explore as any other and I wouldn't trade the knowledge, growth, and friendships I've gained from that outlook for anything.
