There’s something magical happening at the intersection of childhood nostalgia and adult engineering. When Lego released their decorative Game Boy set, they probably imagined it would remain a static tribute to gaming history—a beautiful brick-built sculpture destined for display shelves. But the maker community had other plans, and what’s unfolding now is a fascinating philosophical debate about what it means to truly preserve gaming heritage. Two distinct approaches have emerged, each championed by passionate creators with fundamentally different visions for how we should experience retro gaming in brick form.
On one side stands Natalie the Nerd, an Australian modder whose Build A Boy kit represents the purist’s dream. Her approach is surgical and reverent—harvesting authentic Nintendo chips from Game Boy Pocket systems and creating custom circuit boards smaller than actual cartridges. There’s something almost archaeological about her method, carefully extracting the original silicon souls from their plastic tombs and giving them new life within Lego’s colorful bricks. The result is a device that doesn’t just play Game Boy games—it is a Game Boy, albeit one wearing Lego’s distinctive plastic skin. Her upcoming $99 kit, launching through Crowd Supply in early 2026, promises a drop-in upgrade requiring no soldering, making authentic hardware accessible to those who might otherwise be intimidated by complex electronics work.
Meanwhile, the BrickBoy team has taken a more pragmatic route, embracing emulation as their path to functionality. Their approach feels less like preservation and more like translation—converting the original gaming experience into a modern digital language. The BrickBoy’s three-tiered Kickstarter offering, ranging from €129 for basic grayscale Game Boy emulation to more advanced versions supporting Game Boy Color and Game Boy Advance titles, represents a different kind of accessibility. It’s the convenience play—no hunting for rare cartridges, no worrying about battery corrosion on decades-old game paks. But in that convenience lies the fundamental philosophical divide: are we experiencing the games or merely their digital ghosts?
What fascinates me most about this competition isn’t just the technical differences, but what each approach says about our relationship with gaming history. Natalie’s method feels like restoration—keeping the original hardware alive and functioning within a new context. There’s an almost spiritual quality to using the actual chips that once powered childhood adventures. The BrickBoy, by contrast, feels like reinterpretation—capturing the essence of the experience without the physical constraints of aging hardware. Both approaches have merit, but they cater to different types of nostalgia. One wants to touch the actual artifacts; the other wants to relive the feelings those artifacts created.
As we stand at this crossroads between preservation and emulation, I can’t help but wonder if we’re witnessing the beginning of a new era for retro gaming collectibles. These projects demonstrate that our desire to interact with gaming history isn’t fading—it’s evolving. We no longer want static museum pieces; we want living, breathing connections to the past that we can hold in our hands. Whether through authentic hardware or faithful emulation, what matters most is that the magic of those original gaming experiences continues to find new forms of expression. The battle between these two approaches isn’t really about which is better—it’s about how many different ways we can keep our gaming heritage alive and relevant for generations to come.
About the Author
