Every few months, some YouTube channel will upload a video essay asking why we continue to play Skyrim more than a decade after release. Virtually all of them come to the same conclusion: at this point, what keeps us coming back for more isn’t the gameplay, or the story, or the seemingly never-ending wait for The Elder Scrolls 6: Sentinel, but the coziness of its setting.
At a glance, this makes perfect sense. After all, many of us no longer play Skyrim to progress the narrative or complete quests, but simply to spend time in its world. And yet, if you really think about it, it’s also kind of strange. Many cozy games are devoid of danger or pressure, and sport a warm, colorful, often cartoonish look.
Skyrim, on the other hand, is dark fantasy 101, its lands frozen over and filled with scary, pointy things that can and will kill you if given the chance.
Sure, some use mods that remove enemies, shake up mechanics, and even clear up the weather, making the game look and feel more similar to cozy favorites like Animal Crossing or Stardew Valley. However, I don’t think I’m alone when I say that – to me – the base game already feels incredibly cozy as it is, dragons and all. For many years I’ve wondered why.
And this month, in honor of Skyrim’s 15th anniversary, I took a stab at finding answers.
While researching, it quickly became clear that most of the common reasons for Skyrim’s coziness do not hold up to scrutiny. Yes, the game’s awe-inspiring landscapes and Jeremy Soule’s soundtrack definitely play a role, but I believe it’s only a supporting one. Otherwise, why would I feel a similar kind of coziness playing games like Bioshock or Batman: Arkham City, which look and sound completely different?
“Nostalgia,” you might say, and many do. But that doesn’t quite cut it either. While the world of Skyrim has indeed become like an old friend, and booting up the game reminds me of the carefree teenage years that coincided with my initial playthrough, the coziness I feel today is – for the most part – the same coziness I remember feeling back then.
The nostalgia factor connects to another, and in my opinion equally insufficient explanation: player competence. The more we play a game, the better we get, and the easier, less threatening, and therefore cozier said game should become. Again, not my experience.
For me, playing with a heavily underleveled character, so that even the most ordinary enemy encounter becomes an existential threat, actually makes the game feel more cozy, not less. Strange right?
Not really, it turns out. While early reports on the design of cozy games connected coziness to an absence of danger, today we understand the relationship to be a bit more complicated.
In an article about the rise of “dark” cozy games like Dredge and Cult of the Lamb, which play around with mechanics that scare, stress, or unsettle, Polish media scholar Agata Waszkiewicz argued that danger and coziness don’t necessarily cancel each other out. Quite the contrary, designers can in fact use one to amplify the other.
“Coziness is a tricky concept to define,” Waszkiewicz tells IGN, “so we often do it by juxtaposing it with something that clearly is not cozy. There’s a reason everyone always talks about being wrapped up in a blanket, drinking tea or hot cocoa, while it is pouring outside. That contrast between outside and inside makes coziness more pronounced and easier to grasp.”
“A cabin feels warm because of the blizzard,” agrees Rachel Kowert…
