One of the final scenes of Doki Doki Literature Club, where Monica traps the player in a one-on-one conversation.
TW: Mentions of suicide and self harm
Background:
I played Doki Doki Literature Club (DDLC), a visual novel and horror game developed by Dan Salvato. The original version of the game is offered on PC, Nintendo Switch, Playstation, and Xbox for free, and I played the game on my PC following installation from the game’s site (ddlc.moe). DDLC is targeted towards older teenagers and young adults, particularly those who have previously played conventional visual novels or are familiar with the tropes of dating simulators or romance anime.
Argument:
The horror game intentionally and violently disrupts the conventions of dating simulators, which are typically catered towards heterosexual men. Reframing a genre where women are often surface-level characters who exist only to please the male protagonist, DDLC takes this autonomy away from the player and delves into the human struggles of its female characters, as well as the horrifying and saddening events veiled by a cutesy exterior. Drawing from the arguments of Shira Chess’s “Play like a Feminist”, I recognize that DDLC’s artistic deception, disruption of a typically misogynistic genre, and exploration of mental health struggles all contribute to the game’s feminist themes.
Introduction of Sayori, one of the protagonist’s love interests
DDLC’s initial presentation as a dating simulator is misleading and broadly appealing. At the game’s start, I’m introduced to Sayori, a childhood friend and neighbor who is posed to be a potential love interest. The music in the background is upbeat and light, and “John”, the generic male protagonist I am playing, scolds Sayori for coming late. There’s an emphasis on how Sayori is ditzy and playful, but she also cares deeply about the protagonist and pushes him to try new things.
Sayori pushing the player to join a school club
The dialogue and theming of the game so far is consistent with other romance anime and games that tend to put a generic male character in the center of the story, allowing heterosexual male players to imagine themselves being fought over by beautiful, interesting women. It caters to a fantasy that the love interests’ goals and priorities are centered around the protagonist, even though he may not offer anything particularly unique. Familiar with these common tropes, I was expecting to be introduced to new and distinct love interests, but wary of when my expectations would be deviated. I was soon introduced to the other female characters of the game: Monika (the smart class president), Yuri (a quiet and artistic student), and Natsuki (a girl with a tough exterior but a soft heart). Each of these characters are initially very shallow; their temperaments are immediately evident, and both the dialogue and character interactions make these character tropes obvious. 
Natsuki’s character introduction as the tough but soft-hearted love interest
At this point in the game, following expectations set by other dating simulations, I would expect to be able to continue interacting with these characters until I choose an ending with the character I most like. In DDLC, relationships are built through the in-game mechanic of writing poems that appeal to characters’ exaggerated interests and showing them these poems to build up our relationship.
Options to choose which character to show my poem to
However, this is when my expectations are subverted. It occurs after I tell Sayori that we will only ever be friends and I am shown a graphic scene of her suicide. This is an extreme consequence of the one-track mind and protagonist-centered obsession that most female characters display in these dating simulators. By showing the horrific, violent consequences of behaviors that conventional dating simulators normally romanticize, DDLC forced me to confront the toxicity and danger of how these actions would truly play out in the real world. As the game progresses, I see more of the dangers of this protagonist-obsessed mentality. The characters turn on one another in increasingly unnerving moments that eventually overtake the regular lightheaded scenes. They use vitriolic language and curse as they fight for the protagonist’s attention.
Scenes from an argument between two characters, with the screen filling up with static
Through these scenes, characters show more of the gritty and dark sides of themselves, which humanizes them as they drop their consistently upbeat attitudes and nature of their conversations. I find out that Natsuki suffers abuse from her father, while Yuri harms herself in private. I face the ugly and sad sides of their behavior, facets of mental health that would never be mentioned in games that use women only as shiny prizes. A feminist story “relays narratives that surpass the expectations we tend to have of those ushered in to and for patriarchal audiences”. Though these female characters are suffering and aren’t told to be the winners of this story, this dive into their struggles turns them from attractive pawns to messy and vulnerable people.
Monica intervenes in the argument, stepping in front of the dialogue and action options
Simultaneously, my autonomy as a player is gradually taken away more and more as one of the characters, Monika, is revealed to have control of the game and its plot. She is obsessed with the player and abuses her knowledge of the code to completely take away my choices for my love interest, instead forcing me to only pay attention to her as she shuts down the other players. Monika, with her knowledge and control, can take control of the narrative in a way that is never permitted by most games. With this, DDLC uses its unique format as a video game to effectively “push the boundaries of other forms of storytelling”. Monika steps out of her role as a character to talk to me, the player, directly, and I’m forced to reflect upon how my participation in this game has spurred her obsession and brought on the deaths of others.
In all, DDLC subverts expectations to make players critique the often unquestioned yet deeply misogynistic nature of the games it parodies. Though it is a game with feminist themes, it doesn’t empower its female characters—in fact, they are all victims to the male-centered, shallow obsessions that imbue typical dating simulators and romance anime. If the game was longer, it may have benefitted from more background being given to these characters outside of their trauma and mental health struggles. It currently resorts to its graphic scenes and extreme reveals to add depth to the girls and scare the player, which thematically fits in its intent as a horror game but doesn’t fully humanize these characters. Still, I appreciate the reflection DDLC brings upon its players and the broader criticisms it levies of misogynistic yet common tropes.
