n.b. these articles are copied directly from an old blog of mine, no editing has been done. Although there is nothing problematic here, some of the concepts, terms and use of language from these older pieces I might no longer use or agree with.
I bought 220 turnips today. I paid 23,980 bells for them, 109 apiece.
Apparently this wasn’t a good deal.
Animal Crossing New Horizons has captured my heart in 2020 the same way the GameCube version did back in 2001. It’s quiet and charming and gives so much while expecting very little in return. No deadlines, no pressing tasks or self care actions. You can spend an hour or a day pottering around your island, chatting with neighbours, indulging in a bit of fishing, bug catching and light carpentry.
Should the desire overwhelm you, community founder and impossibly successful venture capitalist Tom Nook asks for your assistance on bigger projects, and with the completion of major milestones you unlock more features to help transform your community into a paradise of your own design.
I’ve seen amazing things come out of these choices, incredible designs from the community, both in the feng shui of their personal domiciles and in the way they transform their islands. I’ve also seen horrific aberrations that fly in the face of God, communities utterly devoid of nature, monuments to human ingenuity and excess.
And to be honest, this excites me, as a person who has always valued the way games can be a toolset for personal expression, even if that expression borders on sociopathic. It’s a good thing that one player can have a blood red skull radio and another can fill their house with bamboo sculptures, that you can devote your time to filling the museum with all manner of ocean dwellers, critters and dinosaurs. There’s nothing stopping you ignoring Tom Nook’s propositions entirely and just chilling in your tent, nor allowing you to fully exploit the economy to terraform the world into a glistening metropolis. All it takes is time, and direction.
For me, curiosity got the better, and as I progressed through the game’s ‘upgrade path’ it became very apparent why all my friends who got the game at launch had been obsessed with the ecstasy of gold. It was all stalk market this, tarantula island that with debates as to the ethics of time travel hitherto unseen. The conversation around New Horizons was weird for those first few weeks. But I get it now. Despite best intentions, in the face of my own virulent opposition to neoliberal practices of gambling the livelihoods of strangers, in direct conflict with my entire political identity, I bought 220 turnips for 23,980 bells. And now I’m waiting.
With bated breath I sprint to Nook’s Cranny every morning before work and every evening after dinner, to check in with Timmy and Tommy as to what price I can sell my turnips for, or rather, what margin I can eke on them. They were down to 65 bells this morning and I cursed under my breath.
I shouldn’t care. There’s no categorical drive to pursue success in the stalk market, it’s just a potentially lucrative past time to help pay off your mortgage, (which is perfectly manageable in small increments through other means). As you navigate the gulf between need and desire, however, it quickly becomes apparent what it is that makes New Horizons so different. Money, it seems, is paramount to the experience this time round.
The first bridge you build comes from your own craftsmanship. Gather resources, create a construction kit and plonk it down wherever you want it. Nook and his superhuman contractors do the rest. Want another bridge? 100,000 bells please! Want to create an incline so your neighbours have access to the rest of the island? Better bring out that entrepreneurial spirit, buster!
And tell me this, Mr. Nook: If you’re selling land to potential new islanders why am I the one coughing up the fucking deposit?
Something stinks at Nook, inc. I know it’s a lazy piece of discourse to talk about the evils of the Tanuki landlord, and in previous iterations of the game, as well as my early time with New Horizons, I was on board with the idea that he wasn’t actually that bad of a guy. He adopted his nephews, for Christ sake. He gives people penalty free loans with no deadlines. Single handed he built this whole island economy.
He also brought us a loaded gun and gave us more than ample incentive to fire it.
It’s very easy to dismiss things like this. Since New Horizons is built on a foundation of no-stakes, self directed pace, the fact that it has systems that allow you to rapidly achieve milestones only matters if you feel you are pressed for time. There’s no incentive to pay off your mortgage ‘on time’, from a gameplay perspective your debt is essentially a non-issue. It doesn’t matter what furniture you get or how many new species you donate or even that you talk to your neighbours all that frequently. It’s not supposed to be that kind of game.
So why has it been built that way?
It’s not just the colossal amount of money infrastructure changes require, but smaller changes to how the game presents itself too. Nook miles, crafting, defined goals, distant islands designed specifically for resource acquisition, it all builds into an experience that’s always building towards something, becoming less a facsimile of living and more a poorly implemented God sim that doesn’t even follow its own rules, trading in self expression for unnecessary gamification and grand ideas of transformation.
I find it hard to stay mad at New Horizons, because while these issues are prevalent, they are mostly pathologic, rather than instructive, and everything I love about the series is still present. It still has plenty to offer the little-and-often crowd, deriving pleasure from the simple act of being in that world when the rat race becomes too much. Yes I would like a second bridge so that my neighbours can get to the shop, but I’d also like to just sit by the shore under the moonlight.
Please, though, please just let me have some unbreakable tools.