Affect and Kitsch in Diner Dash

Audrey Anable's "Casual Games, Time Management, and the Work of Affect" challenges the "gendering" of casual games much in the way that game studies as a genre of scholarship has been gendered. I found her analysis quite compelling and convincing, particularly in her examination of how "casual" games fit into the in-between spaces in our lives.

What I find less convincing in Anable's argument is her definition of "kitsch" - that is, "art urging overt sentimentality." By framing Diner Dash and other casual games as a paean to the value of hard work, the equivalent of a workplace motivational poster of a cat "hanging in there," Anable asserts that by playing the game the player is putting herself in Flo's shoes. I don't buy this completely - Anable herself refers to Diner Dash as a "click management" game, and the player clicks and clicks and clicks to command Flo which action to perform next. The screen itself is a representation of the entire restaurant, not Flo's POV, and to me Flo seems a little more like a worker to be commanded rather than an extension of the player. The "affectively charged relationship" between the working woman onscreen and the "working body of the player" seems more reliant on command and hierarchy than Anable's definition of kitsch allows for. Most tellingly, the player doesn't manipulate Flo's individual movements - all that can be done is to click to tell her where to go, and Flo will independently move there in the most expedient fashion. As Anable says herself, the actual experience of labor is compressed into clicks in Diner Dash. All of Anable's points about the gendering of the work undertaken by Flo still stand, but because of the game's graphics and mechanics it's difficult for me to see Diner Dash as fully "affective" when the player doesn't have a full connection to Flo's body. When playing Diner Dash, it's actually less efficient to track Flo - rather, the player must keep an eye on every table and its current status, anticipating the tasks that need to be accomplished next rather than keeping an eye on Flo. The player trusts that Flo will accomplish the tasks she needs to as long as the player can adequately prioritize what those are, therefore ensuring that the player takes an overarching view of the entire restaurant rather than affectively connecting to Flo and her body. Flo is like one ant scurrying around an entire ant farm in this way, and the vast majority of people take a look at the goings-on of the entire farm.

I think the degree to which players command Flo's actions actually speaks more highly to Anable's points about the gendering of the work undertaken in Diner Dash. If time management games are "mediations of women's work," then what are the politics of a male, or a woman of higher socioeconomic status, manipulating Flo's actions and commanding her within the restaurant? Anable acknowledges the problematic depiction that by opening her own restaurant, Flo basically becomes the diner's only glorified waitress. When playing Diner Dash (and I revisited the game after reading Anable's article, you know, for additional research) I personally felt like the owner of the restaurant commanding an employee, rather than empathizing with Flo as the "boss." Diner Dash's premise and mechanics actually deprive Flo of agency over her actions and her own restaurant, and as I asserted before Flo is left only to figure out the quickest route to the destination at which she has been commanded to arrive. The glorification of Flo's decision to open the restaurant as depicted in the opening sequence is problematic as well when considered against the reality of her work. Flo allegedly leaves a mundane office job to open the diner, yet her work in the diner seems no less robotic or stressful than her office work. I don't see much room for "sentimentality" other than in the cutesy graphics and satisfaction when a level ends, but this affect does not seem to beget "kitsch" in the way that Anable asserts.

The concept of "affect" as introduced by Anable was a captivating one, and the emotional and stressful response engendered by Diner Dash is a new way of looking at how we play games - more than most other art forms, video games have the power to truly create an "affective" response. I wonder how this affect factors into the way casual games are played, however. We play these games in the spaces between location and location, work and home, on the train or on the bus. These games, in Anable's words, function in "ambiguous time and space between the myriad tasks we do on digital devices" - they are "both incidental and taking over our lives." What does the stress response, Anable's "affect," do to fill in these gaps in our lives? Does it improve our focus or make us more scattered?

The Paradoxical Nature of Brony Culture

Derek Johnson’s article, “Participation is Magic: Collaboration, Authorial Legitimacy, and the Audience Function”, uses aspects of the Brony subculture to illustrate what he calls audience function. He considers this a complement to Foucault’s author function, which considers the discourse of authorship in production of texts.  He also uses a Foucauldian foundation to analyze collaboration as a relationship that is full of power dynamics and inequalities. One way that Johnson does this is by looking at those that Brony culture is constructed for, and who is inherently delegitimized as a fan by Brony culture. He says, “Imaged in the often destabilized, but always exclusive, terms of adult, heterosexual men, however, that collaborative engagement with the series is constructed in opposition to female, non-adult, or queer users excluded by this discourse” (144). He goes on to say how Brony culture limits participatory culture (creation of music, memes, videos, etc.) to adult men, while also affirming that young girls are the proper non-participatory consumers of the show.

I was glad that Johnson dealt with this aspect of Brony culture, because the documentary Bronies: The Extremely Unexpected Adult Fans of My Little Pony did not. Personally, I don’t think Bronies are extremely weird or even worthy of the attention that they have gotten as a kind of freak show. That we care so much about what adult male contributing members of society do with their free time is more evidence to me of the absurdity of our culture’s view of proper gender norms. However, I do disagree with the way in which the existence of Bronies simultaneously delegitimizes fans that are not (white, middle/upper class) heterosexual adult men and reinforces society’s views towards children, women, and queer people. In Bronies, several interviewees speak about the difficulties they have experienced because of their perceived gay identity due to their love of a show that is presumably for young girls. However, their responses to these difficulties actually served to reinforce homophobia. Rather than saying that they should not be bullied because gay people should not be bullied, they responded only that people should realize that liking ponies does not mean someone is gay.  While this is true, and possibly speaks to the way in which gender and sexuality often get conflated in problematic ways, it also inherently admits that if they were gay, the bullying would be justified. The bullies are not wrong in their intents, only in their gaydar. Similarly, the fact that Bronies conceive of their bullying as one of the harder things they have ever experienced is testament to the privilege that they have. As hard as it may be to sometimes be perceived as gay, it is much harder to actually be gay. Their lack of compassion for people who may be bullied for being gay is further evidence that the Bronies are unaware of their privilege.

Johnson recognizes a similar paradox in the way that Friendship is Magic creator Lauren Faust uses the presence of Bronies to “mark animation for girls as not ‘lame’ “ (152). By using the presence of adult heterosexual male fans to show that the show is worthy of attention, isn’t Fault agreeing with the cultural view that shows that are not watched by the privileged group are lame? This viewing actually furthers the cultural idea of whom we should cater to, and who has the power to say what is good and what is lame. According to Faust, Friendship is Magic is not a good show because girls love it, but because adult men have taken a keen interest.

Given his careful analyses of the power relations within the Brony subculture, I mostly agreed with his conclusions. However, I suspect that there may have been parts of the culture that he looked over or that he unfairly homogenized. For example, he did not consider the fact that some Bronies are, in fact, female. I would be interested to hear more about their presence, and how this may complicate Johnson’s arguments. Similarly, I would presume that at least some Bronies are not straight. Neither the documentary nor Johnson’s piece dealt with the possible presence of a queer Brony sub-subculture. Would the presence of one weaken Johnson’s claim? A quick websearch shows that this queer Brony presence is both large and vocal; there is a HuffPost article on a queer reading of Friendship is Magic, a Facebook community of LGBT Bronies that is 4700 members strong, and lot of Tumblr results for a search of "gay bronies". Does Johnson's failure to recognize female and queer Bronies make his argument fall into the same traps that he claims Brony culture is full of? Or does the strong majority of heterosexual men in the Brony culture justify Johnson's simplification of the population?

Casual vs. Hardcore in "The Guild"

In her article, Erica Kubik discusses the dichotomy of hardcore vs. casual gamers and how that distinction often happens along gender and racial lines. She describes the “normalized” hardcore gamer is “usually a male, between 14-34 years of age who has gaming in their top priority list” (138). This is definitely something I’ve experienced, if not specifically in the gaming world, but a similar phenomenon happens in online geek culture. The trope of “Fake Geek Girl” or “Fake Gamer Girl” (that, thankfully, is generally shot down as soon as it appears) implicates women wearing geeky merchandise, playing games, and generally participating in geek culture, saying “she’s faking it for attention” and “that’s probably her boyfriend’s shirt/console.” This inability to recognize women as hardcore consumers demonstrates the gender divide inherent in casual vs. hardcore media consumption. 

            The Kubik article focuses on the breakdown of casual vs. hardcore gamer along gender lines, and the show doesn’t really conform to those gender lines.

In The Guild, the split between the hardcore and the casual gamer exists, but that split doesn’t necessarily occur between any two demographics. The members of the Knights of Good are relatively diverse: three men, three women, including two people of color, one of each gender. There are also people from several walks of life represented: there is a young mother, a middle aged man, and a high schooler, two people in college (one living at home and one living on campus), and one recent college graduate.

            Each of these six people from relatively diverse backgrounds, but are all incredibly immersed in the world of the game and devote most, if not all of their time to the game—very “hardcore”, if you ignore the race and gender dynamics of the definition. Each of the characters proves their hardcore-ness with their experience, high-level characters, and years devoted to The Game, but no one is excluded or even treated that differently based on gender or race. At least, not within the game.

            Outside of the game, Cyd/Codex can’t seem to navigate her identity as a woman and a gamer. When she meets Wade, a.k.a. Hot Stunt Guy, she stumbles over her words trying to play down the fact that she’s a gamer, because if she devoted that much of her life to it, “That would be weird.” Wade describes gamers as fat white guys who sit around, even though his roommate is an attractive woman who is a gamer. So Codex she tones down the gamer side of herself (which, arguably, is the majority) in order to attract a guy, because her identities of gamer and girl cannot exist simultaneously.

            However, one could argue that The Game the guild members play isn’t very hardcore—despite devoting hours upon hours to game play, the game doesn’t necessarily have the “trappings of masculinity” (Kubik) that could be required for a game to actually be hardcore, like the first person shooter games Riley describes she’s into. Riley, describing herself as “an FPS girl” clearly looks down on Cyd for not being into the harder core games, instead being into role playing games. This split does not happen along gender lines, contrary to Kubik’s argument.  

The "Hardcore Gamer" Ethos of Exclusion

           Erica Kubik’s “Masters of Technology: Defining the Hardcore/Casual Dichotomy in Video Game Culture” article is, at its core, based around showing how the dichotomy between “hardcore” and “casual” gamers is a heavily gendered, exclusionary one, created by white male gamers solely to justify their own prominence in video gaming culture.  As Kubik states, such a gendering is nothing new: white men have attempted to present themselves as “the makers” and masters “of technology” for decades, and their attempts have constantly relied on obscuring the enormous contributions women, people of color, and non-whites have made to technological history (Kubik, 137).  The very concept of “hard mastery and soft mastery” within the scientific and technological fields, in fact, is actually heavily gendered in nature, representing, as Jennifer Light points out, the idea that “the ‘hard’ ways of knowing are men’s domain” while the “‘soft’ ways of knowing are more feminine” (Light, 469).  It is why John Mauchly, J. Presper Eckert, and John von Neumann’s became famous for their “invention” of the ENIAC while the remarkable work of its female proto-programmers was forgotten, for programming was seen as the direct descendent of the maddeningly rote clerical labors that the ENIAC was supposed to eliminate. 

Though Kubik never mentions Light, the dichotomy between hardware and software the latter mentions is extremely relevant to Kubik’s work.  Just as the “hardware” of a computer was considered more valuable to work on precisely because designing it was seen as being more intellectually rewarding than the “clerical labor” associated with “software,” hardcore gamers’ preference for what Kubik describes as “ultra-competitive gameplay that exhibits technical mastery or a conquering mentality” betrays a need to justify their dominance in video gaming culture by pointing to their “mastery” of difficult game mechanics and games (Kubik, 146).  Of course, as Kubik writes, “in order to belong, there have to be people who don’t belong,” and those who “don’t belong,” those non-white, non-male, and/or non-heterosexual people who would dare white male “hardcore” video gaming culture, are lumped under the umbrella of being “casual gamers” (Kubik, 145).  Whereas the “hardcore gamer” is, in their own mind, distinguished by their skill and mastery over difficult games, “casual gamers” play “easy,” accessible, and ultimately (though Kubik does not refer to them in these terms) “non-skillful” Facebook and mobile games that aren’t even “proper” games; they are the unskilled, unwashed masses that the “hardcore” gamer can lord superiority over.  When the “hardcore” gamer speaks ill of “casual” gamers, in essence, they are upholding their specific notion of what gaming is by excluding those whose existence would challenge the notion that white males have an exclusive monopoly over technical mastery.

Yet, the challenge that casual gamers represent towards “hardcore gaming” culture runs deeper than that.  After all, as Kubik herself points out, in the minds of hardcore gamers, “they are the elite of gamers and […] industry leaders look to them to be the litmus test of quality when it comes to games because of” their mastery over games; their skill not only entitles them to lead the community, but also to have games made specifically for them (Kubik, 138).  When this doesn’t happen – when designers dare to make games that appeal to more than just the “hardcore elite” – the historical reaction among hardcore gamers has been to decry how “casuals” are bringing down the industry and ruining their favorite hobby.  Nowhere is this more obvious, from my perspective, than with Gamergate, a hate movement dedicated to throwing women, minority groups, and other non-conformers out of the gaming industry through death threats, rape threats, and disturbing amounts of misogyny and bigotry.  According to an Australian academic, Dan Golding, Gamergate is essentially the death-throes of a “gamer” identity (essentially the “hardcore” elite described by Kubik) in the wake of demographic changes that it cannot adapt to.  As Dan Golding states on his tumblr, a “gamer” is a constructed "identity based on difference and separateness” that was supposed to unite (white male) video-game players back from when “playing games was an unusual activity” (http://dangolding.tumblr.com/post/95985875943/the-end-of-gamers).  Yet, as a study from the Entertainment Software Association shows, this has been changing in a big way.  Not only has the number of women playing on both consoles and mobile devices (on both smartphones and devices made specifically for gaming, such as the 3DS) leapt up from 40% in 2010 to 48% in 2014, but “casual,” social games on Facebook and smartphones have gained prominence precisely because of their accessibility (http://www.theesa.com/facts/pdfs/ESA_EF_2014.pdf).   

The implications of this are fairly clear.  While Kubik tries to make sense of what a “hardcore” game is with her discussion of FPSes, the reality is that, as Golding states, “this insinuated criteria for ‘real’ videogames is wholly contingent on identity,” one that is fundamentally challenged not only by the increasing prominence of women, people of colors, and all other groups that fall outside of a white male “norm,” but also by the making of games not dedicated to the “hardcore” elite.  To me, nothing better represents how toxic – and how ultimately doomed – the exclusionary notion of “hardcore” gaming described by Kubik really is than in the formation of a hate group that has been formed essentially to protect a cultural conception of “gamers” that is already becoming less and less relevant culturally (and that couldn't come soon enough!).

"Can-Do" versus "At-Risk:" Causes and Explanations

Anita Harris' chapter, "The 'Can-Do' Girl Versus the 'At-Risk' Girl" explores the discourse of two paths of girlhood that have developed throughout the 1990s, when the idea of Girls Studies was initially on the rise.  To Harris, these constructions of girlhood rely less on issues of race or upbringing, but instead are situated firmly in the field of consumerism and related to the possession of cultural capital. This dichotomy places the “can-do” girl as a model of success, whereas the “at-risk” girl is strictly coded as failure. It is important to note that Harris did not create these two trajectories of girlhood, but instead is observing their construction and offering her own interpretation. This chapter takes a distinctly more sociological standpoint than previous readings, but speaks to this issue of market expansion involving girls as a profitable niche that we are addressing in our final few weeks.

Reading her description of “Elizabeth,” a prototypical can-do girl, I felt as though Harris could have taken the description by interviewing the average female Northwestern student; she describes someone who possesses professional ambition, as well as the drive and resources to achieve her goals. While obviously not all women who attend Northwestern or similarly elite schools come from Elizabeth’s very privileged background, but this measure of “success” is extremely informed by class distinctions.

I was perhaps most convinced by Harris’ arguments regarding implicit regulations hoisted on adolescent girls. The critique of “do this, but not too much” ran throughout her chapter and really resonated as an issue I had not previously considered.  For example, she cites the idea of delayed motherhood in the “can-do” narrative, stating, “Can-do girls are encouraged to delay childbearing until their careers are established but not to renounce motherhood altogether” (23).  Similarly, when discussing the “at-risk” girl’s relationship to consumerism, she states, “Young women are thus taught that while girlpower is about being confident and assertive, it should not be taken too far” (29). While it is easy to point out instances of clear-cut inequality, these less obvious restrictions on the lives of young women and girls are just as insidious. Although I agreed with this assertion, I wish that Harris had addressed the ways in which this dichotomy is institutionalized in Western culture; issues such as generational poverty can make it nearly impossible for a girl born outside of the middle/upper class to become a “can-do” girl.

Near the end of her chapter, Harris states that “What is not highlighted, but is fundamentally important here, is that material resources and cultural capital of the already privileged are required to set a young women on the can do trajectory. Instead, the good or bad families, neighborhoods, and attitudes are held to account” (35) While I do not disagree that these material resources and a larger consumer culture are essential to the construction of the can-do and at-risk girl, I see this as nearly inextricable from the other factors she mentions.

Post-Feminism And Personal Computers

In “Cyberspace Meets Domestic Space,” Marsha Cassidy explores how in the 1990s, marketing for personal computers increasingly targeted women, showcasing the computer’s use as a both a professional and a domestic tool. Cassidy argues that in many ways, this marketing strategy echoed the “utopian expectations” of post-feminism, in which women were expected to succeed both in their professional lives and their home lives.  The computer was presented in advertisements as a helpful tool for both of these roles.

Cassidy also describes how early ‘90s PC advertisements placed the computer within a family atmosphere, asserting its place as a tool to help bring the family closer together, not disrupt it. She compares it to advertisements introducing similar technology like the radio, television or telephone, and I was reminded of the TV advertisements we discussed earlier in the quarter, which portrayed the TV as a uniting force to help improve family dynamics, not interrupt them. Both the PC and the TV threatened to disrupt existing gender roles within the family, so advertising for both tried to focus on the device’s uses within the existing family structure.

One of the points I found particularly interesting was this issue of where to place the PC within the home, especially because that’s not something most people think about anymore. When I was growing up, my family’s 1993 Macintosh didn’t fit well in any existing room, so we turned a spare bedroom into the “computer room.” This is no longer an issue, especially when most modern computing is done on portable devices. Cassidy’s arguments about early ‘90s computer advertisements seem particularly dated when compared to modern advertisements for laptops, tablets and mobile phones. The old TV advertisements we discussed in class portrayed the television as an important piece of furniture, and early PC ads portrayed the computer much in the same way. We no longer think of computers or phones as a piece of furniture because these things are now portable. Recent ads for laptops, tablets or smart phones  show them both outside the home and in a variety of domestic settings, championing their versatility.

However, some of Cassidy’s arguments still seem relevant, albeit in different ways. Post-feminist anxieties about how to balance a successful work life and a successful home life still exist, and there still are some anxieties about the role of laptops, tablets and smart phones and how they can be used in both a professional and personal way. I  know many professional women (and men) keep two smart phones: one dedicated entirely to work, and the other for personal use. There are also still some concerns about new technology interrupting existing family structures, which is why ads try so hard to show each new piece of technology as uniting a family. We saw this in advertisements introducing the TV, we saw this in advertisements introducing the PC, and we still see this in modern tech ads. (I thought immediately of the “Misunderstood” iPhone ad from last Christmas, in which the iPhone brings a family together, celebrating existing family traditions and structures.) So while many of Cassidy’s arguments are no longer relevant because technological capabilities have improved so drastically over the past 20 years, the concerns about how new technology fits into an existing family structure are still very present.

Post-Feminism vs. Feminism in Today's World

Angela McRobbie introduces a new concept to the study of gender: post-feminism. According to her text, feminists nowadays do not wish to be identified as such, even turning away from the concept and thus have started a new kind of search for the equality of genders. She writes how “...those utterance of forceful non-identity with feminism have consolidated into something closer to repudiation rather than ambivalence...this is the cultural space of post-feminism” (McRobbie, p 3).

            I agree that feminism has changed from when the movement started and now society has entered a new era in search of equality of the genders.  I am not sure, however, if I believe that this “new feminism” started in the 1900s. I do not even think that we have entered a period of post-feminism yet. It seems like there are many people, even in our generation, who still believe that in order for there to be equality among the genders women have to become more like men, instead of the other way around, for example. I believe this to be part of the traditional feminism, thus marking its existence among the few post-feminists of our era.

            McRobbie, however, makes some very good points when it comes to the treatment of the body and sexuality in feminism and post-feminism. She writes how “the body and also the subject come to represent a focal point for feminist interest...” (McRobbie, p. 2). I think both of the movies that we have watched for class are a good example of this. In Barbarella, we were able to make a feminist critique from the idea that Barbarella’s body is used as a form of “entertainment” or sexual focus. On the other hand, Alien demonstrates how a body, like that of Sigourney Weaver, is asexualized. In spite of the movie including a scene in which the actress strips to her underwear, the science fiction nature of the movie imposes an asexual theme or tone, as we discussed in class.

            She continues to talk of sexuality as having a part in “self-consciously sexist ads” like the one starring Claudia Schiffer. I found the analysis of this advertisement very interesting as I believe models nowadays can be proof of the new feminism, which I find to be more equal than the traditional idea of women being more like men. As McRobbie writes, Schiffer has been known to be one of the “world’s most famous and highly paid supermodels” (McRobbie, p.5). She is also shown to be stripping on the ad out of choice. These two ideas together, and the fact that the “power” of supermodels come from being spokeswomen for the fashion and makeup industry show how women do not have to turn away from being feminine in order to be independent and equal, in terms of opportunities, to men. I know that many can disagree with this idea, but I believe that true feminism (or I suppose post-feminism) must be based on creating same opportunities for both genders, not making women believe that in order to be equal, they must be more like men (thus turning away from ideas of makeup, fashion, etc.). A woman, as Giselle Bündchen proves for example, can be a feminine, stylish and still a super powerful businesswoman in today’s world.