The Female Power Fantasy

Here's a post that's outside of my usual fare. I've had this one in reserve for awhile, and I'm no longer ahead on posts. This is not directly board game related, but here we are. 

I'm fairly sure that anyone who has seen a Marvel movie has a pretty fair idea what a male power fantasy is. The handy-dandy thing about the MCU is that we even get different flavors of male power fantasies in the same movie, cf. The Avengers. There's the super strong and indestructible version of the male power fantasy, the super smart and rich version, and the otherworldly superpowers version. Or a combination of the above, as seen in later movies. (I'm taking for granted that every version of the male power fantasy is fit and handsome.) These characters seem different on the surface, except for all being ridiculously handsome, but they largely have the same goals and ambitions. At its heart, the male power fantasy is about dominance over antagonists and achievement of ambition. You can also throw in protection of those weaker than the protagonist, but that only applies to certain heroic MPFs. Power fantasies can, after all, also take the form of villain characters. 

This makes sense, because power fantasies are about having/gaining power. But they are also about how characters use power. And often MPFs are about gender stereotypes, or at least archetypes. For the male side that means strength, charisma, and success. But what do female power fantasies look like?

I did not have a lot of success googling 'female power fantasy.' The few forums that discuss such a thing are filled with people denying that there is a difference beyond gender of the character. In other words, female power fantasies are just male power fantasies that have been gender swapped. I'd like to put forward a different idea. 

I was two years into developing Deadly Dowagers before I finally realized why women enjoyed playing it as much as they did. But looking back on all the playtests I had, I came to the conclusion that the theme of the game was appealing in a way I didn't design it to be: it was a power fantasy. And not one that relied on strength or intelligence or charisma. Instead, the female power fantasy of Deadly Dowagers is that of self-determination. Characters are given control over when to start and end relationships and how they spend their money. That doesn't sound like much, but take a look at domestic violence statistics and you start to realize that women aren't looking for dominance so much as the ability to make their own decisions free of consequence or interference. Of course, in story-telling, we often see traits taken to illogical extreme for effect. As a result, one of the most enduring FPFs is the American musical Chicago, a story of women getting away with murder. Outside of murderesses, female power fantasies tend to look more like Rey Skywalker or Carol Danvers—heroes who look like MPFs on the surface but who are driven by a desire for self-determination over the male expectations imposed on them. (Incidentally, I think that trait has made these characters misunderstood by their respective fandoms. It doesn't help that, yes, the writing involved could have been better.) 

I think it's probably an indictment of our society that when we imagine the kinds of women who achieve total self-determination that the only ones we can think of are magical, indestructible space-women and criminals. But from these existing FPFs we can glean a few lessons. One is that FPFs require resonance with the real experience of women. Not every female super hero is a female power fantasy. Some really are just gender-swapped MPFs. (And there's not really anything inherently wrong with that, except some lack of depth and resonance.) Female power fantasies must be grounded in the experience of what it means to be coded female. 

Another thing we can learn about female power fantasies is that a lot of the resonance comes from subtext. Regardless of what you think about Captain Marvel as a movie, it is undeniable that women resonated with the final confrontation in a way that men didn't, because women understood a lot of what wasn't said in that scene. This is a point in favor of diverse story-tellers, because resonant subtext all but requires lived experience. 

Lastly, in order to be a FPF, it must be important to the story that the main character is a woman. As in, if you changed her gender the story would lose resonance and not make as much sense. And here we finally can tie back into board games. There are very few board games with female playable characters that have both good representation and a story that requires female characters. Board games are still largely telling stories from the same perspective they always have, but sometimes we change the art up a little. (My joke is that everyone knows that spaceship crews are required by galactic law to have exactly one female crew member.) I have perused some lists on BGG and by my count the number of games that meet my added criteria of women being necessary to the story is in the single digits. On this blog I have alternately called for more specificity and more abstraction. To quote Jason Perez, I want more stories, not fewer. I'm not saying that gender (or any other aspect) should be integral to every future game theme, but that sometimes it should be. 

Now take everything I said and apply it to other marginalized groups. We can tell complex stories via game design. They look different from traditional narratives, but that just means they require more care. 

If we want to grow the hobby, we need more resonant stories from diverse groups of people. If we want thematic representation, we need characters that are more than just re-skins. If we want better stories, we need to be aware of resonance and subtext. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

On Setting

In previous posts, I have outlined ways of looking at plot and character in board game design. This post is all about setting. Remember that in board game parlance, theme encompasses both subject (characters performing actions, more or less) and setting (the context for the actions). 

Setting is often expressed solely through art, which makes it very easy to change during development or for later editions. However, I want to look at some ways to think about how setting can be expressed more deeply in a game. The following are the concepts that I lump under the category of setting that can be represented in a game design: geographic location, laws of physics, passage of time, history of location, local laws and politics, cultural mores, emotional atmosphere of narrative, genre tropes outside of plot, and any other forms of context that inform the narrative. 

First, let's take a look at how components are typically used to express theme. Boards are large and static as far as components go, which is why they are effective to represent locations. The action of the game is done on top of the board, within the location. Tiles are a go-to for locations that are undergoing drastic change during the course of the game (or variable locations). Cards and tokens are often used to represent people and items— things that can move/be moved around a location. Dice are generally abstract, which makes them well-suited to representing non-physical elements such as actions. This isn't prescriptive; feel free to explore other thematic uses for components. Consideration for how components can express the characteristics of what they represent is important in a well-knitted theme, however. Using components to reinforce the rules of the world grounds the game in its setting. Using components in ways that are unintuitive can unmoor a game from its setting.

Setting can be expressed in a simulationist way, a stylized way, or an associated way. (This is similar to how I break down types of thematic actions.) Elements of setting can be presented as simulations through using the game rules to provide similar boundaries and affordances found in their real world counterparts. For example, moving vehicle pawns down a road drawn on a board would be simulationist. One form of stylized presentation is hierarchic scaling, which presents more important information in a larger format. In our example, roads that are more frequently travelled would be drawn to be larger. Another form of stylized presentation is fantasy (i.e. not reality). A fantastical way of presenting roads would be to ignore distances in favor of portals that move pawns instantly from one point to another. Obviously, some game mechanics will have that type of instantaneous movement even if the setting is a realistic one. This is a case where understanding how theme can be expressed helps you make decisions in what your rules represent. If a theme is realistic but all the mechanics lean more into stylized representation, then the game will feel more abstract and disconnected from the theme. If you include one or two simulationist mechanics, the theme will feel more grounded in reality. Lastly, associated mechanics are ones that are merely labeled thematically, but are totally abstracted. Tracks are a common associated mechanic. 

Which style of mechanism you use depends on what you want your rules/mechanics to convey. (Conversely, how you theme your already existing mechanics depends on what you want to convey.) Rules can convey physics— movement, speed, gravity, etc— via simulationist mechanics. Rules can convey societal values via simulationist or stylized mechanics. Historical laws can be represented by simulationist mechanics, but social mores could be evoked through mechanics that provide the same emotional feeling as living in the society depicted. Societal values can be conveyed through how open or restrictive the rules are, whether the game is cooperative or competitive, which resources are the most expensive, and what goals the game presents to the players. 

Rules can act as a cinematographer, framing the experience, building and releasing tension, and providing a structure for the story of the game. Rules can also be expediters, providing quick check points then getting out of the way of the narrative. Most thematic games have some of both. Knowing what your rules convey and what they can convey helps you guide your design to a more thematic experience. 

Integrating the setting of your game into the mechanics is harder than integrating plot and character. There is a lot more nuance and artistry involved. Real world settings require research and often cultural consultants. (NB: Fictional themes may also require cultural consultants.) In real or fictional themes, setting done well will add texture and depth of experience. Relying on art and flavor text for setting ignores a number of tools that can add richness to your theme. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

Central Thematic Metaphors

In the (next to) last post, I mentioned visual metaphors within component design. Strong metaphors in game design can bring a theme to life. Metaphors do not need to be visually expressed, but metaphors with a visual component add richness and verisimilitude to the gameplay experience. 

I focus my early design process around a central thematic metaphor. Each design has only one central metaphor, but that metaphor develops and becomes more complex as the game develops. A central thematic metaphor is the non-negotiable part of a game design for me. I can change every last mechanism, but as long as they express the same core idea and feeling then I am still making the same game I set out to make. A central thematic metaphor is similar but distinct from the concept of designing for the intended experience. You can do both at once, however. 'Intended experience' is what we want our players to feel while playing. A central metaphor is a more cognitive expression of an idea that ties strongly to an object or activity. For example, my set collection, opera writing game (working title: Operetta) intends for players to feel the frustration and pressure of trying to get a song just right, with the focus on the emotions matching the theme. The central metaphor is gathering ideas to build a draft of a libretto. The metaphor focuses on the actions and components of gameplay and the intended experience focuses on emotions. I am more likely to change my intended experience than my central metaphor as the game develops, because, for me, the metaphor is where the game lives. 

Central thematic metaphors are mechanically expressed. A strong metaphor permeates the design process and filters into the mechanics, even if the original metaphoric concept was more 'curb appeal'-based. In the example above, the verbs 'gather' and 'build' guide the types of mechanics I need in my game: card/resource collection and some sort of crafting/deployment. Negotiation or other high-interaction mechanisms would pull the experience away from what should be an individual endeavor—having and synthesizing ideas. Central metaphors are useful when determining how pieces move, rhythm of play, amount of player interaction, and complexity and difficulty of gameplay. 

I contend it is easier to make a metaphor central to gameplay than an emotion. Action verbs and concrete objects (like a manuscript) are easier to generate ideas around. The emotion of an intended experience acts more as a guidepost as the game develops. I can check the latest version of my game against how I intend it to feel using playtester feedback. However, it is possible for me to make the game more in line with the intended experience while also making it less thematic. The central thematic metaphor helps keep the theme present as the game develops. If the game really needed changes that took it away from the theme, I would look at changing the theme in order to maintain a strong metaphor. I don't do this in my own designs, however. If I can't get mechanics to work with the metaphor I have, I generally shelve the design. 

My interest in thematic metaphors is largely why my games' themes so far have followed my interests and hobbies. It's easier to ground your theme in a metaphor if you are pretty familiar with the theme already. Otherwise, research is your best friend. Research themes you might want to make a game about. Look for an aspect of the theme that suggests some element of gameplay. From there, distill out a central thematic metaphor and intended player experience. That's essentially a design vision, and if you write it down you have a design vision statement. 

I know that's not how many, if not most, designers approach starting a design. But if you want to design a thematic game, I suggest giving central thematic metaphors a chance. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

On Rulebooks

This post is about rulebooks (or manuals, if you prefer) for purposes other than final publication. In other words, if you are done playtesting and planning on self-publishing, then your rulebook will need additional, vital elements that I may not mention about here or in my linked template. However, if you are doing blind unguided playtesting, rulebook playtesting (more on this later), submitting to a contest, or submitting to a publisher, then I have some thoughts for you to consider. 

First and foremost, and this goes for all rulebooks, ever, including future printings of published games, put an icon glossary in your rulebook. List every symbol and what it means. Lists of components are de rigueur, but I rarely play games that tell me what the symbols mean. I judged 25 games for Cardboard Edison's contest this year, and none of the games had an icon glossary. Even if you think your icons are obvious, list what they mean. Dragging icons into a word document is not hard. If you have no other images in your rulebooks, still have the icons. (Keywords are consider icons for the purposes of this discussion.)

Prioritize being professional and usable over being clever. This dictum could apply to every aspect of the process, but here it means that your rulebook should be a rulebook. It should look and flow and be usable like a rulebook. If you try to make it look like something other than a rulebook, you will most likely compromise the usability. For instance, if your rulebook is laid out like a novel or a cookbook or an Ikea manual, your players/readers may have a harder time looking up rules questions. Do not make the rulebook a friction point in your game. Additionally, your writing should be clear and free of excess adjectives. Don't use the words fun, unique, or exciting in your rules. Don't use your rules to describe how you hope the players should feel. Don't put fluff in the rules, except as icon/component/action names. Fluff should only be added in after the rulebook is deemed usable and should not detract from usability. (If you are a UI/graphic designer professional, go nuts. You should already know where the boundaries are.)

Use an A/B mindset when writing rules. An A/B mindset just means to think "if A then X, if B then Y." A lot of rulebooks, even of published games, either are incomplete or feel incomplete because they fail to mention contingencies. Every time you write a rule also include a contingency rule for the opposite case scenario. If the rule is "draw a card," make sure that you include a rule for if there are no more cards to draw. Maybe the deck can't run out in a game, in which case you don't need the contingency rule. I see this most often in pass/fail rules. Designers will include what happens if you succeed in an action but not what happens if you fail. Leaving out these rules leads to players guessing what to do in a game. That's bad. We want to eliminate players guessing about rules. I consider a lack of contingencies mentioned in a rulebook to be an incomplete ruleset. Incomplete rules communicate incomplete mechanics. (This is especially bad when submitting to publishers or contests.) Writing a rulebook can also help you clarify how your mechanics work, in case you didn't have rules for certain things. So, pay attention to contingencies. 

There are a number of rules exchanges available through fora. Many contests also function as rules feedback on rulebooks alone. I think that 'playtesting' your rulebook is a quick way to get mechanics feedback without having to set up formal playtests. I would suggest approaching rules exchanges for mechanics feedback, not just rules clarity/copyediting. I am sure every designer is capable of giving feedback on a game without playing it. 

If you are just playtesting your rulebook, you can get away with imperfect formatting and a certain amount of incompleteness. If you are submitting to a publisher, your rulebook should be worded in a way that could be published as is, with enough icons, diagrams, and images included as necessary for the publisher to play without you there to explain. Treat contests like they are publishers in your level of professionalism expressed in the materials you submit. 

If you need a template to get you started on rules, I am a big fan of Pencil First's rulebooks, or you can use my template and change it to suit your needs. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.