I won’t hide from it. Years ago, when one of my best friends was addictively playing Fortnite I boasted about how I believed it was a complete waste of time. It seemed a game far removed from those single-player adventures that shine in the collective imagination as artistic works capable of conveying what other games, designed with the intention of being perfect money-making machines, couldn’t even dream of.
Perhaps my thoughts haven’t changed much. I still view Fortnite as a waste of time, but I’ve also come to think that perhaps everything in this life is, in a way, a waste of time. We are entities experiencing the ‘now,’ which slips through our fingers no matter how hard we try to capture it. Inevitably, we face death and are forgotten sooner than we anticipate. There’s nothing wrong with “wasting time”; perhaps it’s all we can do. The real question is whether we enjoy that time and, oh boy, that’s a can of worms difficult to open without writing more than I should. I’m writing this while “Cookie Clicker” runs in the background, another game I’ll likely discuss at the year’s end due to its stark artistic contrast that somewhat blinds me.
I decided to purchase the first season of Chapter 3 of Fortnite, not even with real money, since I had enough VBucks saved from playing online during the pandemic. Playing with my best friend and trying to connect with him online every night became one of the most memorable pastimes of that period. This time, though, I played alone, my friend long gone from this addictive endeavor. My first matches were as they always had been: challenging yet satisfying. Employing a strategy of hiding and flanking, staying away from the fray, close to the life-and-death border of a constantly shrinking dome. I barely managed to play. But this ability to “just play” has always been the game’s first positive aspect for me. Fortnite’s initial and superficial premise is simple: 100 people start on a vast map filled with cities, houses, lakes, mountains, and biomes, and only one person will remain in the end. The bubble, for those who might still be unfamiliar with the game, forces players to converge, killing those outside it within seconds. By the match’s end, the playable area is so reduced that confrontation is inevitable. Yet, the game offers much more, with nearly all of the achievements made possible without winning a single match.
The addictive aspect for me, especially in the early matches, lies in the completion of the experience bars and the daily, weekly, and extra challenges—an intoxicating array of “things to do” while striving to survive. While many challenges involve confrontations, most simply require inflicting mere damage rather than elimination. These tasks, achievable even for someone as unskilled as myself, range from dancing at specific locations to fishing, driving, and surviving the initial eliminations—gradually accomplishing the game’s objectives through play. With each achievement come rewards, purchasable with a special currency earned by leveling up through these challenges.
The rewards, akin to a carrot dangling before a donkey, ultimately serve no practical purpose. They are not only aesthetic—skins, dances, characters—but also disposable. The excitement of unlocking a new skin fades as soon as the next is available, perpetuating a cycle of endless pursuit without lasting achievement. Special challenges offer unique rewards, breaking the monotony of the level-up cycle of the “battle pass,” yet for those unfamiliar with the game, this might sound like gibberish. The game uses mechanics upon mechanics, enriching the experience without overwhelming the core gameplay. Each new level and reward only adds to the depth of engagement.
This game’s bizarre appeal is further amplified by the constant creation of the greatest crossover even conceived. As an example: Peter Griffin fighting against Solid Snake, or Spider-Man dancing like Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. If it can be sold, it will find its place in Fortnite. This relentless inclusion, bordering on the absurd, makes Rule 34 seem almost quaint by comparison, although the fact that you just lost The Game will never be surpassed. It is a strobe effect that doesn’t let you rest. At least not for those addicted to completing puzzles (not the genre understood as “games that make you think”, but as games where the only objective is to mechanically put pieces together with nothing more than patience and the need for it to be completed).
And along the way… you stop hiding away from people. You go from being afraid of being killed to not caring because you understand that you are literally a minute away from being back searching for chests with better weapons than the ones you had a second ago, before Darth Vader hit you with a sniper, making you lose the crown and the chance to increase your streak of consecutive victories. You start to fill other bars that imply more active participation: Killing players, winning the victory crown with seven eliminations on your back… And all this, always, with one of the best and most absurd mechanics of any game: Thanking the bus driver that flies over the island where only one idea reigns: kill or be killed. Or maybe it’s better to say “dance or be danced.” Because all these good vibes disguise the excessive violence of the game very well. There’s no blood, there are even shows that prevent you from shooting so that players can rest while fireworks announce that somewhere in the world someone is changing the last digit of the year, there’s much more color than necessary, and a banana that you can’t get mad at.
Yes, maybe playing Fortnite is a waste of time. Maybe it’s way too entertaining (psychologically engineered to keep you hooked longer than you possibly wanted outside the cycle). And maybe writing this article is also a waste of time. And maybe reading it is too. And maybe it doesn’t make much sense to talk in those terms. Although I can’t help but do it, knowing that I have hundreds of more stimulating games to play and yet, at 10 o’clock at night, tired from working all day, not really in the mood to think, I decide to play another quick match. Who knows, maybe in this one I’ll win again and I will gain those “good chemicals” I so much crave.
Non-Game Fish 