ghostlyjoe
Member
As a not-too-avid gaming forum poster and, in general, an observer of human behavior, I've witnessed some strange things. But is there anything stranger than the vitriol -- ostensibly half-hearted or not -- reserved for others' gaming preferences? Is there some unfathomable rhyme or reason to the fanboy wars?
Often, when perusing this or other boards, I'm struck by the emotional power brand names hold over gamers. How many posts proclaim the doom of the XBox or the Revolution? How many fanboys chuckle mockingly at even the tiniest nugget of bad news for a rival console? How can a simple form of entertainment -- a trifle in the grand scheme of things -- be such a powerful influence in people's lives?
Well, based on about 5 minutes of rumination, I've got a few half-baked theories, but I'm really curious to hear others personal accounts. Why are you (or are you not) a fanboy? Why do you feel an emotional connection to the manufactuerer of your favored electronic device, and, by extension, why do you feel animosity toward other systems? And, is this a global phenomenon or one securely centered in the West, which by the force of history tends to have a more dualistic world view?
Consider that there's nothing really to be gained. Fanboy posts have almost no real-world influence on the industry. And, ultimately, a love for Metroid is just as meaningless as a love for "ER" or "The Godfather." In the end, games are simply trinkets in our lives, part of what makes us us, to be sure, but in no way defining our nature, our goals or our values.
My theories:
1. Toys are an extention of the ego. I remember one favored Christmas I ripped open the crown jewel of stocking stuffers: a Darth Vader action figure with a retractable light saber (COOLIES BE!!). Not only was Darth an integral piece of my Star Wars collection, but it was, at the time, incredibly hard to find, and I was one of the few kids on the block to actually have it. It was the latter fact that gave me the most satisfaction. That little plastic figurine represented -- at least for that week -- a modicum of social superiority. That Vader figurine was a like a pedigree or a secret handshake -- a potent symbol of exclusivity. Is it the same way with games? Are games an extention of ourselves? Are our game collections entry fees into some imagined global cabal, a symbol of our social worth? Is that we root so zealously for the financial success of some mega-congolmerate half a world away?
2. Gamers are driven competitors. I play games in large part because I like to win. I love to overcome challenges and exercise my mental prowess, but more than that, I like the euphoric feeling of accomplishment that comes with victory -- and the harder the struggle, the sweeter the reward. Isn't it that competitive nature that drives us to "Try Again" one more time? That pushes us to top that high score? That compels us to find and recover each and every dog tag or shine sprite? Isn't that why we giggle gleefully as we push our friends' race cars off the track or high-step into the end zone? And is that the same principal at work behind our online fanboy orgies? Is is merely a product of gamesmanship?
3. Gamers are insecure. Above, I considered how self-worth might play a role in our fanboyhood. But could it be the opposite? Could fanboydom be a simple defense mechanism? Could that emotional tie to Sony or Nintendo be fostered by social ineptitude? I mean, the stereotypical gamer is a nerdy teenage boy who, when he isn't fragging in Halo, is downloading porn. That clearly isn't an absolute reflection of reality, but is it that far off? Gaming is an escapist activity, and while games do have a strong social aspect, the game always acts a social buffer, focusing attention and creating shared goals and, thus, solidifying a social relationship. And psychologists can have a field day with the implications of the relative social anonymity offered by the Internet. Could our boldness online and our affinity for games both be, in part, manifestations of our social insecurities?
4. We're full of shit. Anonymity could be cover for social insecurity, or it could be an excuse to give free reign to our alter egos. Are we all just stepping outside ourselves, creating this virtual avatar with its own, separate identity and none of our vulnerabilities? Basically, is this fanboy nonsense just some kind of giant game, a "war" that only exists among the incorporeal entities floating around in cyberspace?
Ok, now that I've successfully wasted about 15 mintues, I hand the discussion off to you, if you care. Why do we do what we do, GAF?
Often, when perusing this or other boards, I'm struck by the emotional power brand names hold over gamers. How many posts proclaim the doom of the XBox or the Revolution? How many fanboys chuckle mockingly at even the tiniest nugget of bad news for a rival console? How can a simple form of entertainment -- a trifle in the grand scheme of things -- be such a powerful influence in people's lives?
Well, based on about 5 minutes of rumination, I've got a few half-baked theories, but I'm really curious to hear others personal accounts. Why are you (or are you not) a fanboy? Why do you feel an emotional connection to the manufactuerer of your favored electronic device, and, by extension, why do you feel animosity toward other systems? And, is this a global phenomenon or one securely centered in the West, which by the force of history tends to have a more dualistic world view?
Consider that there's nothing really to be gained. Fanboy posts have almost no real-world influence on the industry. And, ultimately, a love for Metroid is just as meaningless as a love for "ER" or "The Godfather." In the end, games are simply trinkets in our lives, part of what makes us us, to be sure, but in no way defining our nature, our goals or our values.
My theories:
1. Toys are an extention of the ego. I remember one favored Christmas I ripped open the crown jewel of stocking stuffers: a Darth Vader action figure with a retractable light saber (COOLIES BE!!). Not only was Darth an integral piece of my Star Wars collection, but it was, at the time, incredibly hard to find, and I was one of the few kids on the block to actually have it. It was the latter fact that gave me the most satisfaction. That little plastic figurine represented -- at least for that week -- a modicum of social superiority. That Vader figurine was a like a pedigree or a secret handshake -- a potent symbol of exclusivity. Is it the same way with games? Are games an extention of ourselves? Are our game collections entry fees into some imagined global cabal, a symbol of our social worth? Is that we root so zealously for the financial success of some mega-congolmerate half a world away?
2. Gamers are driven competitors. I play games in large part because I like to win. I love to overcome challenges and exercise my mental prowess, but more than that, I like the euphoric feeling of accomplishment that comes with victory -- and the harder the struggle, the sweeter the reward. Isn't it that competitive nature that drives us to "Try Again" one more time? That pushes us to top that high score? That compels us to find and recover each and every dog tag or shine sprite? Isn't that why we giggle gleefully as we push our friends' race cars off the track or high-step into the end zone? And is that the same principal at work behind our online fanboy orgies? Is is merely a product of gamesmanship?
3. Gamers are insecure. Above, I considered how self-worth might play a role in our fanboyhood. But could it be the opposite? Could fanboydom be a simple defense mechanism? Could that emotional tie to Sony or Nintendo be fostered by social ineptitude? I mean, the stereotypical gamer is a nerdy teenage boy who, when he isn't fragging in Halo, is downloading porn. That clearly isn't an absolute reflection of reality, but is it that far off? Gaming is an escapist activity, and while games do have a strong social aspect, the game always acts a social buffer, focusing attention and creating shared goals and, thus, solidifying a social relationship. And psychologists can have a field day with the implications of the relative social anonymity offered by the Internet. Could our boldness online and our affinity for games both be, in part, manifestations of our social insecurities?
4. We're full of shit. Anonymity could be cover for social insecurity, or it could be an excuse to give free reign to our alter egos. Are we all just stepping outside ourselves, creating this virtual avatar with its own, separate identity and none of our vulnerabilities? Basically, is this fanboy nonsense just some kind of giant game, a "war" that only exists among the incorporeal entities floating around in cyberspace?
Ok, now that I've successfully wasted about 15 mintues, I hand the discussion off to you, if you care. Why do we do what we do, GAF?
