In the midst of a recent replay of the original Final Fantasy 7, I found myself welling up. Not because I’d reached – the mandatory, number-one entry in every ‘gaming’s top ten saddest moments’ list from now till the Lifestream runs dry. No. The tears were rising much earlier in my playthrough than that. And those tears were accompanied by a big goofy grin. What in this gloriously janky PS1 classic that I hadn’t picked up in almost fifteen years could have had such an effect on me?
I was in Wall Market – Midgar’s gleefully ungentrified equivalent of San Francisco’s Tenderloin, or London’s Soho, a century ago – and the game’s taciturn, hyper-masculine, ex-mercenary protagonist, Cloud, had just donned an pretty silk dress. Not only that, but he’d put on a blonde wig he’d won from a body-builder at a local gym, splashed on some sexy cologne, and had just had his make-up done by a burlesque dancer. And, to top it all, upon emerging from the dressing-room to reveal his transformation, he had been greeted with utter delight by the friend, ally, and (though it pains the Clifa stan in me to say it) love interest who had accompanied him there.
The reason I was crying was because, here, in chunky polygonal miniature, was my entire experience of coming out as a non-binary trans person.
Okay, maybe not my experience. I didn’t start wearing make-up and femme clothing as part of an elaborate plan to rescue my childhood sweet-heart from the clutches of a local sex criminal, and Cloud’s family weren’t around to worry about what the neighbours might think. But, the key components were all there: the thrill of a new wardrobe; the unforeseen generosity of strangers; the relief that comes from the support and acceptance of friends and loved-ones; and, above all, the quiet euphoria of suddenly looking the way you’d never even realised you wanted (or needed) to look before. Heck, even the frantic squat-driven glow-up at the local gym was present and correct.
I concede, I may have been projecting just a little. But, if there is one thing that queer culture and, indeed, gaming culture, have taught me, it’s that queer people find representation wherever they can, and that, often, those discoveries occur in the most unexpected of places. And here was an echo of the moment at which my gender identity suddenly ‘clicked’ for me, captured in a game I had played and replayed as a kid. It was uncanny.