Date

Romantic games are one of the most overlooked successes in all of gaming. There are million-selling series spanning decades amongst them, and the loosely defined genre thrives on Steam in all its beautiful forms, encompassing everything from breezy pop star fantasies and summer adventures to hot gothic stories. Date Everything, a comedic “sandbox dating simulator” where I romance tables and lamps thanks to a pair of hi-tech glasses, has a lot of competition—and a lot of work to do if it wants to convince me that the jokes here aren’t aimed at the genre, or at me for playing it.

And to its credit, the writing is often genuinely funny. The slight problem is this game clearly has no idea what a dating sim actually is.

There are 100 dateable objects in the house, and I really do have to romance the vast majority of them all at once if I want to see anything close to a semi-satisfying credits roll. This fact alone instantly turns these intimate interactions into a meaningless “Gotta date ’em all!” clickfest (there’s even a date-a-dex installed on my in-game phone, with everyone given an ID number). And it makes me into the gaming equivalent of a brainless cushion-humping chihuahua.

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No, worse than that—it makes me nothing. I am the submissive counterpart to the attic dominatrix. I am the perfect date of my charming desk. I am loyal to everyone and no one, and worst of all nobody seems to care.

Bedding my bed and getting topless with a trophy has no impact on the “love” state of the throuple I’m in with the washing machine and tumble dryer, and the magnifying glass will treat me like I’m the only one for her even though I’m already sleeping with four dozen different appliances, like a lovesick handyman let loose in a hardware store.

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(Image credit: Team17)(Image credit: Team17)(Image credit: Team17)

In an actual dating sim, like 1994’s Tokimeki Memorial (and a heaving shelf’s worth of others), pursuing someone takes time and effort, and always comes with risks. Rivalries form when I favour one person over another, or a scheduling conflict or special event forces me to pick a side. If I agree to meet someone next Tuesday, then I’d better meet them next Tuesday or not only will I tank their opinion of me but their friends will hear about it too, and tear my entire social life to pieces.

One of Date Everything’s dates is a cat clock, and their entire personality and mini-storyline revolves around timeliness and scheduling. Makes sense. I agree to make an appointment so we can introduce ourselves properly—12:00pm. The conversation ends. It’s noon. Fantastic, I can keep my promise. Except I can’t, because I already spoke to them today and that means the UI says no.

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So I eventually show up at 12:00… three days later, and that doesn’t seem to be a problem. For the clock. The clock-person whose entire being is all about timeliness.

Without stakes, friction, or consequences, it’s all meaningless. A dating sim where I never have to commit to anyone or anything, and my dates are just passive pushovers who could surely do better than someone who doesn’t care which Thursday they eventually showed up for.

But that’s no problem, right? This is a silly game, so I should just roll with it and enjoy the laughs.

That would be nice. The thing is, Date Everything is silly—until it isn’t.

While talking to my biggest fan—in every sense of the word—I get my first content warning. These give me a quick heads-up when the conversation might veer towards subjects including, and I quote, “PTSD, violence, stalking, manipulation, domination, mental health issues, addiction, and many more…”, and then the option to skip the character entirely (while still receiving the bonuses for clearing their story).

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(Image credit: Team17)(Image credit: Team17)(Image credit: Team17)

Interactive fiction can be a fantastic place to safely explore these subjects. But this is a game where my microwave is called Luke Nukem, a “warrior” convinced they’re fighting a bizarre sci-fi battle, and my shower talks like Elvis. In this context these dabbles with something deeper feel out of place, as if the drafts for something darker got mixed in with all the pink hearts and lengthy conversations about fitness and makeup.

“If you don’t like sociopaths…” reads one content warning, which, if nothing else, is surely the opposite of someone emotionally available and looking for love. And maybe the personification of my personal diary isn’t the ideal place to drop a random allusion to date rape?

A good dating sim has consistency. A mood, a tone—a promise. It will always offer a reasonably clear idea of what sort of romantic attention I’m in for, and because of that I’ll know what sort of romantic gestures are expected of me in turn. You know, the way Koei’s Angelique managed to do so with its sweet magical fantasy decades ago. On the Super Nintendo.

Pushing on anyway and obtaining the final, final, romantic ending for a particular character sees them… leave me. My ultimate reward, in a dating sim, is to see the characters I’ve poured 20+ hrs of work into and had supposedly heartfelt, life-altering conversations with… leave. Literally as soon as the dialogue box closes. One down, 99 to go. The house I worked so hard to transform into a literally loving home emptied out, one relationship at a time.

Sure, it’s nice that they go off and have fulfilling careers and large families, but am I seriously supposed to be OK with all that because the script assures me some of them come back and sleep with me from time to time? And for a game that’s so quick and careful with content warnings, it’s jarring to see my own sexual consent and personal desires never factor into these endings.

(Image credit: Team17)

This game has no idea what it wants to do, never mind what it’s supposed to be. Sometimes it’s tooth-rottingly wholesome. Sometimes it’s plain horny. And then just sometimes it ventures into deeply unsettling nightmare territory. It’s like they put 100 short stories, covering everything from popcorn prep to actual murder, in a blender and then locked me in a house with them.

It’s mush in dateable form, a mess of a game that lacks the narrative and mechanical depth of dating sims made before some of the people reading this were even born, and a playable example of why other examples of the genre don’t offer anything close to 100 dateable characters.

Dating sims are so much better than this. I just wish Date Everything knew that.

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