Damage Overflow Value

September 4, 2025 Spring 2025

Our first class started with a glitch—our Zoom was double-booked, so we collectively migrated to Discord. A bit chaotic, but honestly perfect for a class about games. Cameron and I were furiously texting, trying to make the pivot as smoothly as possible. It was our first time doing something like this, and of course, we really wanted it to go well — especially since we love video games so much.

I was so excited when he approached me about assisting him because this is the cornerstone of our friendship, the beautiful highs of a well-constructed game, the disappointments when story falls short, and the often wild results of cultural hegemony butting up against Blackness and other interlocking oppressed identities. We dissect, we cringe, and a lot of times laugh at the absurdity. That’s what anchored this class.

In that first class, students shared early gaming experiences—what they loved, memories, and moments that made them feel distant in worlds meant to feel immersive. Like Animal Crossing, where you used to have to tan in the summertime to get brown skin. We learned the term “designed identity,” coined by Shira Chess, to help describe this phenomenon where ideology conjures an expected player, usually cis, heterosexual white male, for which the industry then designs.

“Games are containers for ideology,” Cameron said early on. Ideology creates these defaults. They speak to larger cultural phenomena and cultural issues. And it was apparent to me that everyone in the class had experiential knowledge of that.

First, we examined game mechanics not just as functions of interactivity, but what they communicate about the ideology of the people responsible for them. For instance, you play enough games and your body learns: right trigger to shoot. To kill. To colonize. These mechanic and narrative elements reappear as if it’s a given. The text we returned to most in the course was, The World is Born From Zero by Cameron Kunzelman. It gave us a term—mechanics of speculation—to describe moments when a game disrupts the expected and opens up possibility. They can challenge the default and help us imagine a better future outside of games. One example is Undertale, a class favorite, in which life is sacred and killing has consequences. These moments challenge the default and can help us imagine better futures—inside and outside of games.

The readings were dense, so we made space for study groups, office hours, and reading strategies. In my experience, theory lands best when grounded in the material. I encouraged students to let their experiences guide them. They were already sharing things that reflected core concepts; the class offered tools, language, and space to go deeper and connect with others doing the same.

Midway through the class, students worked in groups to reimagine a mechanic or narrative they found troubling, an exercise designed to synthesize course ideas and apply them creatively. This was one of the highlights of the class for me. The students, Cameron, and I all expressed interest in forging community. It was such a great moment to see how people were digesting the concepts and highlighting their creative point of view. Drawing from their experiences as players, their love of games guided their imagination to develop really intriguing ideas that I hope to see more of.

This was further demonstrated after Cameron’s lecture on how the tech industry is exploiting labor and polluting communities in Silicon Valley and the Democratic Republic of Congo. A student shared the play they wrote touching on electronic waste. The proceeds of which supported an organization called Friends of the Congo.

We closed with a discussion on Gamergate, a 2014 harassment campaign that targeted women, queer people, and anyone pushing for inclusive games. One student, now working in the industry, had already been targeted by what many are calling “Gamergate 2.0.” These issues aren’t just touching us in big, systematic ways. The harm that the industry around these virtual worlds is so material, but Cameron still found ways to inject hope during the class. He highlighted labor organizations seeking to protect industry workers or community organizations looking to push against exclusionary gaming culture.

In our final class, we just played together. Weeks after the conclusion of the course, people continue to chat, dissect, and bring new texts to our Discord. It was very personally enriching to connect with everyone over the 10 week course. And it does reassert my hope for better games and a better world.