#Gamergate: A Feminist Content Analysis on the Depiction of Women in Video Games

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By Russell Barnes

The following article is part of a multi-part series of excerpts from the author’s senior thesis.

Introduction

What is #Gamergate?

#Gamergate is more than a hashtag that went viral on Twitter in fall of 2014; it is a controversy that is rooted in decades of sexism in one of the fastest growing mediums – video games. At first glance, the modern video game market seems vastly different compared to 1977, when the Atari 2600 became the first multi-game home console to be released to the consumer market[1]. Video game graphics are much improved, there are more competitors in the video game market, and games are more accessible than ever, thanks to smartphones, tablets and other advances in mobile technology. However, some aspects of the video game industry are still the same. Some of the most well-known video game characters of the modern era got their start on Atari’s console, such as Pac-Man and Mario of the Super Mario Bros. franchise. Alongside these characters, much of the complaints of sexism within the video games and inside the industry have continued to be upheld, or in some cases, escalate in severity and frequency.

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My Anxiety Story

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By Gina Van Thomme

This story was originally posted on Gina’s personal blog. You can read it here.

When I was five, I came to the realization that I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it.

This profound realization resulted in night terrors, which essentially meant that one second I’d be laying in bed thinking about five-year-old things like Arthur and Furbies and the next, I’d be panicking over questions such as “How am I supposed to spend an eternity in heaven when I can’t even sit through an hour of church?”

Photo by Andrew Neel

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I Blamed My Sister for My Miscarriage

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By Catcall Contributor

Some summer day when I was sixteen, I woke up with blood underneath me.

In the bathroom, I fingered a loose thread on my pajama shorts before pushing them to my ankles. I thought about weighing myself and about the clear fluid that had been running down my legs for some days. I thought about my boyfriend.

Then I saw the tiny gray-white thing, almost pearlescent. It was no bigger than a blueberry and possessed black dots one could only think of as eyes. There was emptiness burning up from my belly. I stopped thinking, and here, I can clearly mark the point at which my memories of adolescence change shape; time bent forward in a drunken, shallow arc, spilling onto the ground and across the walls as it reached forward. How long was it before I woke up, pushed away my blankets, swung my feet over the side of the bed, and found that the situation needed someone to blame? A month, maybe two. It was still hot outside.

Photo by Claudia Soraya

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Exploring Female Friendships in “The Office”

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By Sydney Borchert

Pages from The Office Paper

The term friendship surfaces images of a kindergarten classroom. This picture, in my mind, involves youngsters crafting paper people and chains singing “kumbaya” in a close-knit circle. Friendship is trust. Friendship is intimacy. Friendship is equality. Although an image of cheek-squeezable, singing children brings smiles and good cheer, friendship possesses deeper layers. You see, the term dates back to the 1670s (bear with me, I promise this isn’t a history lesson). The Quakers, also known as Friends, were members of a large Christian movement. Known as the Society of Friends, the people established their own way of life. The women were held to a certain standard: running the household and caring for the children.

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Tickling or Torture: What It Teaches Us About Consent

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By Alyssa Bluhm

I have a vivid memory of being tickled when I was about five years old. My dad and my uncle tickled me to the floor, sandwiching me between the wall and the dining room table. While my uncle tickled me, my dad pretended to pull Cheerios out of my bellybutton and strawberries out of my strawberry-blonde hair, slurping them up like a delicious bowl of cereal. That was one of my dad’s favorite jokes when I was young, and it’s still a fond memory. Mostly.

I also remember that, as the tickling continued, my laughter turned to tears of pain, that my ribs felt close to cracking with every gasping breath, that I felt cornered and helpless, and that nothing I did would get them to stop.

Photo by Caroline Hernandez

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