There’s something profoundly human about watching someone struggle with the most basic of tasks. We’ve all been there—fumbling with keys at the door, tripping over our own feet, or spending ten minutes trying to open a stubborn jar. This universal experience of awkwardness is exactly what Bennett Foddy’s latest creation, Baby Steps, captures with such painful, hilarious precision. The game takes the simple act of walking—something most of us mastered decades ago—and turns it into an epic struggle against physics, terrain, and our own stubborn pride. It’s a meditation on failure disguised as a hiking simulator, and it might just be one of the most honest games ever made about the human condition.
What makes Baby Steps so compelling isn’t just its punishing difficulty, but the way it weaponizes our own expectations against us. We’ve been conditioned by decades of gaming to expect mastery—to quickly learn mechanics and then execute them with increasing skill. Baby Steps subverts this entirely. Just when you think you’ve finally figured out how to navigate Nate’s clumsy limbs, the game introduces new terrain challenges that make your previous accomplishments feel like child’s play. Narrow bridges become treacherous tightropes, gentle slopes transform into slippery nightmares, and what seemed like stable ground suddenly becomes your worst enemy. This constant escalation isn’t just about difficulty for difficulty’s sake—it’s a commentary on how life’s challenges never really get easier, they just change form.
The game’s brilliance lies in its ability to make failure feel meaningful rather than frustrating. Every stumble, every awkward fall, every moment where Nate’s onesie-clad body slides helplessly down a mountain becomes part of a larger narrative about persistence. Unlike traditional games where failure is a setback to be overcome, in Baby Steps, failure is the point. It’s in these moments of spectacular incompetence that we’re forced to confront our own relationship with struggle. Do we rage against the physics? Do we laugh at the absurdity? Or do we quietly accept that sometimes, progress comes in the smallest of increments?
Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of Baby Steps is how it explores themes of masculinity and self-sufficiency through its gameplay. Nate’s refusal to accept help—whether it’s better shoes, a map, or guidance—mirrors a very real human tendency to stubbornly insist on doing things the hard way. We’ve all met people (or been those people) who would rather struggle for hours than ask for assistance, who see accepting help as a sign of weakness rather than wisdom. The game holds up a mirror to this behavior and asks us to consider why we value pointless suffering over practical solutions. It’s a subtle but powerful critique of toxic independence that feels particularly relevant in our hyper-individualistic culture.
Ultimately, Baby Steps is more than just a game about hiking—it’s a metaphor for life’s journey. The mountain isn’t just a physical challenge to be conquered; it represents the personal mountains we all face. The other hikers who effortlessly navigate the terrain while we stumble aren’t just NPCs—they’re the people in our lives who make everything look easy while we struggle. And the satisfaction of finally reaching a viewpoint after countless failures isn’t just about completing an objective—it’s about the quiet dignity that comes from persevering through difficulty. In a world that often values speed and efficiency above all else, Baby Steps reminds us that sometimes the most meaningful progress happens one awkward, stumbling step at a time.
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