In the almost-30 bracket of those of us who entered the commercial label gamer scene, there’s a complaint that’s as common as it is painful: I can no longer play. The repeated experience of spending two hours installing a game only to leave it after ten minutes, of spending hours browsing the Steam library, of downloading things and never even getting to try them. A kind of post-gamer existentialism that highlights a series of complex questions about our maturation, about the role of leisure in our lives, about our priorities. Many understandably see this crisis as a break from the hobbies they once had and decide to accept the change. Others, however, like me, choose to rise above the storm from above. This piece is a defense of little games as well as an argument in favor of consoles, of the pi****ría, and of old games. But first and foremost, this is a guide to absolute enjoyment. Let’s go.

The power station

Like much of Argentina, I’ve always been a fan of Sony’s PlayStation. That damn power station is the console of the country due to its accessibility, its immaculate aesthetics, and above all, the aura of using it—nothing feels quite like it. Still, my PS3 died years ago, and I never thought about replacing it. With my somewhat competitive PC and my Steam library loaded with the sweet honey of Steam in pesos, I never felt the need for another gaming space.

The repeated experience of spending two hours installing a game only to leave it after ten minutes, of spending hours browsing the Steam library, of downloading things and never even getting to try them.

But with work, responsibilities, and various projects, I found myself playing less and less each day. I quickly realized that I’m already an unc-aso, an old-timer who no longer fits into the contemporary gamer consumption loop, dominated by games-as-a-service like Fortnite, competitive or cooperative multiplayer games to play with friends. A frustration that led me to connect more with other arts and hobbies. But some time ago, thanks to the ancient and noble tradition of bartering, I was offered a battered PS3 Super Slim, and something inside me didn’t hesitate for a second: yes, please. To have a machine like that in my hands again, to manipulate its menu and interface awakened something in me. The core and essence of this emotion is, yes, nostalgia. But I’m happy to find that it exceeds nostalgia: like all respectable art, classics are not monolithic pieces to be viewed from afar; they are an inexhaustible source of energy that always surprises us with their relevance.

The first thing I did was legally buy as many games as possible. Things I didn’t do: look for guides, like the one in the video below, that help you install the PS3Xploit HEN System, which allows you to access stores like the VIDEOSTORE (available for download from the console itself with the complete PS3 game catalog). If I had done that (always hypothetical), and hadn’t rushed in at the first try, I would have had to attempt installation via USB, which might have worked. If the licenses didn’t work, I would have been forced to download them separately and install them via a PKG file, which is like APKs for Android on the PS3. If it still didn’t work, I should have downloaded Apollo, an application to manage local data on the PS3 with HEN.

Maybe then I could have activated my console, a requirement for the licenses to work, and only then would I have had everything unlocked. My hypothetical point is that I knew absolutely nothing about all this, but with the patience of those of us who love screens, with the essential trial and error of any software tinkering, and with the invaluable help of strangers on the Internet, as always, anything is possible. Well, it would be. If I had decided to do that or invited you to please do it, I would also invite you, should you have any doubts, to consult with me or any of the HEN folks so you could do it on your PS3.

Having such an extensive catalog of old games generates something strange. Nostalgia makes you gravitate toward some that you’ve already enjoyed (first) and desire those you wanted to try but never could (later). But quickly new options appear, things that never caught your eye but now seem interesting. Is there a Lego: Lord of the Rings whose PS3 version has things you can only play here? Oh, look at that. Gran Turismo 6 with all the DLC, the entire Ezio trilogy in Assassin's Creed, the Call of Duty games from this generation that I didn’t try? Oh, wow. I can’t believe the HD version of the legendary Shadow of the Colossus is available. THE DAMN DEMON SOULS? The HEN, uh, I mean, the legal and legitimate purchase of these games turns this machine into a powerhouse, and suddenly I’m drowning in abundance. So many options could, I know, paralyze me and leave me eternally searching for something to play and never actually doing it. I decided that wouldn’t happen because I’m fed up. Now I want to play. I’ll go one by one, trying whatever I want.

Game Boy: Go back to playing without distractions

Are your legs numb from scrolling reels in the bathroom? There are alternatives: go back to the Game Boy and the pleasure of playing without constant notifications. A way to put down your phone, beat the algorithm, and regain your attention.

421 | Digital media Culture, technology, games, and real lifeJulian Carrizo

Experiencing the power

I start with Gran Turismo 6. Exclusive to PS3, absolutely no game feels like this. None, I tell you. I have no less than ten racing games on Steam, all seeking the same sensation I had when I tried this game years ago. I return to its tracks and confirm: absolutely nothing feels like this. I put on some background music and play the same tracks multiple times, farming money to buy a car I like. I gradually tune it while listening to Jungle DNB, taking the time to see every detail, to explore every part of the interface, to find exactly which car I want. The experience is unique. Singular. It requires nothing more than your desire to live it. I don’t realize it, and it’s almost one in the morning on a Tuesday, and I have work early tomorrow… But I want to keep playing. I reluctantly turn off the console. But the next day at work, I can’t stop thinking about that Tommykaira ZZ I want to buy. Something clicked.

So many options could, I know, paralyze me and leave me eternally searching for something to play and never actually doing it. I decided that wouldn’t happen because I’m fed up. Now I want to play.

I continue with Uncharted. It never particularly caught my attention, but I did play The Last of Us and loved it. So I feel like giving it a try, especially since it’s a PS3 exclusive. I play its early parts and put it down fairly quickly. One could argue that it has aged, and I’m not exactly dying to play it. But I force myself to keep going until something finally clicks. I want to know where this story is going; the gameplay starts to appeal to me. Its chapters are short, intense, it doesn’t waste a second, but at the same time, it lets me enjoy its quieter moments. Without realizing it, I can spend hours playing it. I want to talk to others about the story or the details I notice while playing. I find myself, in the end, hooked. I quickly decide I’m going to play the entire PS3 trilogy; why lie to myself? But I realize I want to play it like someone reads a good book series, without rushing, enjoying each chapter, dedicating the time it requires, and when I do, giving it my full attention. That’s how to enjoy this, like a fine wine. It makes me realize something.

That playing should be like reading

It’s inevitable that gaming will evolve towards new ways of consuming multimedia products. Opposing that is nonsensical, given its inevitability. But it’s also not about distancing ourselves when something doesn’t appeal to us or starts to feel foreign. Going back to playing on not-so-retro consoles is one of those paths. Since I got my PS3, I’ve already organized two gatherings to try and play things with friends. Not split-screen stuff (which will also be played, obviously), but a main course with some game we all want to play, taking turns with the joystick while chatting or doing something else. It’s my community of old-timers, finding warmth in this fire and reconnecting with the hobby again, together. Almost as if playing were a responsibility, a main activity and not just something secondary. Taking what we do seriously is part of making it stop feeling indifferent.

Since I got my PS3, I’ve already organized two gatherings to try and play things with friends.

This is my most uncanny, most controversial take, but for me, the key to enjoyment is this: playing should be like reading, not like watching a reel. Just like those first hundred pages of The Brothers Karamazov that seem to go nowhere and tempt us to put them down, the beginning of Shadow of the Colossus can feel the same. Giving it space to immerse us in its world and setting aside the cell phone might be the key to fostering genuine interest, allowing us to truly enjoy the work. Playing has its own pace. Abandoning it quickly is the excuse of someone who “doesn’t read due to lack of time,” yet spends five hours a day on TikTok. Accustomed to a consumption style overloaded with stimuli and fueled by the hype that the algorithm throws at us (and that our surroundings reinforce), enjoying works that are outside the loop is a challenge. Behind that cognitive bias lies infinite pleasure. All those available games have stories to move us, adventures to stimulate us, challenges to test us. Sometimes, all it takes is determination and silence to understand that a game, a movie, or a book can be the piece that changes our lives.

Video games are changing the world, that’s undeniable. As an industry, it’s a titan operating under its own rules. But beyond being an industry, they are a form of art. And the not-so-retro consoles are a way to experience the best works, to live your own Citizen Kane for laughably low resale prices and new ones that don’t exceed 150 dollars. There’s immense value in this “retro” form of consumption and in re-experiencing single-player games and stories in silence, with calm, with enjoyment. Like a good book before bed. Or with friends, taking turns, allowing time to discuss every detail. For me, that’s the key to playing again, to enjoying art, to savoring life. And I sincerely hope it is for you too.