“Kimimi: The Fearless She-Monster’s Take on Retro Gaming!”

Seriously. Also, I’m not going to follow up that remark with something irritating like “…Because I adore it! Haha!” either.

The overall term has its merits, but to be truthful, I could manage without the retro gaming perspective altogether. I believe we’d all benefit from tossing that artificial separation in the trash. If I happen to mention enjoying a game from 1981, or one for the PC Engine, or an old adventure stashed on a small pile of floppy disks—I appreciate it not for its retro status but due to its quality.

There exists a peculiar cultural divide in gaming that other entertainment mediums generally do not experience. Nobody has ever said “You really want to see Alien? But that’s from the ’70s”. Batman has been featured in comics for over 80 years—nobody minds. I frequently come across music from 20 years ago or more on mainstream radio stations that primarily focus on playing new songs; it’s simply part of the lineup. I could re-read The Lord of the Rings (1954) at this moment, and it’d merely be another fantasy novel. The Nightmare Before Christmas, which has been around for decades, is still marketed extensively. The idea of being a retro movie enthusiast, music aficionado, or book lover doesn’t genuinely exist. People will naturally have their individual tastes, but outside of deliberate self-categorization, the boundaries between eras are vague and hold minimal significance.

Gaming genuinely needs to follow suit, to abandon the simplified and often antagonistic notion of retro, utilized by some as a nerd’s ploy to falsely grant supposed enhanced taste and intellect, by others as a fabricated division between ordinary individuals with a PS5 connected to their television and eccentrics who believe everything peaked in the mid ’90s, relegating everyone else to a sort of dusty old container filled with items considered too antiquated to engage with, and instead appreciate the extensive array of treasures right beneath our noses.

More than ever, they are all simply games, irrespective of when they were launched or the format they were originally designed for. It requires as much effort to start up King of the Monsters 2 on my Switch as it does Tears of the Kingdom. Halo Infinite and Radiant Silvergun are installed on the same Xbox. Sid Meier’s Alpha Centauri and Guilty Gear Strive offer equally wonderful experiences on the Steam Deck. Sega’s once arcade-exclusive fighter SpikeOut is now a charming little bonus integrated into another game. Cave’s stunning shmup ProGear costs £1.69 at its highest. Mini Atari 400s and Amigas that come equipped with ROM-ready USB ports are readily available to purchase with just a few clicks, while Shining Force is an affordable iOS game. Unofficially, reliable modern emulators strive to simplify the initial configuration process and often auto-detect game titles, then conveniently present the corresponding box art in an appealing library-like layout. GameCube titles are something I’ve enjoyed playing while sitting in a car on my old Android phone.

Nowadays, the only distinctions between the old and the new are the ones we impose on ourselves. Indiana Jones and the Great Circle is an almost flawless modern pleasure, as well as the latest entry in a surprisingly lengthy list of enjoyable games featuring the Nazi-punching archaeologist—I have an Amiga copy of Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis on my shelf, and anyone can access Steam or GOG and acquire a working version of their own if they choose to do so. Indeed, they are distinct, but only in the same way that all the various forms of Star Wars and Superman differ. We can enjoy both, and there’s no need to act as if there’s an actual barrier separating them, as if one is esoteric and inaccessible, only comprehended by those possessing some antiquated mindset or ancient expertise. They are merely two enjoyable adventures that utilize different methods to narrate the same kind of tale.

In the past, retro games—these allegedly mystical artifacts from a former era, almost unplayable to everyone except a chosen few—used to be entirely new games. They were once in the charts, buzzed about in previews, highlighted in striking advertisements, received as gifts, lent to friends, and marked down in sales. Both professional and personal reactions to games like Quake, Super Mario World, and Resident Evil 2 leaned more towards “Holy cow!!!” (shockingly excessive exclamation marks included) rather than composed reverence or extensive analysis. They are enjoyable games meant to be experienced by everyone, not revered relics from a more enlightened period. We can certainly play them poorly for an hour and dismiss them.away again when we’re finished. We can regard them as something to put on after a session of Elden Ring or God of War or Balatro or any other title that is deemed appropriate by contemporary criteria, merely swapping one title for another.

Even if we concentrate entirely on the now, on this precise moment, every dusty classic game I engage with that apparently categorizes me as a retro gamer is never more than one unexpected port/sequel/remake/fan translation away from being this year’s rediscovered success or the latest fad. Nothing transforms regarding the games themselves—or me—only the perspectives individuals opt to view them through.

Princess Maker. Alex Kidd. Clock Tower. Fate/Stay Night. Corpse Party. Streets of Rage. Tokimeki Memorial. Baldur’s Gate II was an old game in a genre that resolutely refused to fade away, something that was only appreciated by a devoted niche even when it was new and somewhat popular. Then two decades later Baldur’s Gate III emerged, selling approximately a billion copies, winning nearly every accolade available, and if the internet is to be believed, simultaneously revitalizing the genre and swiftly eliminating all potential competitors in one fell swoop.

It goes both ways. Natsu-Mon is merely another interpretation of Boku no Natsuyasumi. It’s so evident it almost seems unnecessary to state that Stardew Valley enthusiasts will almost certainly enjoy whatever Harvest Moon title captures their attention. Anyone who delighted in Void Stranger should explore Konami’s import-only Game Boy roguelite Cave Noire. Individuals who find themselves enamored with Monomyth owe it to themselves to experience Ultima Underworld and Shadow Tower.

And not because they must be “educated” or to “genuinely appreciate a modern game’s influences” or to “better comprehend gaming history” as if it’s tedious homework, but because they’re all truly worth playing today. Individuals generally enjoy engaging with excellent games, especially when they resemble something they already cherish. Does it truly matter if one of them originates from 1996? What actual difference does that make here and now, when loaded up on the same hardware someone already employs to play everything else?

None. It makes no difference.

So kindly, disregard the dates. Disregard the hardware and the cartridges and what released first and who was leading the company at that moment. Cast aside history and other people’s supposedly learned perspectives and stop attempting to second guess what you’re “supposed” to think and feel. They’re all games at the end of the day, and you are free to enjoy, love, become bored by, and feel frustrated with whatever you choose, just like any film you’ve never watched before or piece of music you hear for the first time or novel you finally get around to reading.

There are games you’ve experienced, and games you haven’t. Any further distinction is inconsequential.

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