In the wake of the news that on November 4th Stardew Valley will release its hotly anticipated 1.6 update on console and mobile, it feels only right to discuss the chokehold that farming simulation has on many of us seeking refuge from bustling urban capitalism into, well, bustling prairie capitalism.
Stardew Valley is perhaps the greatest simulacrum of the mundane repetition of modern-day working life that keeps humanity ticking over. We like repetition. We function best under routine. Yet, it also serves as a stark reminder that there will never be enough time in the day to attend to everything that needs doing. With each minute in Stardew Valley lasting only 7 seconds, the things that dwindle into unimportance are often the ones that make us the least money to advance the game forward. I personally haven’t spoken to my in-game spouse in a good month: my vow to complete level 100 of Skull Cavern has become significantly more fruitful in bequeathing me two Auto-Petters and a lavish pair of Mermaid Boots.
As Andrew Tate said, “when I was broke, I couldn’t sleep”, and I felt that; even a broken clock is right twice a day. And that’s the closest I’m getting to buying the golden one at 10,000,000g.
Gameplay Lore
For those who are not well-versed in Stardew lore, the game begins with the relocation of the protagonist from the dystopia of an office cubicle to the rural valley, complete with an open-world map of a farm, a town square, a ranch, a beach, and mountains, and later a desert and a rainforest. The player can build relationships with the community who are dispersed in each of these areas, including 12 eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. In the meantime, the player is generally expected to fix the Community Centre, discover artefacts to restore the town museum, and dungeon-crawl through the mines in pursuit of various quests.
Without a doubt, the mines are perhaps the most perilous aspect of the game, (somehow more so than the town alcoholic being employed as the only bus driver!); the Skull Cavern is the most difficult of these dungeons, with monsters such as the Purple Slimes being famously difficult to defeat. As always with exploiting the vessels of capitalism; the harder the challenge, the greater the reward. Purple Slimes have a whopping 0.9% chance of dropping incredibly useful items such as Iridium Bars, which may be smelted at Clint’s Blacksmith Shop to upgrade weapons and farming tools to their highest grades. So, I guess you’d better get to work, and sharpish.
Character Controversy
Stardew Valley’s economy is virtually thriving on its own, with only the yearly visits from the governor and Calico Desert’s merchants existing to remind us that the valley is not solely operating on the funding from broken geodes and overpriced saplings. However, shopkeepers Pierre and Clint exist as moral parallels in Mayor Lewis’ capitalist utopia. After the Community Centre has been completed, Clint leans fully into the ‘community-led’ aspect of the town, spending his Fridays admiring the Centre’s furnace.
After asking my friend studying economics why he likes Clint so much, the response I got was that Clint is pioneering the “three-day weekend” for blue-collar jobs, and arguably the “hardest worker in the full gaff”. Clint is a socially awkward and shy character who is not particularly blokey or arrogant, and is arguably the industrial powerhouse in this rural valley. He’s also persistent: if the bumbling town farmer arrived with one hundred geodes for me to break open at nine in the morning, I’d personally close up shop immediately.
Pierre, on the other hand, embraces the loss in the market, choosing to rescind his midweek break in favour of full-time profit seeking. My housemate argues that the gameplay is set to create Pierre’s monopoly, arguing that one of the “main goals in the game” is to “get rid of his only competition, another business [the Joja corporation] that provides work to several of the town’s residents”. Indeed, Joja is emblematic of archetypal cut-throat capitalism in regard to overlooking the rising middle-class small businessman.
Yet, Joja provides work for two Stardew inhabitants struggling with addiction and poverty. Pernicious Pierre is the eponymous merchant of his central store, and since no other character appears to sell his wares we can assume that he is also the sole employee. Yet, if the player sells their crops to Pierre, there is a chance that he may resell these the next day, with customers claiming that Pierre states that he grew these crops himself if the customers have a positive reaction. In one scene, Clint even claims that the farmer might have competition, underscoring a seemingly innocent business partnership with an almost Darwinian hue.
A case can be made for good business strategy in opposition to Pierre’s approach; give, for example, the local fisherman, Willy. Another of my housemates questions the obvious, “Why would a fisherman need me to sell him fish?” But Willy’s centralising of a singular genre of produce eliminates competition with all but the farmer, with the two generally having an amicable relationship. Willy further uses his expertise in maritime matters to his greatest ability, charging 1000g for a trip to Ginger Island. But that’s okay – he’s not Pierre. Profit is limited and nonthreatening.
Another character, Linus, presents a new problem to Stardew Valley’s economy. Linus’ economic self-sufficiency is seemingly problematic, with the antithesis of capitalism seeming to bother the rest of Stardew Valley’s inhabitants. Robin, for instance, only accepts his existence as long as he doesn’t bother her family. Linus’ existence is quiet but constant, and he deeply fears retribution for his dumpster diving in the Valley, often standing alone at town celebrations.
My housemate is a big fan of Linus due to his role in the environment, making use of the waste of others and cleaning the rivers and lakes. At the extreme of the isolated, self-sufficient prairie life, Linus lives in a tent which he sadly remarks often being vandalised and destroyed. His carefree approach to life, free of family, profit, and routine are therefore completely unreliable to those who thrive on such in the town, and there is a certain sense of irony that the inhabitant with the greatest earning potential (the Player) usually takes the greatest pity upon Linus. Like the average university student, Linus is surviving on leftovers and a dream, yet finds his own cosiness in a world that remains deeply capitalist.
It’s not all doom and gloom however. Stardew‘s nostalgic quality is perhaps the greatest strength of the game, positing a world set comfortably in a pastoral-industrial hybrid. With graphics reminiscent of a childhood immersed in Nintendo, Stardew posits amicable competition as a motivator rather than as an obstacle to finishing the game. There is a certain comfort in an emulation of capitalism that will undoubtedly have a happy ending, even if it’s as unrealistically attainable as ‘perfection’ is.
