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Our hunger for old aesthetics means we are becoming more and more disillusioned with modern ultra-high-quality graphics (which vintage titles were once considered to be). It’s no surprise then that the PS2 has been chosen as the figurehead for this vintage game aesthetic
We encountered these experiences, often as kids and these were “best” memories. We now collectively (in our culture, or in our market choices) chase, or are conditioned towards further realism or next best. There is no physically limiting reason why we cannot collectively end consoles. We could say, all future games will be developed on the original Genesis or a system that is explicitly 2D. We could say we’ll not develop any new Playstations, and we’ll simply use PS5 from now on (the purchase of the current of these numbered consoles always hints at the next number. The thought of a PS6 is almost as secure as the existence of a PS4). I say no physical limit because there are plenty of reasons why this wouldn’t be economically feasible in our current world.
It is also tied to what was potentially the last distinct cultural look. Y2K has a specific image, which is something we have lacked in the last 20 years as eras start to break down. Rumi questions “what really defines the late 2000s? the 2010s? is there anything in the 2020s that you could go back to in the way you immediately point towards hairspray hair, or new romanticism, or even rave in the 90s? we’re lost in this timeless unspecific zone”.
It feels some of this is because those times have solidified over time into these tropey looks. Today we are pushed in a million ways, and rapidly. I’ll engage with the 90s/80s and other aesthetic decades all within the span of a day. In the 90s, you basically had the 90s and a more limited window. As far as the PS2 having an aesthetic it comes down to the limitations of that hardware. Even more with the PS1 I feel we had 3D but it was still “textured” via the limits (use of particular affine transformation, and countable polygons). Subsequent technology for consoles made these limits less visible. The polygons were less present as part of the aesthetic, they were less coarse.
When the same modern revamp is applied to our favourite vintage titles, like the PS4 remaster of Shadow of the Colossus or the upcoming Silent Hill 2 remaster, comments are littered with fans calling them “soulless” or simply not as pleasing. They feel like a betrayal of the nostalgia we hold for them.
“Rose-tinted glasses” but more to this. When I purchased a new high end camera and lens, I would produce vivid, and detailed images but it sometimes felt like I was missing the assignment. I would have to work to introduce character. At times I prefer a cheaper camera that has a different quality of the image, by virtue of the technology but also how I handle it. This is also making me think of Favorite things in the “lambency” of loved things, a dimming of what we love or perhaps if we can nurture something that grows in its glow over time. How could I possibly construct an work that is hated but then glows in your after memory? Can you make something that becomes loved, but only in time? (Specifically architect for a latent love.)
with endless modern spinoffs and endless remakes from franchises like Marvel and Disney, “we can’t be nostalgic for these things”, and because they are constantly coming out “you never have the chance to feel it”. Nostalgia is equivalent to wishing there was more of something, and in our time, we have “a cultural machine that says I’ll give you more of it” in the form of remakes or spinoffs.
This is true, but also definitely not the end of nostalgia. I’ve caught myself surprised, and moved by very recent songs from games. It manifested fully as nostalgia, despite being only a year or two distant from the experience.
It is something to explore, that you can choose to engage with these spinoffs, or remakes. There definitely is a drive to associate with them, particularly if they are from a property you love - but your conscious experience of it can be limited by you (though, you’ll have that specter of the existence haunting you - in a way that the existence of an infinite array of fan work doesn’t have.)