Part of something: thoughts on branding and belonging in the gaming industry

I… belong?

Gamescom is over for another year and I feel like it’s been my most successful event yet. Success at this point for me only means whether or not I had a good time. Any other parameter wouldn’t make sense — economically it wasn’t a good decision, I got no work out of it and — even though this may offend some of you — I wasn’t really there for the games, either.

I’ve said this several times while at the event and I will say it again here: I wish I wouldn’t have to go to an event to feel this way. I don’t know about other industries, but I dislike that the three times a year I leave the house are probably more useful (and definitely more fulfilling) than any other avenue. Yes, you need those events — from a social standpoint as much as a sales perspective, but they are forever a matter how financial and now physical fitness. To say yes, we need to socialise with our peers, there’s no substitute for it should be the best argument to make games industry events cheaper to attend (looking at you GDC) and to enforce proper Covid protocols (looking at you, er, everyone), and yet none of that is ever going to happen.

This Gamescom was still a success. I spent my time with a select number of people in situations that allowed me to give them my full attention and get to know them better, and I came away from every single one of those meetups liking the person better than I already had. When I attended my first Gamescom as trade visitor in 2018, I had one wish for future events — I wanted to go through these massive halls and regularly run into people I recognised. I can happily say I’ve achieved that. But gaming events were and are an experience that’s always going to be slightly alienating. People love to talk about privilege in theory, particularly men who like so signal they are aware of the concept, but in practical terms, their privilege is all around me, particularly at Gamescom. It takes a stronger person than I currently am to sit at a table silently while people are comparing hotels and journeys and industry stories. It was a weird time because I felt very connected to people and then immediately a bit alienated. These two things seemed to be really close together.

The mortifying ordeal of being known

I told so many people I consulted on this because I was so proud to see the booth, but it was irrational — I never even met the developers.

I entered Gamescom 2022 as what I liked to refer to as a hybrid being, someone who belongs everywhere and nowhere. The last two years had made me expand my services from all kinds of journalism to localising, narrative consulting, game design consulting, game writing and narrative design. None of that had ever been my idea. I’m a perpetual human-shaped catch-22, in that I only believe I’m capable of doing something after I’ve done it. Here’s the magical thing — other people believed in me. So when people believed I could consult, I wasn’t dumb enough to turn them down, and when a really lovely colleague needed help with localisation, I did that, too. I never did any of these things expecting them to blossom into a career.

Here’s the kicker — I loved it. I loved all of it so much. I was treated so well, I sometimes had the feeling of making a tangible difference to someone else’s creation, and I had fun. And I started thinking, would it be so wrong to feel good all the time?

However I quickly learned that there is a tangible difference between doing something as a gig and trying to earn your money with it, and that difference often lies in self-promotion. This was markedly different from my experience as a journalist. I’m ready and willing to admit that I’m a great journalist and an absolutely terrible freelancer. I don’t like to sell myself, because to sell your services in this industry you have to be loud, extra loud as a black woman who looks on average a decade younger than she is. I want to let my work speak for me, that worked well as a journalist, but now, with projects several years in the making, locked down by NDAs, that isn’t as much of an option. I feel like I’m introducing myself all over again.

So I met a lot of very kind people who wanted to know who I am and what the fuck I want, and this wasn’t the time to go “I want to earn enough money to survive with using the only skill I’m confident in” these questions are still very, very difficult to answer when you’re still stuck on burnout mountain. I don’t know how else to put it. I feel very strongly for every project I’ve worked on in my small contributor way, but making things myself is still the best feeling there is.

The idea for MC-420 lived quietly in the back of my head for over a decade before I wrote this tiny jam game.

I’ve met so many fantastic people with very strong products or ideas. I wish absolutely all of them the best. I’ve seen so many games recently that immediately tell you what their creators are about. These are people who aren’t making their games like a projected marketing success spread sheet. Instead they are making something that has so much of the stuff they enjoy outside of games. Here are some of the ones I really admire but old and new, all illustrated by really interesting articles:

Finding the right plant for the job in Strange Horticulture (Bad Viking)

Using a ‘lemon-shaped’ structure to create the sanguine open-world of Sable (Shedworks)

Ethically designing unethical worlds with Space Warlord Organ Trading Simulator, Frostpunk and Terra Nil (Strange Scaffold, 11 bit Studios, Free Lives)

Auditory tales from the making of zen puzzler Unpacking (Witch Beam)

Narrative design in pursuit of authenticity in musical biopic We Are OFK (OFK)

Legacy of the Long Mover: A Hohokum retrospective (Richard Hogg, Hollow Ponds)

Here are some of the game concepts Outerloop pitched before making Thirsty Suitors

The abstract “visual-first” design of Please, Touch the Artwork (Thomas Waterzooi)

So, all of these people are cool. But who am I? Why does that matter so much? I don’t like to reduce myself to a handful of things, but in order to make something it would really help. Unfortunately I have forgotten who I am. I’m your Kyoto wife. I am your visual novel girl. I am the original weeb. None of that’s distinguishing in any way. I have a lot of selling to do, and to admit that I have no idea how to do it is probably not the best idea, but I’m not going to start being smart now, am I.

When I wrote MC-420, the game jam VN I made with Phi, I 100% knew that I wanted to make this specific thing, a Paprika-esque story for non-weebs. I guess this is my sales pitch!!! Play MC-420!!! But i want to have more ideas like that. I want to make more stuff to express myself. And I’m frustrated because I can’t do that right now to the level I am used to.

So yes, you can feel like an absolute part of something and still worry about how, exactly, you actually fit. I just wanna write. I’m good at that. Promise.