The Battle Over Video Game Difficulty

Accessibility vs. Reactionary Backlash in Gaming

Difficulty options in video games have been a tricky subject since Wolfenstein 3D (1993). There, the choices ranged from “Can I play, Daddy?” to “I am Death Incarnate,” the former being marked by a picture of a man wearing a pacifier and bonnet, and the latter simply being a man grinning. Wolfenstein, Doom, and other games released around that time set an industry standard for difficulty.

Most games would include at least three options: an “easy mode,” meant for entry-level players; a “normal mode,” which the game was developed around; and a “hard mode,” meant for returning players who wanted a bigger challenge. These three difficulty options, along with many supplementary difficulties (often with colorful names, such as Devil May Cry’s (2008) “Legendary Dark Knight Mode”), set the standard for video game difficulty sliders until the mid-2010s.

Photograph courtesy of Ekkaphan Chimpalee (Getty Images).

This setup was standard until around 2015, when the “Gamergate” phenomenon threw video game difficulty discourse into disarray. Gamergate, an online harassment campaign targeted at prominent female game critics, cast anyone trying to join the hobby as an outsider to reject. As a result, to many reactionary gamers, the “difficulty slider” went from a necessity to a signifier of a game’s so-called wokeness. After all, anyone playing on “easy mode” had to be an outsider to the video game community—recall Wolfenstein’s easy difficulty.

To support this, many gamers began to coin the easiest mode of a game the “game-journalist mode.” This phrase, and the general vitriol toward video game critics, is fundamental to understanding the attitudes of reactionary gamers towards any attempt to make games more accessible.

Video game difficulty discourse sits at a precarious point: it straddles the line between genuine concerns about quality and insidious, reactionary attempts to keep gaming solely within an in-group. In order to have productive conversations about difficulty and accessibility in video games, we need to acknowledge existing reactionary tendencies and work against bad actors in the video game community.

Cambridge’s definition of "reactionary" is apt for this discussion: they describe a reactionary as “a person who is opposed to political or social change or new ideas.” A reactionary gamer views any social advancement of the status quo of gaming with malice; any attempt to widen the audience or to increase a game’s accessibility or diversity is met with opposition.

The issue is not, however, black and white. Many people a priori, reject certain political changes due to pre-held beliefs while still being reasonable about other issues. Similarly, many arguments may seem valid on the surface but, after some interrogation, turn out to be reactionary.

This working definition of "reactionary" is key. Remember, reactionary arguments do not rely on premises and conclusions; rather, they are fear and vitriol in the cadence of an argument. People with reactionary sentiments a priori reject any change to the status quo.

Let us start our examination of reactionary tendencies in gaming discourse with some historical context: Gamergate.

Gamergate was an online harassment campaign and sociocultural phenomenon that started when Zoe Quinn, a prominent female developer, was falsely accused by her ex-boyfriend of receiving a positive review due to a prior sexual relationship with a game journalist. The gamers' stated goal was to achieve ethics in game journalism. Their methods and results did anything but. The harmful, misogynist stereotype of women using their sexuality to achieve a higher status within an in-group was on full display here.

Remember, these accusations were proven false immediately—they survived off of bigotry and vitriol in gaming forums. However, the violent response to Zoe’s video games continued—at one point, someone even leaked her address.

After Zoe Quinn’s nightmare situation, Gamergaters escalated to targeting any female game journalist. Claudia Restopo's argument that “video games appeal to the male fantasy” would go viral as an internet meme. The New York Times describes how Anita Sarkeesian, another prominent female game critic, would "receive death and rape threats from opponents of her [...] work challenging the stereotypes of women in video games." These were all bundled under the label "Gamergate."

To people in the reactionary gamer community, they were uncovering a scandal that rivaled the importance of Nixon’s Watergate. They believed they had revealed a scheme led by shadowy elites infiltrating the gaming community. Reactionary gamers genuinely believed that the mainstream media were trying to infiltrate and ruin their video games. The gamers attempted to find concrete evidence that their video games were being destroyed by people trying to make them more accessible.

Reactionary gamers were under the impression that these criticisms had seeped into the design of these games and irreparably ruined them. One feature they latched onto was the concept of difficulty modes.

Take one of the hubs of reactionary opinions regarding video games: the Reddit forum, r/Asmongold. Asmongold, whose fans congregate in this forum, is a video game streamer who used to focus solely on World of Warcraft. However, as playing to reactionary sentiments in video game culture became more lucrative, his content shifted dramatically. His content now is a fusion of regular gaming content and straight political vitriol. A video published days ago is titled "Alexa Tells Users to Vote for Kamala Harris," followed the next day by "So I Tried Warhammer 40k: Space Marine."

Asmongold’s Reddit forum, which is a by-product of his content, serves as a place to blur the line between gaming content and reactionary, right-wing politics. It takes people who are genuinely concerned about the quality of a video game and insidiously implies that those concerns are the result of left-wing politics.

As an example, a user of r/Asmongold reposted a news article that showed how a PS5 game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, would allow one to turn off death. Immediately, the conversation shifts from the merits of said decision to reactionary whining. The top comment, as of 9/9/24, reads:

“Journalist mode.”

The comment replying to it reads:

“I am sure [video-game journalist] Alyssa Mercante will still find a reason to complain and tie it into real life.”

And then the following, almost incoherent comment, which is intended to mock the style of the aforementioned journalist:

“As I sit there grappling the horns of the [...] woman in a completely unnecessary and gratuitous sex scene [...] I’m reminded of how I grapple the horns of my outright self-imposed problems on Twitter. Much like my in-game partner is tired of my attempted thrusts, the denizens of Twitter are quick to jump on me for all the bull***t I spew out. PS if you criticize me in any way you’re a bigot homophobe transphobe sexist.”

Difficulty-slider discourse is an iceberg in a shallow ocean: while on the surface, one sees people trying to debate the merits of certain inclusions, it does not take long before the true nature of the debate reveals itself. In fact, a large portion of the debate seems to hinge on a sense of insecurity.

One may ask why gamers use difficulty settings as a jumping-off point for reactionary opinions. While on one hand, difficulty settings are not unique in their castigation, they do seem to resemble other video game features that have been similarly maligned: features like a diverse character roster, trigger warnings at the start of games, and more authoritative voice-chat reporting systems in multiplayer games.

What do these all have in common? They represent increased accessibility. Adding an "easy mode" widens the "in-group" of gamers. Widening the in-group is diametrically opposed to reactionary sentiment. Thus, reactionary gamers oppose accessibility a priori.

Just as reactionary politicians inundate their voter base with rhetoric about minorities entering and diluting culture, gamers frantically tell each other that "they" are coming for their games. "They" are anyone gamers want to exclude from their sphere: women, disabled people, people of color, and so on.

Journalists are often the "they" to gamers. Video game critics are often backed by large media corporations and come from all walks of life. Unlike reactionary gamers, their goal is to, as their name states, critique the current state of gaming. Their goal is to propose advancements to the status quo. Their goal is diametrically opposed to that of reactionary gamers.

Take r/KotakuInAction, another forum that breeds reactionary sentiments. Kotaku is a game journal that critiques games, typically from a leftist perspective; r/KotakuInAction was born as a place to criticize Kotaku’s articles. In one thread, gamers react to a Kotaku article trying to discuss difficulty in good faith. The article itself criticizes Wolfenstein’s easy mode being called "Can I play, Daddy?"

One user posts the article: "Kotaku - It might be time to rethink Difficulty Menus." The first comment parodies the headline, writing, "Kotaku - We hate everything about Video Games, and will Tell you why at length." Then, one commenter replies:

"Kotaku - Another way we’re coming for your video games without admitting it."

The politician is echoed here, nearly verbatim. They are coming for the things you love. This is the core of reactionary sentiment. There is no attempt to engage with the argument Kotaku proposes. Rather, it is the argument itself that creates derision. Kotaku suggests a change to the status quo—and the gamer takes offense to change.

Remember our working definition of "reactionary": someone that reacts negatively to any social or political change to the status quo. The forum members here fall under that definition—rather than attacking the content of the article, they take offense to the idea of change itself. The liberalization of video games is rejected a priori by the reactionary.

R/KotakuInAction has around 153,000 members, and Asmongold has 2.84 million subscribers. Reactionary tendencies in video game discourse may stem from a vocal minority, but it is clear that the majority of gamers are listening.

It is imperative for any gamer who wants better video games, that are appreciated by a wider, happier audience, to reject reactionary tendencies, because reactionary arguments are not arguments at all. Rather, they are emotion and vitriol in the cadence of an argument. Reactionary arguments are just nostalgia for a nonexistent era.

How do we approach this problem after acknowledging our reactionary sentiments? Should all games have dozens of difficulty sliders, each catered to a specific subset of gamers? Are games like Dark Souls (2011) and the more recent Elden Ring (2022) problematic for not having any difficulty options?

Sadly, this solution has its flaws as well. Artistic expression can be born from the difficulty of engaging with material. If a game director genuinely considers difficulty to be a non-negotiable aspect of the game—something that is required for the game to function—they do not have an obligation to alter their mode of artistic expression.

As Hidetaka Miyazaki, director of the critically acclaimed (and fiendishly difficult) Elden Ring, says, "If we wanted the whole world to play the game, we could just crank the difficulty down [...] [but] had we taken that approach, I don’t think the game would have done what it did, because the sense of achievement that players gain from overcoming these hurdles is a [...] fundamental part of the experience."

What’s more, difficulty modes are difficult to implement correctly. A classic phenomenon in game design is a game developer playing their game so much that they become its best player. They then hand their computer to a new player, and the new player is completely lost. To build video game difficulties that work well, a developer needs an almost limitless supply of brand-new players of every skill level.

But Elden Ring, and many other critically acclaimed games, have difficulty modes, albeit hidden. For example, an item called a Mimic Tear allows players to summon extremely powerful spirits to defeat their enemies faster.

Players can summon other players to help them out with difficult points. The entire Magic Class is considered substantially easier than the traditional sword user. Elden Ring has difficulty and accessibility options—they are just woven into the fabric of the game. In fact, many great games do the same.

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth (2014) provides players with "Azazel," an immensely powerful character that serves as a stepping stone to the harder mechanics in the game. Azazel, and other game options that increase player power, are examples of hidden easy modes in games. Hidden or non-diegetic easy modes provide a way to combine accessibility and artistic expression.

The reactionary response to these systems is often to decry them. People are not playing the game correctly if they use Mimic Tears. Azazel is overpowered: one is not really playing the game with him. We return to the phrase "journalist mode" here: to reactionary gamers, hidden easy modes are just tools for outsiders to pretend that they are part of the in-group. Gamers have not widened the in-group to include easy-mode players; they have narrowed it to include people who do not utilize these systems. Again, these arguments function a priori to the actual systems at play here.

This hidden-easy mode observation reveals the heart of difficulty-slider arguments: from a reactionary perspective, playing on harder difficulties is a way to signify that one is part of the gaming in-group. They have more experience playing video games. They understand the mechanics of video games better, and thus, they deserve to have their voice heard over the voices of game journalists, who only play on easy mode.

Never mind that a journalist may have a degree in game design or accreditation in art, and never mind that the gamer may not understand the game in the broader context of the games industry—the gamer deserves to be heard more. For justification, the gamer resorts to describing the journalist as part of a shadowy elite, one that must be rejected a priori.

Apply this argument to any other genre. Does someone who watches a film over and over again, memorizing every line, deserve to be heard over someone who studies films? Should their voice be taken more seriously? Are they more of a "film buff" than the person who studies films?

There is no one-size-fits-all solution to game difficulty. Sliders may suffer from either game design or sociological problems, and hidden easy modes can be unfun and over-tuned. However, before we even start having a discussion on difficulty, we must address our tendency to use them as a signifier of being inside the "in-group." Othering someone for turning on easy mode weakens player choice and skill expression. To make better, more accessible games, we must reject reactionary tendencies in difficulty-slider discourse.

If you're a game designer, these concepts may seem overwhelming. Hidden easy modes, easy modes, nightmare mode, reactionary discourse—why bother? As solace, remember that your difficulty settings will never be as baffling as Pokemon White Two’s difficulty selection, which features an easy mode that you unlock after you beat the game on normal mode.