Creativity in the Form of Narcissism
Tuesday, May 19th, 2009I was speaking to a coworker today who had just gotten an Xbox Live account, and when I commented to her that I’d seen it, she wondered how I knew. The answer was simple: “I saw you in a party with [another person on my friends list], and it looked just like you! Who else would it be?” It then hit me that my own avatar looked like me, and it didn’t stop there, either.
Ultimately, it seems like in every game in which you get a decent amount of creative control over what your character looks like, the first thing I do is attempt to model myself. Given that it’s my first time using the system, it usually doesn’t turn out all that well, but subsequent revisions get me something close to what I think I look like (I not going to lie; I’m always slightly surprised that I don’t look exactly like my own mental image. I have a defined chin in my own mind.) Sure, I can play with the system later and start creating people / freaks of genetic tampering for fun, the the first time I play, it’s with myself. Wait, that sounds horrible. I mean, as myself.
Part of it lies in the way I play in-depth roleplaying games like Fallout 3. The first time, I’ll play as myself, giving natural answers and letting my conscience be the guide. Frequently this ends up in the “goody-two shoes” camp, because I’d much rather talk my way out of a jam than shoot, and I more or less meander up the path of goodness (about halfway through, I usually decide that violence is the answer to most arguments, but I at least try starting things in a civilized manner). After that, I’ll play the depraved route just for kicks to see how terrible the game lets me be. After that, if I’m still interested, I’ll start doing gimmick runs, doing the weird, offbeat things and exploring character paths that I hadn’t considered before. The important thing here is that for the first time through, I’m trying to stay true to myself and to my decisions. Don’t shoot the sheriff, don’t wipe out the ghouls, but don’t take crap from the slavers either. Can’t we all just… leave each other alone for five seconds? No? *BLAM*
The thing of it is, and the real reason I’m writing this, is that I know I’m not alone. When the Wii first came out, message boards were abuzz with people posting Miis back and forth to each other, stocking up on their friends. In fact, when my friend’s stepparents got a Wii for Christmas last year, the very first thing they did (after shoving all the furniture out of the way and recruiting me to hook them up with batteries) was hold a Mii-fest in which they made avatars resembling everyone in the family. Of course, nobody got to make their own Mii, leading to some fun times. (“Don’t give me that hair.” “That’s the hair that looks most like yours.” “No, you’re making me look like a moron.” “Hey, it’s not my fault you have moron hair.” *fighting ensues*)
That’s not limited to the happy non-gaming gamers, either. When Microsoft unveiled their new avatars, people whined and moaned about their systems getting kiddified, then went and did it anyway. I only see a few folks who go out of their way to make a crazy-looking persona for their 360; most avatars are of people who look like people. It isn’t just avatars; my first Sims, my first The Movies actor (he died before I invented color film, so I had to plastic surgerize a different actor into being me when I had the technology… How’s THAT for extreme self-obsession?), my first Fallout 3 character, any number of characters you can throw a goatee and glasses on get my face on them when I first send them out into the world… Where does this come from? Why do I have to star in my adventures? Am I really so conceited that every story has to involve myself, like those video storybooks you can get with little [insert name here] fighting off the Martians and saving Christmas?
I can’t be the only person who does this, though. Speak, you denizens of the Spwugbase! Share your addictions to putting your own mug on your virtual selves! I leave you now with a taste of my disease…
About the author: Mike Meeker recently made a bet and has to shave his beard off. He hasn’t seen his bare chin in six years. He’s kind of worried about it.




