I committed three monumental errors when I first booted up Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream. My first was importing a Mii version of myself onto the island. My second was allowing my actual partner to move into the home next door. My third—and undeniably most catastrophic—blunder was inviting Bethesda executive producer Todd Howard into the neighborhood.
Nintendo’s eccentric life simulator is ostensibly designed as a tranquil escape from the pressures of modern life. It’s an absurd, lighthearted take on The Sims, where you act as a voyeur to the oddball interactions of your island’s inhabitants. It’s meant to be a digital utopia where everyone is a neighborly friend. That was my assumption, at least, until I introduced a smirking, digital manifestation of Skyrim’s lead designer, who promptly began orchestrating a personal soap opera. Because of this game, I now possess an archnemesis. His name is Todd.
Image: Nintendo via PolygonInitially, my simulation ran with clockwork precision. It seemed whimsical to include my partner and myself, anticipating a virtual recreation of our relationship. Within hours, my Mii developed a shy crush on hers, spending days lurking in the background with hearts in his eyes. I served as a digital matchmaker, nudging my avatar to ask her out—but, mirroring my own real-world timidity, he hesitated. Todd sensed the vulnerability.
With a signature, unsettling grin, the Bethesda titan waltzed into the social sphere, bonding with my girlfriend over Oblivion before moving in as her roommate. Soon, he was making aggressive romantic overtures. My Mii’s reluctance had inadvertently cast me in a low-stakes reality drama where I was destined to be humiliated by the architect of Starfield.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, I finally pushed my Mii to take the lead. I sent him to the local restaurant to declare his affection. It was a flawless, heartfelt confession… right up until Todd Howard emerged from the adjacent booth. He interrupted the moment to profess his own love, forcing my partner’s Mii to make a choice—an agonizing decision that felt entirely too reflective of real-world stakes. Fortunately, she chose me, leaving a visibly crushed Todd in her wake.
As the omnipotent overseer of this island, I felt a strange flicker of guilt watching the defeated developer mope around. To mend the bridge, I crafted a custom item: an open-world concept sketched onto a Switch screen, labeled Skyrim. He was instantly revitalized, strutting around the island brandishing the game he created. Crisis averted.
However, Todd quickly became a local menace. Skyrim began to permeate every facet of my island life. Inhabitants chattered about it endlessly. I caught Todd dozing off, dreaming of being showered with retail copies of the game. After I encouraged him to discuss his other projects, the islanders became obsessed. Even a local socialite announced aspirations to “develop Fallout,” clearly corrupted by Todd’s influence. My partner moved into my home, but the likes of Mariska Hargitay and Charli XCX moved into his, forming a group they dubbed the “Todd Heads.” The man was building a cult-like following purely out of spite for being rejected.
As time passed, new Miis joined the fray, and the population’s fascination shifted toward icons like David Lynch and Garfield. Todd’s romantic prospects dwindled, and he settled into the role of a local eccentric, wandering the streets clutching his Nintendo Switch. Meanwhile, my partner and I thrived. My Mii proposed, and we held a wedding ceremony with Todd in attendance. I had emerged victorious, and order was restored.
Or so I thought. My daughter had the final word.
One morning, I logged in to discover my virtual spouse and I were holding a newborn. Tomodachi Life features a mechanic where Miis have children, blending the physical traits of both parents. In a precious moment, we welcomed our infant daughter into the world. She cooed, seemingly on the brink of speech. We waited with bated breath for her first word. It was: “Skyrim.” The game was won.
I share this not to malign Todd Howard, but to highlight the peculiar, chaotic charm of Tomodachi Life. It is a brilliant life sim where you place a series of dominoes and wait for them to collide in unpredictable ways. You can teach your Miis to converse about white-collar crime, import figures like former NYC mayor Eric Adams, and observe the game’s logic weave those elements into comedy gold. The emergent narratives are as gripping as any reality series.
I intend to keep playing, if only to see how else Todd Howard might disrupt my island. Can another eccentric newcomer dilute his hold? Will he ever find true love? Can I counter his influence by training his firstborn to say “New Vegas” first? Stay tuned for the next episode of my Tomodachi Life saga.
Source: Polygon
