A Short Essay About Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Can you believe it's been six years?  

The world was at the beginning of what we all thought was the end (in some ways, it has been, but I think that if we admit defeat so early, we lose sight of what we’re even persisting for), and where did we find comfort in our solitude? Community, of course! Animal Crossing: New Horizons released at the perfect time, in an almost ominous and clairvoyant way. Anybody who owned a Nintendo Switch had a $60 escape route, an island getaway package that required just a few days of your time to really dig into.

Most people loved it, extremely fond of the new terraforming abilities that allowed players complete control over how their island looked. Where New Leaf and other earlier entries saw the player laying the groundwork and donating money to projects for changes to the town they lived in, New Horizons arms the player with a smartphone and a shovel that can dig up and create land as they please.  There are even little quests attached to the phone, offering you a secondary currency from the tried-and-true Bells that are the standard currency across the series, unlocking alternative items and purchasing methods. The series has continued to go in a direction that puts more control into the hands of the player, going from a citizen of a town, to becoming mayor with the ability to put city ordinances into place, and now an island ambassador with the ability to manipulate the environment freely with little consequence. 

For what it’s worth, New Horizons maintains its vacation ideals. For the early portions of the game, the island maintenance that's allowed is minimal and tedious, not even fully able to explore the other chunks of your randomized bit of land until the second real-world day. Blathers and his museum don’t show up unless you catch and donate enough fish and bugs, and when he does arrive, he needs 15 more donations before he can be unavailable again to begin another real-world day of construction. Despite these questing benchmarks, you’re free to go at your own pace and progress as you wish because there’s no real urgency unless you really want that museum. The game tells you that working during your vacation is asinine, but also that the work you're doing here is the really fun part.

Perhaps I’m merely shouting the same sentiment of other veterans of the franchise, but New Horizons doesn’t do more than put a smile on my face. It feels sterile, even after all the bells and whistles that have popped up with the updates that are meant to reinvigorate players. This year's new 3.0 update offers a lot of brand-new content: most notably, new Slumber Islands that you can customize with your friends, a hotel with rooms the player can design, and an increased player count for multiplayer island visits. New Horizons continues to bolster its customization and decorating features. That was the point of the game after all.  

I'd be lying if I said this was my first trip back to the island since 2020. I played the game every day of March when it came out but eventually lost interest. I'd hop back in to say happy birthday to my favorite villager, see the seasonal events, but that was really it. Last year I started drafting an essay where I would play New Horizons and New Leaf concurrently for a month. While that endeavor only lasted 10-ish days or so, it put into perspective how I digested both games in such contrasting ways. For the uninitiated, New Leaf is the predecessor to New Horizons, releasing on the Nintendo 3DS in November of 2012. It's the one where you're the mayor, and in that game, you're let loose to engage with the general gameplay loop of fishing, catching bugs, and decorating your home much quicker than in New Horizons. There's no preamble that introduces you to the island and why you're there – you aren't even really supposed to be mayor. The role is thrust upon you unknowingly, and without a way to refuse the title, you get to work.

Looking back, I experienced New Horizons with an array of diverse voices on its release. Villagers were colorful toys that my friends and I would talk about, sharing excitement over finally getting Kid Cat to move to my island because someone had an Amiibo card of him and pulled some strings to help me get him there. I never engaged with the terraforming aspects of the game in a hearty way – I put my house atop a hill at the very edge of the island, leaving enough room in the back for an isolated spot to gaze out onto the ocean. My house in-game was made to replicate my room, or at least a close enough approximation of it. Before I’d start writing in the real world, I’d plop my character down at his desk in front of a computer, swaying back and forth in his seat while the tiny radio played in the background, my real ears perking up whenever K.K. Chorale played.  

Even now, days after getting reacquainted with the game, I find myself in the same position. I put my character in bed now as the TV in his house plays strange caricatures of TV programs – I don't have a desk to sit at at the moment. As I write this, I feel a strange lamentation wash over me when I think about New Horizons, but not when I play it. Things are fun on the island, but it all feels sort of hollow. When Hamlet says the same quote to me two days in a row, and I feel like something isn't right. When I run out of things to do, I don't know what to do next. I don't feel like paying off the debt I owe Tom Nook, but I do want to walk around in the museum. And then time passes, and I get the urge to check out anything else in my Nintendo Switch library. I've gotten really good at Knockout Tour in Mario Kart World.

I can't knock the appeal of New Horizons, and I don't mean to bitch and moan and spout the same "the old ones are better!" opinion that gets echoed online constantly. I simply think I don't quite enjoy the dollhouse approach that New Horizons thrives on. I like when I only have so much control, when I exist as a citizen, and if any godliness is allotted into my being, it's one that is earned through trial and tribulation, not debt and a shovel. I don't feel connected to this game the same way I did years ago, and even then, the connection was short lived. Maybe I'll come back in another year, reflecting on how it's been seven years by then and get inspired to run another fake experiment where I play multiple Animal Crossings side by side. Maybe I'll revisit New Leaf this summer before I travel for work, 3DS in tow. Maybe I'll finally find my own amiibo card of Kid Cat only for it to sit around after using it just once, celebrating his birthday in August, and leaving it alone afterwards.

Maybe I should try Harvest Moon.