A couple of years ago, my
friends decided to start getting
into “League of Legends.” If that
doesn’t make you throw up in
your mouth a little bit, it should.
I held out for about a month,
refusing to join them. Eventually,
the frustration of being excluded
from conversations because of
game
communications
taking
priority over everything else got
to me. I became the worst possible
thing you could ever live to see
yourself becoming: a “League”
player. On top of having no
experience with the MOBA game
genre and my friends’ lacking
attempts to explain the game to
me, the most frustrating part of
the experience was dealing with
the game’s toxic community.
Having played my fair share of
online multiplayer games, I was
no stranger to toxicity in video
games by this point in time, but
there’s a reason “League” has a
reputation for it. I had a fantastic
time getting spam-pinged and
flamed
by
random,
seething
teammates
for
every
single
decision I made that went wrong,
while the enemy team gloated
about their victory like they were
the hottest thing since sliced
bread. The one thing they could
come together to agree on by the
end of each game, however, was
that I was absolute trash — the
gum on the bottom of their shoe.
To be honest, it was a beautiful
kind of truce to see in such a
demoralizing moment. And it’s
not like they were wrong. I’m
Iron — the lowest-ranked group
in the game — so they might just
be on to something.
So, what’s up? Did I write this
article solely to rant about how
I got my feelings hurt on the
internet? That would be pretty
funny, but no. I wanted to figure
out just what it is exactly that
makes online gaming such a toxic
environment. I mean seriously,
there are plenty of clips on the
web of sweat-encrusted men
with anger issues smashing their
keyboards to dust, but when
you’re playing Uno with friends,
they’re not tearing the deck to
shreds because you hit them with
a Draw 4. It’s a combination of
game
mechanics,
competitive
environments
and
beginner-
unfriendly learning curves that
cultivate
a
specific
“gamer”
identity. In a way, frustration and
rage serve as an embarrassing
gateway to gaming.
So,
is
it
competition?
I
was never really much of the
competitive type — never got
good enough at anything to be.
Trust me, the most competition
you would find on my junior
varsity soccer bench was who
could annoy the coach the most.
But when I would watch or hear
stories from my friends in higher
levels of sports, it was entirely
different.
Audience
members
whipped up into a school-spirit
frenzy would shout insults and
taunts from the crowd, equally
as anonymous as if they were
concealed behind a username
and a screen. Seeing brief fights
erupt among opponents, pushing,
shoving and throwing sloppy
punches would always activate
the
neurons
in
my
stupid,
caveman brain. All that was
missing was someone shouting,
“Worldstar!” As adrenaline is
coursing through players’ veins
during the fast-paced, back-and-
forth games, you can feel the
testosterone emanating from the
field. Video games, in contrast,
are
less
physically
intense.
When you’re sitting in a chair,
actions are simulated with the
press of a button, yet you’re still
feeling the blood pumping after
clutching up a round — it creates
a weird emotional and physical
dissonance. Yet the intensity and
aggression are still there.
This aggression may be a
result of the lens of masculinity
in a competitive context. Men
are stereotyped to be dominant
in any position that allows it
to be possible. Climbing the
corporate ladder, participating in
romantic and sexual exploits and
playing sports are all different
environments, but they all offer
an opportunity for men to prove
their
dominance
over
other
men. Gaming also has a pretty
serious sexism problem, and
it’s a fair assumption that this
— in combination with sexual
misconduct — is the result of
the hypercompetitive masculine
ideal that has been pushed so
hard in our current society.
Anger is not exclusively a male
trait, and the rage that can come
from the cocktail of inferiority
at the game itself and the taunts
of opponents is a universal
experience. However, I believe
this response is more amplified
for men, who may be responding
to a subconscious thought that
to lose is to be emasculated.
The times I have faced my
most humiliating defeats are
times I have felt serious disdain
toward myself for being weak,
for not being a man — getting
significantly worse grades on
high school assessments and
letting in 20 goals in my first and
last chance to be a goalie, to name
a few. Defeat is no longer simply
an outcome, no longer a learning
experience, but rather a source of
shame as a man.
Once players in both the
digital and physical worlds start
developing an audience, conduct
quickly shifts. Most conflicts
between professionals can be
chalked up to banter, and the
expectations of sportsmanship
are more strict. Of course, how
sportsmanship is defined varies
widely with which sport you’re
talking about, but the respect is
universal. In both professional
sports and esports, if there is
a wide gap in skill between
competitors, then the expression
of dominance doesn’t extend past
the play of the game itself. I think
we can all agree that it’s generally
frowned upon for a pro to mock
their opponent about the results
of their match, especially if it’s
directly afterward.
Games can be frustrating and
contain
competitive
aspects
but still have a relatively tame
or even welcoming community.
Dark Souls, a franchise well
known for its refusal to coddle
newcomers, is a good example of
this. The Souls series is mainly a
single-player experience but has
multiplayer PvP options. The PvP
portion of the game, while mostly
an additive part of the experience,
has a thriving community behind
it, especially since it adds a new
dimension to the game. Players
with different builds, combat
toolkits and strategies at their
disposal will provide a more
nuanced fight than a boss who
is designed to be beaten. There
is a huge emphasis on respecting
your opponents in Dark Souls PvP
and ensuring that everyone has
a fun and fair experience, with
various unspoken rules to follow
so you don’t end up completely
outclassing your opponent or
frustrating them with strategies
that
would
be
considered
dishonorable. This Reddit post
provides a comprehensive guide
to the etiquette behind Dark
Souls PvP that has been agreed
upon by a large portion of the
game’s dedicated player base.
I believe there are two things
that have made this game free
of toxicity: the first is that the
game’s genre and competitive
nature both promote slower-
paced combat and attract a more
serious, dedicated crowd. The
second is that you can’t verbally
communicate with other players;
the most you can do is perform
a gesture from the game’s fairly
limited selection. All of the
verbal communication is saved
for after the fact, in forums and
discussions in person, when all of
the competitive tension has long
since dissipated.
Compare that to a game like
“Clash Royale,” which is also
a game involving one-on-one
competition and no options for
direct
verbal
communication
within
the
match.
However,
“Clash Royale” is a real-time
strategy game that is much more
fast-paced and much more casual
due to it being a mobile game.
There is much less expected
etiquette between players —
it’s
pretty
much
guaranteed
that when you lose, you’ll hear
that iconic laughing emote: the
boisterous and arrogant “hee hee
hee ha!” that lives in my head
rent-free. While it’s impossible
not to laugh at the goofy nature
of
these
interactions,
it’s
a
decent
counterexample
that
lack of communication does not
stop toxicity. A famous example
of mocking your opponent —
teabagging — is simple: repeated
crouching up and down, no
words required. The gesture was
popularized through the Halo
games, and its influence is seen
in every game with a crouching
mechanic.
Maybe — due to the nature of
interactions through a screen
— we are doomed to destructive
clashes of online personas where
egos are inflated and our pride is
that much more fragile. Screens
don’t fight back, after all. A screen
won’t puff out its chest and take
a swing at you for jabbing at its
insecurities. When a screen hits
you with derision that leaves
you reeling, you can take your
time to methodically craft your
response, no quick wit required.
You can even ask other people to
do it for you, like Sneako did. It’s
no secret that the anonymity of
the internet brings out the worst
in us. Hate accounts very rarely
broadcast their names when they
want to slam the object of their
disdain. 4chan, an online forum
that has created a culture of
referring to users as “anon,” has
some of the vilest, hateful content
you’ll find on the internet, simply
for the joy of being contrarian and
baiting reactions out of others.
Even
something
seemingly
harmless, like a password, can
be an example of people online
indulging in their ugliest bits
in the shadows. The Wikipedia
page for the 10,000 most common
passwords is sprinkled with edgy
words and phrases — anything
from “fuckme” and “bigdick” to
literal slurs. It’s a disappointing
window into who people are
when they think nobody is
watching. It’s hard to imagine
not feeling shame at having to
remind yourself of your shallow
immaturity every time you type
in a slur as a password.
When I was in my pre-teen
years and would make usernames
my
11-year-old
self
thought
were absolutely hilarious, like
“justaname666” for my Snapchat,
I thought I was setting myself
apart from the rest. “The devil’s
number attached to such a casual
name will really make those
uppity
god-fearing
oldheads
clutch their pearls!” he thought
to himself. I thought I was
contributing to some identity
for myself when my real self was
too early to be developed into
anything worth considering. But
pre-teen me started to fade as I
grew into who I am today, and it
was apparent that these attempts
to be edgy were easy to see as
desperate. It did me no favors,
and the moment I learned I could
change it, I did it in a heartbeat.
The part that disappoints me
the most about the passwords,
though, is that you don’t think
about your password when you
type it in. It becomes mind-
numbing repetition — a set
of
movements,
mechanical
and
automatic,
that
are
as
unconscious as breathing and
blinking. The shame I felt from
having to tell a new Snapchat
contact my username is no
longer present, that feeling of
humiliation pounded into my
head over and over again is lost
when a password is reduced to
a pattern of button presses. I
think toxicity in video games
and digital interactions as a
whole reflects this behavior.
Completely dropping any facades
of politeness and immediately
going for each other’s throats
has been repeated so many times
that it’s like emotional muscle
memory. In many online spaces,
hostility has become the path of
least resistance, and it takes effort
to be patient and respectful.
Then again, I could just be
overly sensitive. I’m not the
type of person who has thick
skin. Maybe I just need to touch
some grass; rude behavior is
hardly exclusive to the digital
world. Plus, who even writes
an article to analyze how they
got their feelings hurt on the
internet? I’m hardly providing
an objective view here, but when
speaking on such an emotionally
charged
topic,
it’s
difficult
to stay completely objective,
especially when it’s a topic I’m
so familiar with. People’s digital
personas are irrationally hostile
sometimes, and that’s not up for
debate. Whatever the case may
be, if we do end up encountering
each other through the screen, I
hope you try to choose to be kind.
I’ll try too.
To quote Benjamin Franklin,
“nothing
is
certain
in
life
except death and taxes.” After
this endeavor, I’d suggest an
addition to that phrase. I think
that nothing is certain in life
except death, taxes and “Little
Women” adaptations. For as
long as film has been a viable
storytelling
medium,
people
have felt the need to make these
movies. I can’t imagine that
changing in the near future. So
what might we want from future
adaptations? Where does the
story go from here?
The beauty of adaptation is
that there’s no way to know
what form the story will take
in the future. I’m excited to be
surprised. But I’d be especially
thrilled if a film adaptation
managed to get Beth’s character
right.
She’s
consistently
overlooked in “Little Women”
films. It makes sense — why
waste precious screen time on
the shy sister who’s going to
die anyway? But for her death
to feel as devastating as it is for
the March family, her life needs
to be fleshed out. In the books,
whole chapters are dedicated
to her obsession with the piano
and her carefully cared-for doll
collection. I’d love for a film to
allow her to be a fully realized
human. Meg is also often left in
the margins of film adaptations.
It would be lovely to see her
given more care on screen.
Laurie
is
also
often
misrepresented.
He’s
an
American who was born in Italy
to an Italian mother, which
was fairly unheard of at the
time, especially in higher-class
society. It would be interesting
to see his identity as an outsider
factor more significantly into
his character.
I’d also love an adaptation
to acknowledge that “Little
Women” is a novel about war. The
American Civil War alters the
Marchs’ daily lives significantly.
It would be interesting to see a
“Little Women” that could be
legitimately classified as a war
movie.
So What?
I was hoping to come out of
this endeavor with a satisfying,
digestible takeaway.
I
wanted
to
figure
out
what made “Little Women”
so enduring, and I assumed
there would be some sort of
straightforward answer. Maybe
we still care about the story
because Jo is such a compelling
character or because the novel
focuses on sister relationships
in a way not many stories
do. There are a lot of simple
explanations for the relevance
of “Little Women.”
My personal takeaway was
a lot more complicated and
melodramatic. I am convinced
that “Little Women” remains
compelling simply because we
are humans, and it is a story
about humans.
Alcott’s novel was immensely
popular when it was released in
1868 because it was relatable.
It’s
a
story
about
family,
grief, love and growing up.
These are things every human
experiences. By extension, these
are themes that most people
want to see in the stories they
consume.
The movie adaptations of
“Little Women” have all been
lucky enough to be of at least
decent
quality.
This
means
that they all conveyed the core
universal themes that made the
story initially compelling and
popular.
When people sat down to
watch the latest adaptation in
2019, they were watching a well-
made story about grief, growing
up and sisters. Everyone liked
it because we’re still human
— just like Alcott was in 1868,
and readers were in 1901, and
moviegoers were in 1933.
Any story that was compelling
to humans at one point in
history can still be compelling
today. It just needs to be told in
the correct way. Every “Little
Women” film has been told in
a manner that is compelling
to its contemporary audience,
resulting
in
almost
two
centuries of humans who care
immensely about the March
sisters.
The “Little Women” story
has reminded me that time
is irrelevant to our innate
humanness.
I
wouldn’t
necessarily suggest watching
every single film adaptation,
but it might be worth your time
to choose at least one. “Little
Women” serves as a brilliant
reminder that humans have
always had minds, dreams and
hopes — all of which we can still
connect with today.
Design by Haylee Bohm
6 — Wednesday, April 19, 2023
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
JAMES JOHNSTON
Daily Arts Writer
Screens don’t fight back
The ‘Little Women’ Project: ‘Little Women’ of the future (part 5)
LOLA D’ONOFRIO
Daily Arts Writer
Courtesy of Lola D’Onofrio