The fewer Miis present, the harder it is to unlock everything. The game is stuffed with things to do, but herein lies part of the problem I mentioned earlier, which is the necessity for Miis. Different shops and venues become available, offering more activities and more things to purchase. Growth isn’t limited to Miis, however, as the entire island begins to open up the more the game is played. Considering how easy it is to make money, it might seem pointless to have currency at all, but it does a good job of corralling the player and helping mete out activities and character growth over an extended period.
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I never had to worry about having enough funds to participate in daily tasks, so I was free to focus on just having fun. Players can even get cash for doing nothing more than “peeking” into the mind of a Mii and seeing what they’re thinking about (remember I said this game is weird?). Funds are dispensed generously, as giving a Mii food will often reward the player with more than it cost to feed them in the first place. Tomodachi Life’s activities revolve around a currency system, and the only way to make any money is via the Miis. I gave my Mii version of Link a bowl of ramen, and he shot into the sky like a rocket, filled with joy! The sheer variety of interactions and responses is mind-boggling.Īll of this item-fetching isn’t for nothing, though. Part of this activity revolves around guessing what particular item will or won’t please a given Mii, and watching each of their reactions is priceless. New duds means a stop to the clothing store, and so on. When they want food, a quick run to the market is all that’s required. Resolving the various issues of the Miis is very simple and fast. While that might make them sound like a bunch of needy crybabies, the reality is much more fun. They get hungry, want new clothes, want new apartment interiors, and much more. In any event, the core experience of Tomodachi Life comes from placating the needs and desires of the Miis. Game progression is tethered to having multiple Miis, which also complicates the dilemma. It’s possible to snag Miis via QR codes, but it’s not a perfect solution. I found this one part of the game design a little hit or miss, in that for creative players it’s a breeze to concoct new Miis, whereas others who aren’t so inclined to make the avatars might have a harder time bolstering their population. Doing so fills up the apartment building, which in turn gives the Miis more friends to make and interact with. Players must either create new Miis in the game or import them from the 3DS Mii Maker. From there, the Mii moves into its own apartment on the island (called, fittingly enough, Mii Apartments!), and the madness begins. Tomodachi Life starts off just like the Move-in Version, with players asked to name their island city and create a personal Mii. Watching the Miis interact and mingle is at the core of the experience, and what makes Tomodachi so endearing. Using Miis, Tomodachi encourages the player to populate the game with Miis of friends, family, and celebrities, who in turn partake in oddball antics of all sorts. What separates Tomodachi from Animal Crossing, however, is that rather than stuff the game world with anthropomorphic animals and tree shaking, it instead strives to be a surreal snippet of the real world. Like Animal Crossing, Tomodachi Life invites players into a virtual world to call home. It’s a weird game, with no real goals and minimal direction, yet it’s also irresistibly charming. That is the number one word that comes to mind every time I think about Tomodachi Life.
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