I remember, very vividly, when Halo first came out – although I suspect it could be for a completely different reason than you.
Prior to the release of Halo: Combat Evolved, I had the luxury of never even thinking about the influence of my gender on my favorite hobby, which in retrospect is both beautiful and hilarious. I was simply playing video games. That’s how it should be, right?
I played everything from Harvest Moon and Banjo-Kazooie to MediEvil and Diablo. I longed more than ever to be like Tifa Lockhart and Lara Croft and slept in Pokemon pajamas under a Pokemon duvet in my Pokemon themed room. As far as I’m concerned I didn’t like video games only as much as the next person, but even more. However, around the time Halo came out, I also learned that there was a secret game hierarchy – and my position in it was considerably lower than I had thought.
While Halo wasn’t the first “boys” video game, it was the first game that made me feel like a girl, which quickly became synonymous with ‘outsider’. There was a shift in the way my male friends spoke to me and each other. A shift that, while perhaps mainly due to puberty, was exacerbated by the rise of the shooter genre. And after I got tired of trying to find the right level of femininity – the right way to present myself to be one of the guys and at the same time wanted by the guys – I decided the best way to navigate life was to just hate the genre along with everyone else who took pride in their gunfight, top notch graphics or difficulty. After all, if you can’t make it, beat them.
Over time, it became incredibly easy for me to criticize games I knew only by name as shallow, without emotion, and all style over substance purely because they were masculine. How did I know they were male? You can thank marketing for that. While it may have taken me a while to understand that society had gender-specific video games, I was already well aware that the girls’ aisle—the section where I was supposed to shop—was pink. I knew that good girls played house, brushed her and imagined what their future husband would look like. And even though I sometimes hated being made to feel like I had to have those interests, I took some pleasure in participating in the female rituals, hoping that my Mr. Right would look a bit like Link or maybe even Zelda.
The boys’ aisle, on the other hand, was camouflaged—hard to see, but impossible to miss. It was filled with machines and weapons, complex devices that got things done and would form complex men who got things done. The ads and box art for “masculine” games resembled the boys’ aisle, with action figure-style men caked in dirt and sweat standing front and center. They were the ones doing things, while the women in these games waited for things to be done to them – to be rescued, kissed, or inspired to achieve greatness. Men killed aliens, women were alienated.
Nintendo games and RPGs, especially JRPGs, felt like neutral territory – a place where women almost felt equal within the games and communities, even if the women who played these titles were often pushed to develop what you might call a “choose me” mentality. And I get that mentality; I’ve been there myself. It develops as a result of the constant praise you get for not being “like other girls”. This, of course, makes you feel special…until you realize that it’s not just fun being just like other girls, you to be just like other girls – these girls just don’t feel comfortable sharing these parts of themselves.
Even as I got older and became less interested in societal constructs, while the games industry took bigger steps toward inclusion at the same time, this mental block regarding male-marketed games remained firmly in place. Until I played Mass Effect.
The first I heard of the series was when I saw my boyfriend play it in college. I looked at it once and quickly dismissed it as some sort of Halo clone, which in hindsight is hilarious. But my friend insisted it was different. The first two times I tried Mass Effect, I put the controller down and scoffed. The third time, however, I passed Chora’s Den and shortly afterwards something clicked inside me.
I beat Mass Effect and Mass Effect 2 in about four days. I blew up an air mattress in front of my TV and got merry every time an achievement popped up on my off-white Xbox 360. I was blown away by the characters, the fights, the stakes, the romance–I was a kid in a candy store and shoved sugar into my mouth in disbelief that I had ever deprived myself of the dust. I fell head over heels for a six-foot dinosaur-like man who was essentially Batman in space — though, god, Thane was seductive too. But besides being charmed by these characters, I was also charmed by these games. And I started to think that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more to these “boys” games.
So I played Skyrim. The witch. Bioshock. Assassin’s Creed. Resident Evil. God of war. Border areas. Not mapped. Halo. Devil May Cry. Bloodborne. And, perhaps my favorite, I played Metal Gear Solid. Despite their looks—and elements I’d be remiss to ignore—there was something beautiful about all of these series and shocked me with how they defied my preconceptions.
In most of the above games there is romance and moments of tenderness. Despite being “high octane”, there are moments of reflection and isolation. Being violent power fantasies, I found that in many cases I was out of control. I had to sacrifice more often, survive and rely on others. In games like Gears of War and most multiplayer titles, camaraderie and teamwork are essential, and the rush to work together to succeed is unparalleled. Of course, not all these games need to be perceived so deeply, but for those of us who choose, there is a lot of magic to be found.
Metal Gear Solid shocked me in particular, as the camouflage-clad hero Solid Snake made me believe the game was for war, while the discourse on the series’ female characters made me roll my eyes. However, Metal Gear Solid is an incredibly tender series. At its core, the games are pacifist and curious. They also establish that true patriotism – true heroism – is when you are committed to people, not institutions. They touch on the idea of determinism and rise above what was meant for you, and explore love – specifically, whether it can flourish on a battlefield. Even the series’ silly movie references come from a very heartfelt and emotional place. Don’t get me wrong, I still think there are very fair criticisms of these games, but there is also an abundance of good things to be found.
Almost all games play on our fantasies, especially those related to power. But I’ve come to realize that many of the games we label as “feminine” often offer players a lot of power, choice and control. And, interestingly enough, the games we think of as “masculine” tend to focus on the opposite: self-sacrifice, teamwork, and connection. At first, this realization seems shocking, but it soon makes sense: these are concepts that every group is often remembered, despite every living person, regardless of their gender identity, longing for them.
It’s safe to say that, just like in real life, the way we perceive video game gendering is a construct fabricated by marketing and socialization. So much time and effort went into perpetuating the idea that boys liked video games™ and girls, well, they liked Animal Crossing. Or Farmville. Or something else with pastel colors, doe-eyed characters and little physical strain. Something we could easily dismiss as less, regardless of the amount of work the developers put into making it, the amount of joy they brought to the audience, or the individual meaning players took out of it. But in either case, the outer layers of this are often a facade to be tastier – to make these games act as a vehicle that delivers these deeper messages and fulfills subliminal desires.
In life sims and dating games I can be the perfect woman and have everything. I can explore my sexuality and express feelings without worrying about how others might see me. I have control over how I am treated and what behavior I accept. In these games we are given the space to shape our environments to make us feel welcome and to create our own space – to add some beauty to the world. And I’m convinced that everyone would benefit from playing them. But in the same way, I think we would all benefit from playing “male” games.
The recurring idea of forging connections as a means of survival found in “male” games is universal and applicable. After all, as the world becomes more worrisome and we, the more tired, many of us find that it is our ties to others that keep us going. There’s also something very inspiring about how these games celebrate resilience and boldly proclaim that one person can make a difference. While there may be some issues with how these games convey these messages — with sometimes misleading heroism and lacking representation — the efforts these games make, and the emotions they inspire, are largely genuine.
The presentation of these games is intended to reach a target demographic, but they don’t have to be limited to that. We can embrace things that we don’t think are meant for us in an effort to learn and find meaning – even if we are convinced by ourselves and others that there is no meaning for us to find. We can play these games and try to understand people, places and ideas that we might not otherwise be exposed to. The world is filled with so much to be fascinated by being limited by gender or random binary numbers. And if you take anything from this piece, I hope you know that you have the freedom to explore it all.
The products discussed here have been independently chosen by our editors. GameSpot may receive a portion of the proceeds when you purchase something featured on our site.
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