So, I played “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” last weekend. I was hoping for a break from my piles of real-life responsibilities. I was curled up in bed, fairy lights twinkling and pumpkin-donut candle burning. For all intents and purposes, my setup was as cozy as cozy can be.

I booted up a new save, excitedly created a new island and got bored enough to put down the game within fifteen minutes.

I’m going to tell on myself a bit here — since the game’s release in 2020, I’ve clocked over 400 hours befriending colorful animals and filling up my museum. To be fair, a majority of those hours were spent in lockdown. 

At the time, “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” was the perfect escape from the mentally exhausting life of lockdown. It was no surprise that the game garnered the popularity that it did. Quarantined people craved community and connection. Most were looking for something slow. Something relaxing. Something that is goddamn adorable.

Social media went wild in March when Nintendo’s newest cash cow hit the market. Everyone was showing off their flower-infested islands, their first specimens for Blathers and the serene soundscape that lifted them up and away from the pandemic.

Clearly, I did not escape the absolute death grip that this game had on society. I was already a fan of the genre of games affectionately referred to as “cozy.”

Cozy is an ambiguous adjective when it comes to describing a video game. Horror games are intentionally scary, first-person shooters require first-person shooting and racing games involve — you guessed it — racing. But cozy? Cozy is relative.

Other beloved “cozy” games are known for their relaxing gameplay, soft visual color palette and consistent emphasis on farming and slow village life. “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” separates the player from the tragedy of a deadly virus by transplanting them on a remote island.

This is an extreme example of thematic escapism, but it is the quintessential setting for a game in this genre. You’re tasked with helping out your animal friends, gardening, fishing and cleaning up. There are no time limits, checklists, leveling up or even crowded menus full of goals.

The gameplay is simple, and your tasks are even simpler. Time passes naturally, and you are free to pick up the game when it suits you.

Music and sound are also an important quality of a cozy game. “New Horizons” chooses a minimalistic approach, highlighting nature as its primary soundtrack.

Quiet music also plays depending on your proximity to the town center, but the ocean waves are never fully silent no matter your position on the island. 

Furthermore, season-appropriate weather ambiance bleeds into the mix. Daily weather fluctuates, offering intense thunderstorms in the height of summer, foggy fall mornings, wintery whiteouts and double rainbows after a spring drizzle. 

On your island, you are free to witness the weather. Even the unspectacular is special. Cloud patterns become an exciting quality of each passing day, and the leaves shift color slowly but surely as the temperature climbs and falls.

“New Horizons” grants the player the opportunity to cultivate both crops and culture. As the main resident, you are responsible for looking after the other residents and making the island an award-worthy community. 

They rarely ask for favors. Rather, the citizens of your town prefer to share in small talk and comments on your prowess as the island’s main resident. They host birthday parties and celebrate holidays as they come. 

They are your faithful friends, reminding you not to work too hard. Your place on the island doesn’t entirely revolve around service, anyway. 

It felt bittersweet watching the familiar menu screen, so far removed from the comfort that it brought my younger self. Even restarting on an entirely new save file didn’t “fix” it. I think this feeling is — in part — a product of the startling pace at which I’m becoming a jaded adult.

More optimistically, though, I’d like to believe it means I don’t need to bury my nose in games to promise myself an escape. I don’t need a faux paradise to remind me that life is beautiful. It brings me comfort to know that the prospect of a real-life adventure is a greater delight than idyllic island life. 

But this lovely detour did not produce a definition of the elusive “cozy game.” As we’ve concluded, “Animal Crossing” is a powerhouse of the genre, but do these games share qualities, or does the cozy genre characterize itself on vibes alone?

I think the indie-development trend of slice-of-life games is flooding the market with half-finished products that are begging to be the next big thing. Their aesthetic is uniform, their gameplay is uninspired and, most egregiously, they are stuck in early-access purgatory for years. 

Though these games are by design and appearance considered “cozy games,” they aren’t successful in their delivery. Cozy is as cozy does, and half-assed attempts at reproducing the rare feeling of contentment are not a matter of gluing together characteristics that should relax the player.

New attempts at cozy games are like shoving square blocks in round holes, hoping for their “new and improved” attempt at the genre to strike gold.

“Animal Crossing” is no stranger to criticism. The discontinued development of “New Horizons” only a few years after its release was a huge disappointment for fans. The appeal of the game stemmed from its power to connect people in a time of isolation.

Now that society is back on the move, the role of cozy games is shifting. The genre is malleable — catering to the needs of consumers in the present. And right now, oversaturation contradicts the basis upon which cozy games came to exist in the first place. 

With shifting goalposts, I wonder if the new standard of cozy games will adopt new techniques with which to enrapture audiences. In the meantime, the classics remain tried and true examples of the genre.

I may lack the energy to play “Animal Crossing” these days, but I think that I’ve grown since the game’s glory days. Physical and mental change may separate me from the appeal of island life, but my time on the island stands steadfast in my memory as 400 hours well spent.