Embrace the Jank, and experience something!
You know what makes me roll my eyes? When someone dismisses a game outright because it’s "bad." Like, what does that even mean? The frame rate dips? The controls are weird? It’s got a funny little bug where your character’s head does a 360 like they’re auditioning for The Exorcist? Yeah, okay, maybe it’s not polished to a mirror shine, but that doesn’t make it worthless. That’s where the soul is, the raw edges, the weird ideas, and sometimes the outright nonsense. That’s where you’ll find heart, creativity, and, occasionally, your own gaming tastes sharpening in real time.
For example, my first PS2 game was Garfield (2004). This was the vacuum-cleaner-infested mess that got obliterated by critics. And yeah, it was clunky as hell. But you know what? I adored it. Something about the stiff animations and the bizarre charm of vacuuming lasagna scraps off the floor stuck with me. It was jank incarnate, but it’s also the kind of game that helps you appreciate the beauty of gaming as a medium where imperfection can add flavor. Games like that are what taught me to savor the weirdness and charm in experiences that aren’t "perfect." Those quirks are like seasoning, sometimes strange, sometimes off-balance, but always memorable.
This isn’t about liking bad games ironically. It’s about understanding that even the messiest games have value. They might teach you what you don’t like, or surprise you with moments of brilliance. Either way, they’re worth your time. Sometimes, they’re better than polished hits because they take risks. Risks that, when they hit, give you something you’ll never forget, or at least make you laugh in disbelief. And honestly? That’s worth more than just another generic, by-the-numbers experience.
Kusoge and the Beauty of Imperfection
Let’s talk kusoge (“crap games”). This Japanese term doesn’t carry the same bitterness as calling a game "trash" in English. It’s affectionate, a way to celebrate games so wild they loop back around to being fun. Think Evergrace with its haunting, slightly awkward soundtrack and uncanny landscapes. The music feels like it’s trying to transport you to a dream world, but the uneven execution leaves you in that delightful space between awe and "What am I looking at?" Or take Quest 64, an RPG so uncharismatic it’s kind of adorable. The lack of complexity makes it oddly soothing, like reading a children’s book you’ve outgrown but still secretly love.
Kusoge is pure creative chaos. These games have quirks that mainstream titles wouldn’t dare touch. They’re unfiltered visions, the raw kind where you can feel the developer’s fingerprints all over it. They might stumble in execution, but that’s what makes them human. The lack of polish makes them relatable, like watching someone’s homemade project instead of a glossy, manufactured product. They’re like the punk rock of gaming: messy, earnest, and full of energy.
Dive into the Deep End
Here’s my advice: play weird shit. Seriously. Scroll itch.io, grab something random, and just go for it. Play Riven. That game’s puzzles are labyrinthine, and its vibe is eerie as hell, but it’s unforgettable. It’s the kind of game that makes you feel like you’re solving a mystery no one else in the world even knows about. Try stuff made in someone’s basement over a weekend. Will it all be good? Absolutely not. But that’s part of the fun.
There’s this limiting idea that games need to be "fun." Nah. Some games are fascinating failures. Others are transformative, even if they’re not traditionally "good." If you’re only playing polished hits, you’re missing out. There’s a wild ecosystem of experimental projects and forgotten oddities waiting to be discovered. They’re imperfect, but they’re alive in a way corporate-perfect games often aren’t.
And don’t just stick to indies either. Dig up retro games that got swept under the rug. Play weird international titles that never made it big in the West. Look into games where developers didn’t have the resources to chase trends, so they just made something odd and personal. That’s where the gems are. Even if a game isn’t "good," it might still change how you think about games.
Be Kind to Games
It’s easy to dunk on "bad" games. But every game, no matter how janky, was made by people. People who stayed up late fixing bugs, sketching out levels, composing soundtracks. Sure, some were rushed or poorly managed, but there’s effort in there. Respect that. Even the clunkiest game has a story behind it. Maybe it’s a scrappy team’s passion project, or a developer’s wild vision colliding with tight deadlines. That’s worth something. Instead of tearing these games apart, look for the pieces that shine through.
Next time a cutscene makes you cringe or your character gets stuck in a wall, don’t uninstall right away. Laugh. Lean into it. Janky games remind us it’s not always about the destination. It’s the buggy, awkward journey that sticks with you. Embracing that journey can be unexpectedly rewarding.
Playing "bad" games isn’t just fun; it’s important. These games push boundaries, even by accident. They make you rethink what you value in gaming. And they’ll help you grow a deeper appreciation for the craft. It’s not about chasing the next indie darling, it’s about expanding your perspective.
So go ahead. Fire up something completely new to you. Find that janky itch.io platformer. Try something off the beaten path. Let it frustrate, surprise, and maybe even delight you. Who knows? You might find your next favorite game in the unlikeliest place. And if not? At least you’ll have a story to tell.