This week, we explored the online “Passage” game and, at first, I had no clue what was happening. The shapes on screen felt more like strange blobs than avatars, and the overall abstract, fleeting visuals were difficult to make out. Eventually, though, the image pieced together—once the symbols clicked and I realized these were supposed to be characters, I had room to think about the game’s deeper meanings and mechanisms.
I don’t feel like I “failed” at playing the game before, but it was eye-opening to see how a simple tweak, like switching the main avatar from male to female, could carry such weight. It felt like a metaphor for shifting power—a woman stepping forward in a traditionally male-coded role. This reminded me of the kind of metaphorical moments I want to create in my own hack. As I am exploring adversarial design, I aim to create a game that’s simple to play but addresses complex issues. I’ve brainstormed some initial concepts—like plastic surgery dolls and an immigration-themed Chutes & Ladders—but I’m still working through the execution details. Researching more examples of subversive games has helped point me in the right direction, and I expect to gain even more clarity as I dive deeper into the project.
In developing my Makey Makey hack, I sought to explore how play is integrated into our daily cultural practices, with a particular focus on the realms of self-help and wellness. This project emerged from my personal experience: while I have never naturally gravitated toward “games” or “tricks” as a means to improve my mood or mental state—preferring instead the reflective nature of journaling or deep conversation—I recognize the immense market and cultural appeal these self-help games hold. My experiences with such tools have been paradoxical; while they often facilitate introspection and self-awareness, they can also serve as a stark mirror reflecting past struggles. For example, features like Apple’s mental health section in the Health app invite users to track their emotions daily. Initially, this can be a beneficial act of self-reflection, yet over prolonged periods marked by stress or burnout, it can feel like a competition—a performance where one “wins” only when already happy, and “loses” when the chart indicates otherwise.
Inspired by the readings of Huizinga and Caillois, I decided to ground my project in a deliberate contradiction: using a seemingly light-hearted and non-serious medium to address the gravely serious topic of mental health. Huizinga’s discussion of the fluid boundary between play and seriousness (as noted on page 103) provided a theoretical framework that resonated deeply with my intent. I found it fitting to adopt a non-serious visual and scoring system—a deliberate aesthetic that disguises the heavy undercurrents of self-assessment and mental wellbeing. In this way, my hack becomes a playful yet pointed commentary on the inherent contradictions of self-help culture.
Inspired by the readings of Huizinga and Caillois, I decided to ground my project in a deliberate contradiction: using a seemingly light-hearted and non-serious medium to address the gravely serious topic of mental health. Huizinga’s discussion of the fluid boundary between play and seriousness (Huizinga 103) provided a theoretical framework that resonated deeply with my intent. I found it fitting to adopt a non-serious visual and scoring system—a deliberate aesthetic that disguises the heavy undercurrents of self-assessment and mental wellbeing. In this way, my hack becomes a playful yet pointed commentary on the inherent contradictions of self-help culture.
Caillois’s ideas further influenced my work, particularly his notion that play occupies a “pure space” separate from the production of material goods and that it is fundamentally unproductive (Caillois 125-128). Many self-help games, by contrast, are designed with the explicit goal of producing something tangible—namely, an improved state of wellbeing. This dichotomy troubled me. I observed that such tools, while marketed as mechanisms for self-improvement, can inadvertently lead to feelings of failure when one’s emotional state does not meet the “winning” criteria. To embody this tension, my hack simultaneously claims to offer help and yet reveals itself as an impersonal and potentially damaging device.
In designing the project, I played with various dimensions of play as categorized by Caillois—most notably, agon and mimicry. The element of agon is evident in the way my hack can be misinterpreted as fostering toxic competition among users, pitting friends against each other in a contest of who is the “happiest.” Conversely, the aspect of mimicry is reflected in how the digital component of the game seeks to externalize inner thoughts and feelings, transforming them into tangible objects or representations for each day. Additionally, the element of alea, or chance, underpins the game’s recognition that life is inherently unpredictable—acknowledging that no one is to blame for having an off day.
The physical manifestation of my project—a board with a minimalistic interface—was crafted with intentional simplicity. Initially, I toyed with the idea of a vibrant, colorful design. However, I eventually opted for a more restrained, colorless representation. This decision was deliberate: by stripping away the distractions of color and ornamentation, each symbol on the board is allowed to speak for itself. The act of interacting with the board—reaching up when feeling high and reaching down when feeling low—embodies the raw, unadorned actions that underpin our emotional experiences.
The accompanying digital game maintains this minimalist aesthetic. Its rudimentary look and flat scoring system, complete with emotionless summary messages, serve as a stark commentary on the coldness of “winning” and “losing” cultures, particularly in the context of mental health. The game’s design underscores the often impersonal nature of self-help tools, highlighting how an overemphasis on productivity and measurable outcomes can detract from the genuine, messy process of emotional well-being.
Ultimately, my project is a meditation on the interplay between play and mental health. By subverting the conventional expectations of self-help games, I aim to provoke a critical reflection on how we conceptualize and pursue happiness. Through this playful yet critical lens, the hack challenges us to reconsider the cost of equating emotional wellbeing with a game—a game that might promise self-improvement but, in its very structure, risks reinforcing harmful narratives about success and failure in our personal lives.
LF
Works Cited
Caillois, Roger, and Norbert Elias. “The Classification of Games.” Sport: Readings from a Sociological Perspective, edited by Eric Dunning, University of Toronto Press, 1971, pp. 17–39. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.3138/j.ctt1gxxrtw.9. Accessed 4 Feb. 2025.
Huizinga, Johan. Homo Ludens: A Study of Play-Element in Culture. Routledge, 2002.
“Log Your Moods and Emotions and Take Mental Health Assessments.” Apple Support, support.apple.com/en-us/105000. Accessed 4 Feb. 2025.
Initially, I wanted to create a quiz game similar to Kahoot, but reconfiguring the arrow keys as selection buttons proved too challenging for the time given. After reading Sicart and Benjamin, I explored creating a subversive game incorporating competitive aspects of modern play. I realized that for this project’s scope, my game didn’t need to be conventionally “fun” to effectively reflect the toxic aspects in different cultures of play.
Regarding physical challenges, I struggled to create something that was simultaneously cute, functional, and conductive. I had hoped to seamlessly integrate conductive materials into the clay components, but this proved impossible. After experimenting with several controller designs, I ultimately settled on aluminum foil as a reliable solution.
Creating the clay components was enjoyable, though not without its challenges. Working in a cramped apartment without proper tools meant the pieces didn’t turn out exactly as envisioned. Still, the creative process reminded me of childhood crafting sessions and reinforced how vital “play” is for mental well-being.
This week, I have realized that I do not fully understand what hacking, remixing, or designing truly mean in the context of our class. These concepts seem straightforward at first glance, but I struggle to define their boundaries upon further thought. Similarly, I had not anticipated how challenging it would be to define play and fun. Initially, it felt almost counterintuitive to discuss play so seriously.
The most fun failure I experienced this week was during our Makey Makey demonstration. I was not expecting to be the last participant, and honestly, I was disappointed in Tetris performance. I promise I know how to play Tetris, and I would like to think I am pretty decent at it. However, my skills clearly did not translate well when the keys were replaced by humans. Even though I understood which person was assigned to each button, it felt completely unnatural. Typically, I play Tetris in a very controlled way within my keyboard’s reach and personal space, but in this situation, I randomly tapped my “human controls” just to get a sense of how it worked.
I believe I would have performed better with a second attempt, but not by much. This experience has sparked ideas about what I want to do with my own Makey Makey project. I want to create something that challenges people physically and makes them more aware of how technology can be embodied differently. It is fascinating to consider how our interactions and enjoyment with technology can shift when our bodies become part of the interface. Understanding play, fun, and technology in new ways—even through failure—is all part of the process.
