When you walk into my old bedroom, the first thing you will see is the side of a white dresser with black knobs and a black top. If you walk around to the front, you will quickly notice that the wood on the front is dented in several places and the paint is heavily chipped, revealing the wood underneath. How did this happen? Would it help if I mentioned my television and all my gaming systems that used to sit on top?

The front of that dresser bears the scars of years of video game frustration. It has played host to three systems’ worth of curse words, elevated blood pressure, and the occasional almost-kicking of a small animal. A veteran of aggression, it has witnessed the infuriating A.I. of Tecmo Super Bowl, the laughable difficulty of Battletoads, those stupid floating barrels in Donkey Kong Country, and the immeasurable real-life threat to friendships posed by Goldeneye and NFL Blitz. More controllers have hit the front of that dresser than all of the Wiimotes without wrist straps in the world. And that’s a fact.

From that orange dog laughing manically at my unfortunate aim in 1988 to the perils I am currently experiencing from Mass Effect 2 on the "Insanity" difficulty setting, my experiences with my favorite form of entertainment have not always been 1UP mushrooms and wicked sniper rifles. But no matter how angry I get, I always come back for more. Very rarely will I get so frustrated with a game that I will say, “Nope. That’s it.” (Usually followed by more curse words and direct threats to the game’s fictional characters and/or real developers, but you get the idea). So what keeps me going in certain circumstances? What makes me overlook the veins bulging in my neck and forehead?

Even when we think we can’t take another second of frustration, why do we continue to play?

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The Completionist

My wife is a textbook example of a completionist (completist?). Sometime last year, I came home to find her playing Super Mario Galaxy. She usually greets me when I have been gone for a bit, but I didn’t even get an acknowledgment. Far too busy clenching her teeth and making grunting noises, she was completely engrossed in the level she was playing. Upon death, she yelled in a way I am all too familiar with, and I learned she had been playing this level over and over again for a little over an hour.

I have rarely seen her this frustrated when it didn’t directly involve me, and she threw the Wiimote down on the couch. “I just can’t beat it!” she said. So I asked her why she didn’t just go on to another level. “Because,” she answered, “I need this star.” And, to this day, the fact that she hasn’t gotten every star in Super Mario Galaxy continues to haunt her. In random conversation, she will say, “I need to play that one game. That Mario game. I want all of those stars.”

For the completionist, a game just isn’t finished until you have experienced or acquired everything it offers–every star, every achievement, every character, every quest, every kill. They will take everything a game throws at them in stride and really put up with some of the most asinine situations imaginable. There are gamers who have visited every inch of World of Warcraft just to get the Grand Explorer achievement. Hardcore FPS fans will willingly subject themselves to the virtual equivalent of repeatedly running naked into a brick wall covered in lemon juice and tiny nails just to say they have completed a game on (what I imagine developers call) the Let’s See If Anyone Will Actually Jump Out of a Window IRL difficulty level.

Why? I imagine these are the same types of people who have a bucket list of all the things they want to do in life. For them, it’s about a sense of accomplishment, as well as a feeling of control. They want to be able to say, “That? Yeah, I’ve done that.” But they also do it on their terms. The control over whatever it is that frustrates them is essential, and they will continue on and on forever until they have proven themselves above whatever goal they have set, whether it’s visiting every continent in the world, learning a foreign language, or finding all the Riddler trophies in Batman: Arkham Asylum.

Continue to Part 2: Exploration of Narrative and Characters

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Exploration of Narrative and Characters

This is the category that most closely defines me. In my opinion, there is nothing more important in a game than a good story and interesting characters. There are a few notable exceptions, of course, as I like to kill people and blow stuff up as much as the next person, but you will never see those kinds of games on my all-time favorites list. A prime example of this concept for me is my experience with StarCraft. I am abysmal at StarCraft and pretty much every RTS. It’s just not a genre that coordinates well with my brain. Not only am I terrible at making decisions, but I also don’t like to make them quickly. On top of that, I am not particularly strategic in my thinking, so one can see how RTS games don’t really fit my gamer profile.

But I played StarCraft to its completion, though I was frustrated and not really having a good time through about 90% of it. No matter how upset I got while trying to maneuver battle strategy like an infant with a bunch of Army Men toys, I needed to know what happened to Raynor, Kerrigan, and Zeratul. Blizzard did a good enough job at populating StarCraft with an engaging story and interesting characters whom I became invested in that I was willing to mine as many minerals and vespene gas as it took to find out how everything wrapped up.

The narrative gamer is interested in story and character, almost to a fault. If a game company can weave an expert story with believable characters, as well as create a sense of empathy (sympathy is also important, but eliciting empathy is far more effective) then you will invariably hook the narrative gamer. They will usually ignore things like weak gameplay, multiplayer components, or challenging difficulty levels in favor of rich dialogue, deep character growth, and a well-crafted story.

Why? These are people, myself included, who read oodles of books, watch television shows like Mad Men and Deadwood, and enjoy Wes Anderson and the Coen brothers. For them, no matter how fun throwing that grenade is, they want to understand why it needs to be thrown. Are we fighting an oppressive regime who commits secret atrocities in the attempt to eliminate political opponents? What do the aliens want from us and how can I most effectively stop the destruction of the world? Who am I and what do I want from this call to adventure? These questions, and many others depending on the game, play on the mind of the narrative gamer. They see video games as the future of interactive story-telling and, likewise, demand developers stand up and deliver the quality of writing that goes into the best books, television shows, and movies.

Continue to Part 3: Overcoming Challenge & Social Responsibility

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Overcoming Challenge

I am a huge fan of first-person shooters, and the original Unreal Tournament is one of my favorites. I was originally introduced to it by a friend in high school who was so obsessed with the game that he tweaked every bot personally, even as far as making them recognizable in their abilities. If you saw a certain name, you knew the level of bloodshed you were about to get into, and may God have mercy on your soul if you met his version of Dessloch. So it was especially interesting to watch him play. His love/hate relationship with this game and these characters was so pronounced it could literally go from a triumphant cheer and an emphatic “What’s up now?!?!” to a fit of rage that would make Mike Tyson flinch.

I walked in his room once to be forcefully pushed aside as he sprinted to the wall and slammed his mouse into it. He had a few choice words for the game followed by a declaration to never play it again, before he was back at his desk ten minutes later. I know for a fact that he had fun playing Unreal Tournament but it frustrated him to no end. It wasn’t about story for him; it was about being the best. He wanted the game to be as challenging as possible, because he enjoyed overcoming that challenge.

These are the people who thrive on challenge. They like difficulty above all else and the feeling of accomplishment that comes with besting it. They may sound like completionists, and though related, they are inherently different. A completionist gets satisfaction from achieving all goals in a game, no matter how mundane or easy. Someone who relishes in a game’s challenge feels satisfaction from overcoming the challenge, despite the end goal. It’s not about the reward, but the challenge itself. The more frustrating the challenge, the more they want to overcome it, and, ultimately, the better the high is when they are standing over their crumpled objective or competition–victorious.

Why? You know those people in front of you at the grocery store buying Sudoku books? That’s these folks. They love puzzles, running marathons, and playing competitive sports. (That’s right; this is the area where most multiplayer games fall.) For them, overcoming a challenge is all about being the best. Maybe not always the best in the broad sense of the word, but at the very least the best between the person and the challenge. They can’t stand defeat and will not accept it, especially in the face of frustration.

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Social Responsibility

The hot game to talk about in gamer social circles right now is Mass Effect 2. What class did you play? Male or female? Paragon? Renegade? Who did you romance? What choice did you make here? Wasn’t this plot point awesome? How about this character? It’s an absolute barrage of questions whenever the game comes up. But what if you haven’t played it yet? Or *gasp* you didn’t like it for whatever reason and never finished? It may sound silly, but that could very well be the cause of a few very awkward moments with your gaming friends as you scramble to defend your position or maybe even give them just enough to infer you played it without going into details.

Let’s be honest for a second. We’ve all lied about playing a video game at least once. For years, my main offense was Chrono Trigger. Being a huge fan of RPGs and games with a strong story, I almost felt ashamed when the topic of Chrono Trigger would come up in gaming conversation. Any discussion about Final Fantasy (a series I am a fan of, as well as one I assume many are guilty of lying about) would always spin off into Chrono Trigger in some way, and I would rush to change the topic while implicitly giving the impression I had played it. Inevitably, there are some who say, “Why lie?” It’s easy–because we want to fit in as well as create a position of authority and credibility. It’s the same reason people lie about having read War and Peace or watching Citizen Kane.

For some, handling frustration is all about the perception of their social responsibility as a gamer. Just like the expectations placed on people who claim to be film lovers or fans of classic literature, there are certain pillars of gaming culture that have been embraced as a sort of litmus test, joining the realm of necessity for the serious gamer. We think: “How can someone call themselves a gamer having never played any title from The Legend of Zelda series?” or “Who doesn’t know who Will Wright, Warren Spector, Shigeru Miyamoto, or Tim Schafer is?” And we laugh or shrug them off as those dreaded casual gamers when they look at us confused. It’s no wonder people lie about having finished Metal Gear Solid 4.

Why? Some mistakenly consider this issue the same as someone trying to become a football referee without knowing the rules of football. In actuality, it’s more like someone watching a football game and not knowing the rules. Where a referee holds controlling power over the system and needs to understand its foundations to keep it from breaking down, casual observers are perfectly capable of enjoying the experience without knowing the rules. Of course, knowing the rules could enhance the experience in some ways (or even hinder it in others), but it is not required. Enjoying a video game works the same way, and it’s a shame some people feel like they are on the outside of an exclusive club. And a lot of people will do whatever they can to be accepted, even if it means playing a game that doesn’t interest them just to be able to join the conversation.

Continue to Part 4: Price of Game

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Price of Game

I don’t think this one needs much explanation, but I wanted to include it at the end because I consider it a very valid reason as to why we sometimes play a game despite how little enjoyment we may be getting out of the experience. New PC games cost fifty dollars and new console games cost sixty. How many of us have shelled out big bucks only to realize after two hours that the game we just bought is pretty terrible? I have a friend who was ecstatic when he finished Oblivion, not because the game was awesome but because that meant he never had to play it again. When pressed about why he kept at it, he said it was because he didn’t want to feel like he “wasted sixty bucks.”

There is also a subset of this idea that involves MMORPGs. Where a gamer may buy a game and keep playing it because of the initial investment, MMO players sometimes feel the obligation to keep logging in because of the monthly fee. Why not just cancel? Well, the “price” of a game doesn’t just include money. It can include time, social, and material investments. I played World of Warcraft for years, and even kept on playing once things ceased to be fun. Sure, I could have canceled, but what about all the time I’d spent decking out my level 80 Gnome Mage and making him the logical choice to lead the conquest to take back Gnomeregan?

Why? Because money is valuable, time is precious, and we all want a return on our investments.

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Obviously, I suspect most gamers have continued to play a frustrating game for all of these reasons at one time or another. Personally, I tend to lean on a game’s story when times get tough, but I have used each of these to rationalize playing a game that I would like nothing more than to take its disc out of my PC or console and run over it with my car.

In the end, I would like to think it’s all about fun. That always seems to be the ruler we judge games with, where “fun factor” is some sort of intangible measurement that is perceived through the combination of a game’s content and the preconceptions brought in by the player. But even when a game ceases to be fun, or really was never fun to begin with, people still play them. So the perception of having “fun” while playing a game is important, but what really defines a player’s tendency to finish and enjoy a game is how they embrace its inherent frustration. Different people respond differently, and, based on the method chosen and the reasoning behind it, the importance of overcoming that frustration impacts their final opinion of the game.

Besides, those monsters aren’t going to just kill themselves.