Just one more match...
Have you ever had that conundrum when you find yourself compelled into a habit that you're not even sure that you enjoy doing anymore? Wherein every second your hands are free you'll instinctively find them reaching to pick it up, as though independently of your own desires? These are the behaviours that one usually finds being attributed towards the act of smoking, or twiddling on your phone; behaviours indicative of addiction. Of course, addiction isn't limit to those vices but rather diverse and varied to such a degree that the term itself has lost practically all medical and professional value. Be that as it may, it's still a widely accepted and recognizable fact of life that touches everyone in a unique way. And yes, today I'm talking addiction within the context of gaming.
Woah, hold on there, Mr. "Well I have a degree in medical science, so this better be good." I'm not talking about the, now officially recognized, phenomena known as: Video game addiction. (Although I'd imagine that my own habits would make a decent case study if I were.) But rather that peculiar type of addiction that afflicts those player's who just can't quit until they're done; the completionists, if you will. The type of person who will put everything on hold in order to hunt down every last collectible, earn every single title, and prove to no one in particular how stubborn they can be.
As is the tradition with most things I talk about on this blog, I have personally been affected by this draw in my time playing games, although I wouldn't put myself on the same level as Jirard the Compeltionist or anything. I just find myself coming across the odd game that I cannot put down until everything is completed or I receive such a substantial shock to my system in order to wake me from my stupor. Sometimes things can get really odd too, with me committing ludicrous hours into games that posses none of the attributes that I would assign to a 'fun' or 'replayable' experience, and yet I'll still end up clocking worrying amounts of hours into them. (I feel suitably dirty once I'm done, too.)
Now, of course, on a chemical level this is no great mystery to solve. Video games employ many of the same tactics as gambling machines do in order to keep people hooked, and I'm not talking about in relation to lootboxes. Let's take Crackdown for an example. Crackdown is a game that features a vast open world which the player can traverse with the advanced athletic and aerobatic skills of their super police officer protagonist. These skills are fairly unremarkable at the get-go, but they can be built upon by collecting green glowing orbs that are scattered around the gameworld. (Yes, there is an in-world explanation for this and, yes, it's as flimsy as you're imagining.)
For many Crackdown vets, the most memorable part of this 'beloved classic' is the collect-athon chase for these glowing green orbs and the reason why comes down to chemical stimulation. From a visual approach, these green orbs gently pulsate in a pleasing fashion that draws the eye but doesn't overwhelm it by going crazy with the contrast. (Note to all 'next-gen' games, cool it on the contrast!) This is accompanied by a droning pulse that emanates from the orb Which gets louder as you approach and bursts into a satisfying shower of colour and notes once you collect it. All of these aspects work to build the endorphin levels in your brain and give you a satisfying buzz with each collectible you retrieve. As such, it makes sense that one would want to seek more collectibles in order to replicate that feeling, afterall, just look at Pavlov's dogs.
This is an extreme example of a collectible that fires on all cylinders to hook the player, but even something mundane as Assassin's Creed's Animus fragments can achieve the same effect. They don't have any genuine gameplay value (beyond unlocking some in-game cheats which I never end up using.) but the mere act of hunting them down and watching the on-screen counter tick them off is enough to please the brain juices. (That's my excuse for 100%-ing Assassin's Creed Rogue and Liberation, by the by, instead of tossing both those games in a fire like they deserve... Okay, Rogue wasn't that bad. Liberation was though...)
Despite knowing all of that, I still find it strange that such an addiction can take hold, not just in games that you're not enjoying, but in games that you actively despise playing, like Liber- huh? I already used up my allotted Assassin's Creed references in this blog? Okay then, how about 'For Honor'. Now don't get wrong, For Honor isn't a bad game, or rather, it isn't a bad concept. A fighting game with open movement, sprawling levels and historical/medieval combatants is still a really cool idea in my mind. The problem spawns from the fact that the game was so poorly balanced that unless you made this game your job since release you'll find yourself being consistently steamrolled by player's who have unlocked (Or bought) all of the best gear. I'm always one for a challenge, but this game's item economy pushed far past challenging into plain frustrating.
Imagine sighing in desperation everytime you load up a game, knowing full well the hell that awaits you, that was me when it came to For Honor. "But then, why did you keep playing?" Because for some unknowable reason I was on a warpath to unlock (or 'collect') all the fighters. The really weird part is that, even if I had unlocked a fighter, I would just ignore them anyway because my main was the Orochi. So why was I doing any of this? Of course, it was the completionist spirit driving me to unlock everything in a game which the Devs themselves said that player's weren't expected to unlock everything. (I knew about that quote too. I must have just been an idiot.) This breed of 'self destructive tendicies' may be nothing in comparison to what people who suffer from dangerous addictions go through, but it's still utterly bizarre from the perspective of a, mostly, rational observer.
That being said, not every completionist spiral that I've been caught in has been negative. For the past few weeks I have been living and breathing Super Smash Bros. Ultimate and I've been having a ludicrous amount of fun during it. Everytime I'm watching something on YouTube, researching a topic or merely ignoring everyone else in the room, I'll be multitasking on working my way through the 'World of Light' or trying my hand at high-level 'Spirit board' fights. (Although I'm using 'multitasking' rather generously there, as I'm mostly just blocking out everyone around me.) It is becoming something of an addiction.
And, in my opinon, the sole reason for that is because of Nintendo's clever design philosophy to ensure that player's have to earn practically everything they have to play with in that game. For example, despite boasting the largest (actually diverse) character roster in fighting game history, players will find themselves with access to about 8 fighters to begin with. Everyone else must be unlocked through random ambushes that will occur occasionally when you exit back to the title screen. Plus, the game's main campaign, 'World of Light', boasts a whole meta game of collecting distinct match buffs called 'spitits' that are all modelled off of characters from the many properties who's licences Nintendo secured for Smash Bros. (And Fatal Frame protagonists, for some reason.) All of these things have practically consumed my waking subconscious and positively murdered all my free time. (Not that i was doing much constructive stuff with it anyway.)
With a capacity to excite and depress, it's hard to understand exactly what it is that hooks an individual like me to the completionism train. if it was all about endorphins, then surely the abject despair and dread that For Honor and AC Liberation used to fill me with would offset such chemicals with negative counterparts. Ones that would provide negative reinforcement that would not urge me me to repeat such actions. And yet, apparently that is not the case as I stuck with both those games and others that have treated me just as poorly. (See: every Battle Royale ever.) In the absence of rational explanation, perhaps one could wax philosophical and purpose that such an obsession is emblematic of that very human desire to seek fulfillment. Maybe in the same way that games provide general escapism, completionism offers a faux satisfaction to an abstract desire that is so heavily tied with self worth. Perhaps by subjecting myself to such addictions, I'm tricking myself into feeling more accomplished and in-control then I am or ever will be. I dunno. I ain't no highfalutin' philosphist, so I'll just shrug my shoulder's and let someone else ponder it a bit.
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