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Every few months, some YouTube channel will upload a video essay asking why we continue to play Skyrim more than a decade after release. Virtually all of them come to the same conclusion: at this point, what keeps us coming back for more isn’t the gameplay, or the story, or the seemingly never-ending wait for The Elder Scrolls 6: Sentinel, but the coziness of its setting.
At a glance, this makes perfect sense. After all, many of us no longer play Skyrim to progress the narrative or complete quests, but simply to spend time in its world. And yet, if you really think about it, it’s also kind of strange. Many cozy games are devoid of danger or pressure, and sport a warm, colorful, often cartoonish look. Skyrim, on the other hand, is dark fantasy 101, its lands frozen over and filled with scary, pointy things that can and will kill you if given the chance.
Sure, some use mods that remove enemies, shake up mechanics, and even clear up the weather, making the game look and feel more similar to cozy favorites like Animal Crossing or Stardew Valley. However, I don’t think I’m alone when I say that – to me – the base game already feels incredibly cozy as it is, dragons and all. For many years I’ve wondered why. And this month, in honor of Skyrim’s 15th anniversary, I took a stab at finding answers.
While researching, it quickly became clear that most of the common reasons for Skyrim’s coziness do not hold up to scrutiny. Yes, the game’s awe-inspiring landscapes and Jeremy Soule’s soundtrack definitely play a role, but I believe it’s only a supporting one. Otherwise, why would I feel a similar kind of coziness playing games like Bioshock or Batman: Arkham City, which look and sound completely different?
“Nostalgia,” you might say, and many do. But that doesn’t quite cut it either. While the world of Skyrim has indeed become like an old friend, and booting up the game reminds me of the carefree teenage years that coincided with my initial playthrough, the coziness I feel today is – for the most part – the same coziness I remember feeling back then.
The nostalgia factor connects to another, and in my opinion equally insufficient explanation: player competence. The more we play a game, the better we get, and the easier, less threatening, and therefore cozier said game should become. Again, not my experience. For me, playing with a heavily underleveled character, so that even the most ordinary enemy encounter becomes an existential threat, actually makes the game feel more cozy, not less. Strange right?
Danger and coziness don’t necessarily cancel each other out; designers can in fact use one to amplify the other.
Not really, it turns out. While early reports on the design of cozy games connected coziness to an absence of danger, today we understand the relationship to be a bit more complicated. In an article about the rise of “dark” cozy games like Dredge and Cult of the Lamb, which play around with mechanics that scare, stress, or unsettle, Polish media scholar Agata Waszkiewicz argued that danger and coziness don’t necessarily cancel each other out. Quite the contrary, designers can in fact use one to amplify the other.
“Coziness is a tricky concept to define,” Waszkiewicz tells IGN, “so we often do it by juxtaposing it with something that clearly is not cozy. There’s a reason everyone always talks about being wrapped up in a blanket, drinking tea or hot cocoa, while it is pouring outside. That contrast between outside and inside makes coziness more pronounced and easier to grasp.”
“A cabin feels warm because of the blizzard,” agrees Rachel Kowert, a research psychologist who specializes in games and mental health. The psychology of cozy games make her think of something called Prospect-Refuge theory, which basically argues that people are evolutionarily “drawn to spaces where we can see out over the world while also being sheltered from it.”
FromSoftware games have clear equivalents of prospect-refuge points in the forms of bonfires, lamps, and sites of grace: locations that shield players from enemies, even when they’re standing right beside you, while also allowing you to level up, replenish resources, and prepare for the journey ahead. Our prehistoric ancestors would have surely been able to relate.
Skyrim may not have bonfires, but its world likewise contains plenty of places where players are in proximity to yet safe from threats. Think of when you’re passing over one of the province’s many mountaintops and see a dragon flying overhead, or a giant herding his mammoths down below. For me, these are precisely the moments when the game’s world strikes me as most peaceful, and Soule’s soundtrack most relaxing.
Mark Teare, an effects artist who has since left Bethesda and is now working on a cozy game of his own, can think of another reason for why Skyrim evokes such strong feelings of coziness in players: ants. Yes, there are ants in this game, and Teare is the one who put them there, despite Bethesda’s initial protests.
“My boss saw them and was like, ‘No one is ever going to see them. Why are we wasting time on this?’” he tells IGN. “But for me they were a big deal, precisely because they were so small. Once you notice them, the world just feels so much bigger. You wonder: how many other things am I walking by and not even seeing?”
These little details didn’t need to be there, but their presence shows players that we cared, and they feel that.
This rationale touches on a number of things that are integral to cozy game design, including presence and connection. Cozy games often encourage players to slow down and appreciate things that in other types of games they might overlook or take for granted. Details like Teare’s insects also create a sense of intimacy. Not with other players, but with the developers: “These little details didn’t need to be there, but their presence shows players that we cared, and they feel that.”
Soule once said a very similar thing, stating in an old interview that he wanted the game’s music to be a constant companion. His goal wasn’t to feed into the game’s power fantasy, but make the player “not feel alone” and “like there’s meaning to what they’re doing.” Whether you’re an expert on Elder Scrolls lore or not, his ethereal soundtrack gives you a sense that some or other god is watching over you, and that – despite the chaos of civil war and the coming of Alduin – everything in this world is fundamentally in harmony.
Speaking to Teare, I stumbled upon my third and perhaps most compelling explanation for Skyrim’s coziness: the fact that Bethesda didn’t intend for the game to feel cozy at all. “I was down in the trenches, so I’m not sure what the big, big plans were,” he says, “but I don’t remember any discussion or mandate or anything, and none of us were actively thinking about coziness while working.”
During our conversation, Teare brought up ASMR – a sensation closely related to coziness, and hugely influential to his ongoing projects. While there are lots of successful ASMR content creators out there, many aficionados will tell you that the most potent ASMR is created unintentionally. “When someone is trying hard, it feels manufactured,” says Teare. In his opinion, the best “ASMRtists” are “really good actors” that make what they’re doing seem natural even though it’s not.
You could make a similar argument about coziness, and I think mine is pretty solid. Research on cozy game design often mentions words like the Danish hygge and Dutch gezelligheid, both of which are frequently translated into English as coziness. As a Dutch person, I can say with authority that gezelligheid isn’t something you can just force into existence. Like at a great party where everyone gets along with everyone, true gezelligheid happens when the stars align, and everything feels alright in the world – all without you having to do anything…kind of like when you’re playing Skyrim, right?
As Waszkiewicz said, coziness is tricky to define. Not only because what constitutes as cozy differs from person to person, but also because no two games are cozy in the exact same way. I’m not trying to have the final word on this subject. My only goal was to try to articulate what makes Skyrim cozy to me, and what sets this coziness apart from other games. If you feel differently, let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear.
Tim Brinkhof is a freelance writer specializing in art and history. After studying journalism at NYU, he has gone on to write for Vox, Vulture, Slate, Polygon, GQ, Esquire and more.
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