So the other day my girlfriend was playing on her Switch. You have to know, she's 28 years old and has never owned a dedicated gaming system before but she finally decided she'd get one for herself, mainly to play Pokémon Let's Go. She got initially hooked because of the petting minigame but ended up investing a lot of time crafting her team to take on the Elite Four. After hours of getting to know the weaknesses and strengths of her team and building up their stats with candies, she finally did it.
So here she was, a newly crowned Pokémon Champion. But something had changed. Like a climber who reached the top of the mountain just to see taller and more magnificent mountains rise along the horizon, ahe knew that this was just the beginning. She was craving for something more involved. So her choice fell on Super Mario Odyssey.
She had seen me play it before and was intrigued by the mix of skill-based challenges, adventure elements and the experimental interactivity of the world. Every nook and cranny looked ready to be explored and she wanted to do it herself. So she started playing it and innediately reached a roadblock. Navigating in 3D space, the mere act of controlling Mario across platforms and the camera at the same time proved to be quite challenging. But she remained persistent, fighting against the impulses of a body that wasn't accustomed to video games. Little by little, it became almost like second nature to her. She raced across the desert in the Sand Kingdom, jumped into the waves to swim with mermaid, and zigged throught the power lines over the roofs of New Donk City. Every now and then she stopped and came over to show me something new she had discovered. Every day she played a little, getting moon after moon, fighting broodal after broodal.
Yet that day, something was different. Something was off about her. The child-like eyes full of glee had disappeared and a vacant gaze had taken their place. None of the joy and wonder that I remembered from playing Super Mario 64 for the first time and had recognized in her was left. I was worried and approached her. She didn't even take notice of me when I looked over her shoulder and saw that she had stopped playing, leaving Mario in a sad idle animation. I slowly touched her shoulder as not to startle her and gently asked her:
"Hey, is everything okay?" As if she had emerged from a deep slumber, she slowly replied: "Yeah."
"You stopped playing", I said, pointing at the screen.
She looked at her Switch as if she had seen it for the first time and held it like a foreign object. "Oh. I guess I did", she finally said.
"Is it not fun anymore?", I asked, suspecting something far more sinister.
"No, no, that's not it", she quickly replied. "It's just..."
"What is it?", I wanted to know, getting more and more worried.
She looked down at her Switch and let out a deep, meaningful sigh. She placed it on the table and turned towards me. Tears had filled the corners of her eyes. She grabbed my hands, looked me in the eyes and said:
"There's just so much shovelware on the eShop."
