Proud Pixels - Tiny Tina’s Wonderlands And Queer Escapism
For about as long as I’ve been working professionally as a critic, I’ve turned down my nose at the idea of games serving no other purpose than escapism. It’s become a rallying cry online for people whinging about “SJW politics” and “wokeness” in their games, claiming that they play video games to indulge in a mindless hobby, and don’t want to be exposed to politics in their free time.
Aside from the inane premise that inclusion of LGBTQIA+ people and POC is somehow “inserting a political agenda” (when in reality it’s a thin shield for their homophobia, transphobia, and racism.), I’ve always disliked the notion that games in their purest form are meant to be mindless. Games can be wonderful, creative, inspiring works of complex art. Why would I want to turn off my brain completely while engaging with one?
Editor’s note: I killed Pyro Pete an unholy amount of times without thinking about it but I also watched a whole lot of bad TV at the same. So who is the real winner here?
It’s always stuck with me as a question, partially I think because I’ve used gaming as a coping mechanism for my own ADHD my entire life. Even while playing the most vapid, mindless games, of which there are many I love, I find my mind occupied with other things. I always have a podcast, YouTube video, or Netflix app open somewhere when I’m grinding online matches or hunting down open world collectables.
And even then, my mind wanders. These mindless games, for me, are a centring device. They help me to think, honestly. I’m able to unwind, decompress, and go over the events of the day, much like many people do in taking overlong showers. I’m unsure how many others use games this way, but I certainly do. I don’t find it to be “mindless” exactly, because I’m being quite mindful. I’m not trying to escape my day to day life, but consider it in greater detail.
In the last few years, that consideration has led to some dark places. The constant churn of the American political machine, plus coming out as queer and beginning my gender transition, has given me a lot to think about. It should come as no surprise then, as a trans person, my mind lately has been preoccupied by the overt attacks against trans rights happening primarily in the United States and the UK.
Go follow Jordan, if you don’t already!
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It’s not easy to be the happiest I’ve ever been in my body, to feel like I’m finally becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be, while also seeing ignorant lawmakers try to legislate people like me out of the public, if not out of existence entirely. Florida recently passed a bill banning gender-affirming care from state-covered insurance, meaning that people will be left without sometimes life-saving medical treatment. This is just one of dozens of thinly veiled attacks across the country against trans people.
This brings me to escapism. I can’t escape these things really. I don’t know how to not think about them, but I can use games as a way to process them. And one game in particular has felt like an especially queer-friendly place to process.
Tiny Tina’s Wonderlands is a spinoff of the popular Borderlands series, and features many of the same hallmarks; colorful visual design, loud and abrasive characters, and loot-grinding gameplay to keep players engaged for hours.
Wonderlands might also be one of the first AAA games I’ve played that *feels* explicitly queer. Not just made with consideration for representation, but with consideration for what queer people actually want to see in fictional worlds and stories. In many ways, it’s a comforting change of pace from most games that try to include queer characters but usually fail in honest queer representation. Wonderlands presents a world where queer people simply *exist*, nobody questions their existence, and nobody attacks them because of it.
Cool tidbit of inter-game lore dropped by Ciarán Strange (voice of Paladin Mike and Lorelei in Borderlands 3) on Twitter.
One of the first major NPC characters you see is transmasc, and played by an appropriate actor. When you start the game, your character defaults to they/them pronouns, with body types being labelled simply “This One” or “That One”. There are several plot points and side missions throughout the game with gay, lesbian, and other characters, including a charming questline revolving around a gay skeleton pirate searching for, and later rescuing, his gay skeleton pirate boyfriend. Even my character, a non-binary elf necromancer, can be fully customized at any time, meaning I’m never stuck looking a way I don’t like. Far be it from me to praise a massive corporation like 2K for inclusion; I doubt the game’s queerness was the byproduct of corporate mandate. Most times when companies include diversity for social credit, it’s a small, often meaningless glance of recognition. Think of Disney’s big announcements every time there’s a “gay character” on screen, only for it to be a second or two of a side character blowing a kiss or whatever else can be easily edited so they can still make money in a foreign market.
I wonder if LeChance has ever visited Monkey Island?
No, Wonderlands, for all its faults, feels more authentic. It still has the anarchic and (sometimes) annoying energy of the series, but it feels more concentrated and focused than Borderlands 3. Where Borderlands 3 felt constantly loud out of desperation to live up to the crazy, over-the-top legacy of its predecessors, Wonderlands is just loud because it wants to have a good time. The stakes are low, and none of the proceedings are canon in the larger Borderlands universe, which means that characters are allowed to just breathe a little bit.
The very premise of the game, that Tiny Tina has gathered some friends for a tabletop roleplaying session a la D&D, gives the feeling of being in a safe and friendly space. As you play, you get to know the characters better, they quip and jab at one another, and it simulates the camaraderie of a friend group sitting around a board game.
While I imagine that itself may be comforting for LGBTQ folks looking for an accepting space, that’s not exactly what I found value in the game for.
Wonderlands, like Borderlands before it, isn’t exactly mentally taxing. The game moves in a dependable rhythm of finding loot, going on quests, and levelling up. As I mentioned before, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the state of the world, and about my place in it as a trans person. And I don’t have any answers. Everyone needs to find answers for themselves at a time like this, and that looks different for everyone. But for now, during Pride month, I’m happy with who I am and the journey I’ve gone on to become me. I’ve gone through a lot of work, mentally, emotionally, and physically, to transition, and nobody can take the pride I feel for how hard I’ve worked away from me.
That personal accomplishment won’t stop people from attacking and harassing me and people like me. Not out in the real world. And I’m totally fine with that. I don’t need to be defended, I don’t need a safe space. I’m not afraid of bigots and (often to my detriment) I don’t back down.
But I’m sure times will come when I will want to be alone with my thoughts. To process and meditate and decompress. Like I always do, I’ll turn to hobbies like gaming, reading, and movies. And in the grand scheme of it all, I think Tiny Tina’s Wonderlands will be a wonderful place to revisit for those moments. Because I think that everyone, LGBTQ or not, wants to live in a world where they can just exist without fear of being harassed and hated, and have fun with their friends.
