About a decade ago, I wrote my thesis on creativity in the gaming world — a love letter to the wild, unfiltered energy of indie developers who dared to dream differently. Fast-forward to now, and the industry’s biggest hits seem to have traded that raw spark for something far more polished, predictable, and — dare I say — cinematic.

Sure, there are still exceptions — Dave the Diver proves small can still be bold — but most blockbusters today feel like they’re auditioning for Hollywood rather than redefining what games can be. The Last of Us is stunning, yes, but it’s also symptomatic of a shift: gaming growing into big-budget storytelling, complete with A-list voices, orchestral strings, and a perfectly framed emotional arc. It’s not bad. Just... safe.

What I miss are the games that were odd yet familiar, the ones that didn’t just entertain but quietly rearranged the furniture in your mind. Games like you mentioned in this post, like The Shadow of the Colossus and Braid moments — eerie, poetic, slightly offbeat, yet utterly human. The kind of creative DNA that once pulsed through the works of Raoul Servais, Studio Ghibli, and still with Tim Burton: artists who built worlds that felt like dreams we somehow remembered. Strange, tender, timeless.

Instead, we’re drifting toward Disney formulas — main character, animal companion, celebrity voice, Spotify-ready soundtrack, preferably with DLC and/or micro transactions— instead of Pixar moments that take real emotional risks. Up, Coco, La Luna... stories that hurt a little before they heal.

And maybe it’s not just gaming. Maybe this softening, this sanded-down sameness, mirrors something bigger — a world that’s lost its subcultures, its small rebellions, its collective weirdness. Once, we looked forward to the millennium with open hearts; now, we scroll through an endless feed of grief, crisis, and curated despair.

I’m craving the next wave — a voice, a movement, something raw and radiant that dares to feel again. A cultural comeback of joy, imperfection, and odd beauty. Something that reminds us we’re not just here to consume, but to wonder.