Why You Shouldn’t Like the Hero of Mixtape

13 May at 20:00 Comment Views: 24

There is much to admire in Mixtape. Beethoven & Dinosaur’s narrative-driven adventure checks every box for a crowd-pleaser, boasting a stellar soundtrack, infectious ’90s nostalgia, and a collection of eccentric minigames that consistently charm. However, there is one element that threatens to disrupt the game’s atmospheric harmony: its lead protagonist, Stacey Rockford.

Since Mixtape debuted on May 7, Rockford has become a divisive figure among the player base. She is a music-obsessed teenager desperate to escape her sleepy hometown, even if it means severing ties with her closest friends. While some find her journey deeply relatable, others find her grating. A recent critique from Forbes, for instance, took issue with her remarkably abrasive personality.

“She barely registers as a genuine character and possesses few redeeming traits,” the review notes. “She exerts a bizarre sense of ownership over her social circle—going so far as to harbor jealousy toward a girl her friend Cassandra grows close to—and radiates a sense of profound selfishness throughout the narrative.”

That assessment is accurate. Rockford is a self-absorbed snob who speaks down to everyone in her orbit—the player included. She shows little regard for her friends’ personal growth, seemingly more invested in mandating their musical taste than in actually listening to them. While she may not reach the villainous depths of Saros’ Arjun Devraj, she is undeniably difficult to like. But that, ultimately, is the point. Through Rockford’s sullen, standoffish exterior, Mixtape forces players to confront a uncomfortable truth: you cannot discard the things that shape you just to flee an environment you’ve outgrown. To do so is to strip your most meaningful memories of their value, leaving behind nothing but hollow nostalgia.

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Mixtape revolves around three teenagers in Blue Moon Lagoon, a quiet, atmospheric town reminiscent of the American Pacific Northwest. Stacey is the self-appointed leader of the pack, flanked by Van Slater—a laid-back skater content with his lot in life—and the fiercely rebellious Cassandra Morino. I characterize them as “sidekicks” because that is exactly how Rockford perceives them. She views herself as the protagonist of Blue Moon Lagoon, and the story unfolds through her fourth-wall-breaking perspective. Consequently, the player acts as a captive audience to her overblown tales of adolescence and unsolicited lectures on music history.

If you find this dynamic draining, imagine how Slater and Cassandra must feel. The power imbalance is established early, during a skateboarding sequence set to Devo’s “That’s Good.” In a monologue addressed directly to the screen, Rockford reveals her agenda: “This playlist, the one you’ll be hearing today, is a countdown to my last night in Blue Moon Lagoon.” She has essentially soundtracked her own departure, dictating that her friends spend their final day together listening to her curated vision before she leaves to pursue a career in film music supervision.

Stacey and her friends sit in a bedroom in Mixtape.

The friction between Rockford and her peers is palpable. When she proudly outlines her plan to hand a mixtape to her idol, music supervisor Bella Deltone, in New York, Cassandra is visibly skeptical. Rockford’s arrogance is unshakable: “My mixtapes bend others to my will.” In just the first eight minutes, she makes it crystal clear who she is—and how little value she places on anyone else’s perspective.

Her behavior rarely improves. When discussing a high-achieving classmate who missed out on college, Rockford offers no sympathy, remarking, “Well, at least she’s interesting now. It was all too easy for her.” These interludes, peppered between minigames, highlight a pattern of insults toward others, reinforcing her belief that everyone in Blue Moon Lagoon who isn’t her is essentially a failure. It is classic adolescent angst, certainly, but it paints a clear picture of someone who views her own life as the only one that truly matters.

Slater and Cassandra remain in her orbit only by falling into line. The conflict peaks when Cassandra begins spending time with Jenny, an outsider Rockford hasn’t “vetted.” Rockford’s insistence on controlling her friends’ associations—and their time—eventually pushes Cassandra to her breaking point. During a heated argument, Cassandra likens Rockford’s suffocating protectiveness to that of her own father, shattering Rockford’s pretense that she is orchestrating this final trip for the benefit of her friends.

Cassandra walks away, and as Rockford’s composure cracks, Portishead’s “Roads” plays—a devastating musical moment that underscores her realization. She isn’t just leaving a town; she is abandoning the very people who defined her youth. Her petty posturing dissolves, replaced by the terrifying question of who she will be when those familiar faces are gone. Her mixtapes, after all, weren’t just music; they were a love language, a way to connect with the people she holds dear. It is a detail she failed to include in her “airtight” plan for success.

Time feels like it’s drifting by. I feel like I’m wasting something.

Some critics have argued that Mixtape relies too heavily on empty nostalgia to manipulate the audience. This critique holds weight; the romanticized ’90s aesthetic can occasionally feel superficial, presenting a sanitized, idealized version of the past that ignores the historical realities of the era. However, this nostalgia is also a central thematic device. Rockford uses it as a shield to resist the present. She is rarely fully present, choosing instead to hide in the comforting memories of bygone teenage culture. The game’s design choices intentionally draw players into that same nostalgic headspace, mirroring her own avoidant behavior.

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