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Games Without Frontiers: Games Give Free Rein to the Douchebag Within

I really want to nuke Athens. I know it's possible. Hell, I've watched and rewatched the YouTube videos of the 14-year-olds who've done it in Sid Meier's new game, Civilization Revolution. The guttural roar of the ICBM taking off, the flare of the missile as it arcs slowly across the sky, the terrifying rumble in your Xbox 360 controller as the nuke pulverizes the target: It's awesome. I can't sleep until I've rained that sort of death on the world. What the hell is wrong with me? There are a lot of ways to win at Civilization Revolution that do not involve taking a happy, peaceful city and reducing it to a smoldering gravesite filled with radioactive trinitite. I could, for example, train my country in brilliant artistry, building Wonders of the World -- a "cultural victory," as it's called. Or I could win by becoming a great economic power, enriching my citizens and the global community. But no. Every time I plunge into a game, I inevitably choose the most Cro-Magnon, "Hulk smash, Hulk destroy" strategy possible. Or maybe I geek out and try to discover spaceflight before anyone else, so I can outfit my hermetically sealed, glassed-in astronaut city with interstellar warp drives, blur the stars into hyperspace, arrive at Alpha Centauri, encounter alien worlds ... and then try to kill them. Ooooh, you guys back home wanna spend your time carefully building the Hanging Gardens, the Colossus of Rhodes, the Alexandrian Library? Fine. Go for it. Hippies. Me, I'm gonna reach for the goddamn stars, built some kickass mechs, flatten anybody in my way with a molten avalanche of plasma. I repeat: What's wrong with me? One of the classic highbrow defenses of videogames is that they allow you to experience new personalities -- to, in the words of Sherry Turkle, create a "second self." This is considered supremely healthy, because self-exploration is generally a good thing. But what happens if the second self you create inside videogames turns out to be a total dick? Sometimes I think the best way to get a grip on my true inner self would be just to list all the people I choose to be inside games. For example: In racing games, I never want gearhead realism that replicates the precise feel of a Porsche 911. No, I want cartoon, Tex Avery physics and fishtailing insanity -- pedestrians screaming and diving out of the way and not quite making it. In first-person shooters, I hate, hate, hate any complexity or nuance -- like protecting innocents, avoiding friendly fire or figuring out which stupid door to open. I don't even like games that don't give me unlimited ammo. In MMOs, I inevitably play as a class that can work solo -- like a Paladin, balanced between skull-crushing might and self-healing magic. "OK, so, deep inside you're a frustrated geek with serious masculinity issues who doesn't like authority," said a gamer friend of mine when we talked about this over drinks. "And you're a loner who can't handle complexity." Except, except ... wait a minute, that's not even vaguely what I'm like in real life. In meatspace, I'm a total people-pleaser who avoids all conflict (to the point where I often get completely doormatted in my professional life). And I have a superhighly tuned, sensitive-boi EQ. Christ, I cry at weddings. What's going on? Nothing weird, said Ian Bogost, a friend of mine who's one of the smartest game academics and game designers around. The whole reason my in-game choices are so divergent from my wussy-ass actual self is because I'm using games to see life from a different perspective; the Walter Mitty effect, as it were. Nothing wrong with that. And, he added, I'm imprisoned by a lack of options. Too many mainstream games are predicated on loony macho conflict because it's easy to model, and because the industry is focused on the power fantasies of 14-year-olds. I shouldn't blame myself for getting sucked into their poor choices. Fair enough. Except ... there's been a huge growth in alternative forms of gaming in recent years, and the sad truth is that I rarely get as excited by them. All those "click management" games, like Diner Dash or Cooking Mama -- the ones that model the chaos of real life in a charming, witty way, and let you deal with it? That stuff puts me to sleep. Hell, I don't even have the patience for computer golf. When offered a choice inside games like Civilization, given the option of picking amongst different types of personalities, I choose to play as a complete douchebag. (In Halo 3, as you may recall, I wound up embracing suicide-bomber tactics.) Now, I'll issue my usual caveats here. I don't mean to suggest that I, or anyone else, should police their fantasy lives. Games are -- at least partly -- an exercise of the imagination, and it's always a perspective-broadening experiment to visit the dark or creepy places of the mind. But interestingly, the rest of the world is beginning to realize that one's game preferences can be regarded as a Myers-Briggs personality type for the digital age. Plenty of college kids list their most-played games on their Facebook pages, under the presumption that this speaks as clearly about their inner lives as their religion or political stances. And in the last few years, Silicon Valley companies have begun actively recruiting the leaders of major World of Warcraft guilds, under the assumption that people who choose those roles are good at being leaders, motivating teams and defusing interpersonal drama. Just imagine what things will look like 10 years from now. "Hmmm, this job applicant has a kind of cool Alliance-Mage thing going on, so she'd be good in the legal support department, eh? Yeah, but her team-killing stats in Gears of War 4 are really troubling." Or in the world of dating: "I just don't know if I can go out with someone who never plays any of the side missions in Grand Theft Auto!" Maybe, for the sake of my social reputation, I should start playing some Diner Dash. Who knows: If I play it enough, I might get really into it. Yeah, I think I'll head out to the GameStop and get a copy. Right after I nuke Athens. - - - Clive Thompson is a contributing writer for The New York Times Magazine and a regular contributor to Wired and New York magazines. Look for more of Clive's observations on his blog, collision detection.