The mid-to-late 2000s were a special time for gaming. If you weren’t there, this may seem quaint. If you were there, this may seem delusional. But, for me, as someone who was still new in the gaming industry and who was experiencing all the thrill and joy of newly engaging with an old love, I look back at that time with heaps of fondness.
We were in the middle of what I consider to be the last great console generation. The Xbox 360 and PS3 had both hit their stride. Online gaming had been seamlessly integrated into consoles. The Nintendo DS was rocking the handheld space. The Nintendo Wii redefined interactivity in the home. Titans like EA were moving outside their comfort zone with a slew of new IP. Rock Band brought everyone in the house together for nightly jam sessions. Altaïr donned the assassin’s cowl for the first time. Modern Warfare blew everyone’s minds and set a high standard for first-person shooters. It was a golden time. And while the years since have provided us with countless incredible gaming experiences, there was just something magic about those days.
Gaming seemed aspirant. On the cusp and boundless. New problems needed new solutions. New ideas were popping up daily. Game development was hard—and I, personally, had a particularly rocky time from 2007-2012—but it still felt scrappy, even with a team of hundreds.
And among all this, even the concept of what a developer is was being challenged by a young British woman named Zoë Mode. Zoë loved to hang out in MySpace (as was the fashion at the time), play SingStar, have fun with friends. She was lighthearted, joyful, and didn’t take life too seriously. She was youthful and ambitious. Naturally magnetic, she had a charm and a wit that drew you in.
She was also 90 people sharing an office space in Brighton, England.
Originally a division of Kuju Games called Kuju Brighton, Zoë Mode shifted from a blandly named offshoot to a developer with identity. Going to the website back in 2007, Zoë was front and center. It was about her. Who she was. What she liked. The intent was for the studio to develop games for people who overlapped Zoë in interests and personality. Did you relate to Zoë? Then you might like the games she likes. The ones she makes.
While numerous studios throughout time have had names that spoke to their origins and expertise, the concept of “Zoë Mode” spoke to their audience.
It was a brilliant idea.
Zoë went on to create numerous dance games, exercise games, singing games, and party games. She also released one of my favorite vibe and chill puzzle games of all time, Chime, and the underappreciated Kinect title, Haunt. She did good work that aligned with her aspirations. She had a vision and she went toward it. I’m sure there’s tons of tea from behind the studio’s curtains but, to this outside observer, Zoë made, for the most part, the games she wanted to play.
Sadly, like so so so many studios from that time, Zoë Mode left the gaming space. Where she is now, no one knows. I like to think she’s living a carefree life somewhere. Probably near the ocean. Coast of England maybe. Or Ibiza. Maybe she moved to the States, poor girl, and is living in Santa Monica, making daily trips down to the pier. She still busts out her DS now and then, tapping that screen while swaying on her hammock. Friends look forward to her annual Karaoke parties. Close friends attend her morning Zumba workouts.
What I miss isn’t Zoë Mode directly. What I miss is her spirit. I miss the environment that allowed her to happen. I miss playfulness in big games. I miss studios messing around with new, sometimes flawed technology. I miss transparency—authentic or not—between studios and gamers. I miss the feeling I had then.
I look around today and I see a lot of product in the AAA space. From a business perspective, the problems are solved and the only task now is finding the new niches. Big swings are punished. More than ever, projects are boom and bust. Developers are scared. Talented people are fleeing the industry. What I miss is the sense of hope I had then. Look, even Zoë stamped out a lot of product with numerous iterations on song and dance titles but you can still feel a person behind all that formula and licensing.
It might be the old man in me. The one who’s seen a lot. The one who struggles with feeling fulfilled. The one who wishes he’d made better use of his own time. But it’s also the young kid in me. The one who wants to play. Who wants new ideas and new experiences. Who plays games to glimpse other people’s dreams. Who wants to hang out, have fun, and get away for a while.
I don’t know where you went, Zoë Mode. But I hope you’re happy there. I hope, one day, you or maybe someone a lot like you shows up again. To tell everyone it’s okay to be people. It’s okay to want more. It’s okay to work toward your own dreams. That you’re enough. That what you like has value and that you can and should make stuff even if it’s just for you.
Until then, thanks for the time you gave us, Zoë. Let me know when the next karaoke night is.
