It’s been a while since I played Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Five long years, in fact. I was gone so long that most of the animals on the island probably assumed I was dead. Everything is basically the same as it was, only with more weeds and bugs. I don’t know what else I was expecting.
I didn’t think this would be a complete revamp of the game. But I’m experiencing something strange going back to my little village after all these years. A feeling I didn’t quite expect. Revisiting my Animal Crossing town feels like going home again, but in a bad way.
You Can Go Home Again, It Just Feels Bad
Now, before I get into this, I just want to say that this is only how I myself feel. It’s not a strong criticism of the game, which I do like very much. And after peeking around the internet, it seems my view is in the minority. A lot more folks appear to be thrilled to be moving back in and feel like it’s renewed the game for them. So perhaps I’m just doing it wrong. Yet I just can’t kick the feeling that my island is a place I used to live, and one I don’t quite love as much anymore after seeing what else the world had to offer. That’s not even a metaphor. It’s just how I feel!
I’m originally from Florida, a fact that used to be funny and now sounds like I escaped from Shady Sands in Fallout. Whenever I go back home to visit my parents in the same town I grew up in just a few miles from the house I grew up in, there’s both a sense of familiarity and a sense of complete alienating distance. None of this is a new idea, of course. You can’t go home again and all that.
But when I visit, I hit the same stores, I see the same people, and I just feel absolutely disconnected. There’s a gulf between knowing what made a place special and the vast changes that have happened since it was special. And, oddly, the same thing is playing out in my virtual town full of sentient birds and beasts.
I’m Not At Home In My Home Anymore
Visiting my Animal Crossing town five years after the pandemic felt like it did when I visited my high school after finishing college. The buildings are the same. A lot of the staff are still there. But I’m not coming there every day anymore so I’m kind of an outsider to everyone else, even the folks I know.
In New Horizons, I’ve moved on from the person I was when I threw up kitchen appliances all over the floor of a room and called it a day. I’m no longer the guy who fenced off the top of a mountain for a miniature theme park. It’s like visiting a museum, except this museum actually has another museum inside of it. One that’s just incomplete enough to be annoying and just complete enough to not be worth the rest of the effort.
I feel like that word ‘visiting’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Because even when I check in every day and do a little hotel remodeling, I still feel like I’m just there for a short while before I’m gone again. It’s no different than doing chores for my parents while I’m there. I’m more than happy to wash a few dishes. In both cases, I’m staying in my old house, not living there. It’s less like building a town for friendly people and more like getting drinks with a few buddies before Thanksgiving and then not seeing them for another year.
Animal Crossing: New Horizons Belongs To The Me Of 2020
It sounds absolutely stupid to talk about a video game like this, but you have to remember how unhinged we all were in 2020 when this game came out. I put so much emotion into Animal Crossing: New Horizons during that weird time that it meant something. For, like, two months, that felt like the only way to live a full life! It was my place and it was special. Now I see all the lazy infrastructure choices and the sad, remaining people who haven’t changed at all over the years. That applies both to my hometown and my Animal Crossing island.
Like when I go back home, I’m not quite sure what I should be doing. There are only so many times you can go shopping at your old, decaying mall before realizing there isn’t the same joy there was when you were a kid. Or when the mall was new. Or when paying Tom Nook meant you’d get a bigger home instead of just extra space for more unsold fish. I wouldn’t say I’m bored. I’d say that I’ve done everything I can do and don’t know what else there is. Am I supposed to stay here and raise a family? It’s certainly pleasant to see everyone, but I don’t know how long I’ll be there.
Yes, I could blow up the town and start over. Or I could simply ask Resetti to wipe clean parts of the island I don’t like. I could complain about every resident and have them kicked off while replacing them with cooler, new people whose houses are now in a location that makes sense. Hell, I could simply redecorate everything. But it’s just not the same. I’ll have a good time. I’ll stop by and say hello. But I just don’t live here anymore.
