One game has taken over my life for the past week, much to the chagrin of those around me. It's called Baby Steps, a surreal and hilarious experience that follows the misadventures of Nate, a woefully inept protagonist who finds himself at the foot of an otherworldly mountain.
As I struggle through the game's grueling levels, Nate repeatedly trips and tumbles down treacherous slopes, his adult onesie becoming increasingly soiled in the process. The developers' cruel sense of humor is on full display, with Aussie guides and pantsless characters offering help that Nate stubbornly refuses to accept.
What starts off as a comically frustrating experience gradually takes a toll on me, leaving me feeling frustrated and exasperated. It's not uncommon for my concentration to slip for a second, only for Nate to tumble down a nearby plank or lose his footing on a precarious ledge. The game's relentless pace and Nate's pitiful attempts at progress leave me feeling like I'm stuck in an endless cycle of despair.
However, beneath its ridiculous surface lies a surprisingly poignant commentary on the human condition. As I navigate the game's chapters, I begin to glimpse into Nate's troubled past – his social anxiety, masculine insecurity, and evident self-hatred – and feel a begrudging sense of empathy towards this one-man taxonomy of loserdom.
One particularly heart-wrenching segment shows Nate reliving his former life through 8-bit style minigames, confronting the disappointment of his parents, his overachieving sister, and his nonexistent sex life. These moments evoke an overwhelming urge to weep with gratitude, as I find myself cheering Nate on despite everything.
Baby Steps is a game that's equal parts infuriating and endearing – it's not for the faint of heart, but its sadistic genius has won me over. After 10 hours or so, all I wanted to do was reach the end of the game; instead, I found myself facing an enormous spiral staircase that seemed insurmountable.
"Take these stairs?" the Australian guide jeers. "You'll be bashing your head against them for years."
Nate retorts, predictably: "I swear I will never take these stairs."
But I've had enough of being cruel to Nate; I'm taking the stairs – and with it, my sanity.
The game is not for everyone, but its unflinching bleakness has left me questioning my own resolve. Will I persevere, or will the cruel hand of fate – and Baby Steps' merciless difficulty curve – bring me crashing down?
Only time (and a few more hours of gameplay) will tell.
As I struggle through the game's grueling levels, Nate repeatedly trips and tumbles down treacherous slopes, his adult onesie becoming increasingly soiled in the process. The developers' cruel sense of humor is on full display, with Aussie guides and pantsless characters offering help that Nate stubbornly refuses to accept.
What starts off as a comically frustrating experience gradually takes a toll on me, leaving me feeling frustrated and exasperated. It's not uncommon for my concentration to slip for a second, only for Nate to tumble down a nearby plank or lose his footing on a precarious ledge. The game's relentless pace and Nate's pitiful attempts at progress leave me feeling like I'm stuck in an endless cycle of despair.
However, beneath its ridiculous surface lies a surprisingly poignant commentary on the human condition. As I navigate the game's chapters, I begin to glimpse into Nate's troubled past – his social anxiety, masculine insecurity, and evident self-hatred – and feel a begrudging sense of empathy towards this one-man taxonomy of loserdom.
One particularly heart-wrenching segment shows Nate reliving his former life through 8-bit style minigames, confronting the disappointment of his parents, his overachieving sister, and his nonexistent sex life. These moments evoke an overwhelming urge to weep with gratitude, as I find myself cheering Nate on despite everything.
Baby Steps is a game that's equal parts infuriating and endearing – it's not for the faint of heart, but its sadistic genius has won me over. After 10 hours or so, all I wanted to do was reach the end of the game; instead, I found myself facing an enormous spiral staircase that seemed insurmountable.
"Take these stairs?" the Australian guide jeers. "You'll be bashing your head against them for years."
Nate retorts, predictably: "I swear I will never take these stairs."
But I've had enough of being cruel to Nate; I'm taking the stairs – and with it, my sanity.
The game is not for everyone, but its unflinching bleakness has left me questioning my own resolve. Will I persevere, or will the cruel hand of fate – and Baby Steps' merciless difficulty curve – bring me crashing down?
Only time (and a few more hours of gameplay) will tell.