Balled up socks made neat rolls in drawers, never leaving lumps or gaps. The reason I loved the earliest levels of Unpacking, before the unpacking became too much, was how neat everything was. Moronicy is not a word but I, a packing moron, do not care for correct linguistics. Who would ever pack a moving box this way? The answer, dear reader, is me. Emptying the kitchen boxes and getting the room designed to perfection, only to discover the microwave and kettle in the living room storage, was extremely annoying. Rather than neatly have one box for pans, another for cushions, a third for clothes, as normal people might, Unpacking often made its boxes a strange stew of general household items. While I might feel vindicated in my criticism of Unpacking for its failure to properly live up to its name, what I was critical of most frequently and most often were the boxes themselves.
You were forced to put things away mid-unpacking, then once everything was out, move them from their space to the floor and then decide again if they should go back. What I found a little frustrating was the inability to actually unpack - you often lacked the space to just put everything out on the floor, chuck the boxes to one side, and get on with it. Organising shelves and cupboards for the best mix of aesthetics and efficiency is fantastic, and getting to do it in a video game, without the heavy lifting or folding involved in real life was a joy. The gameplay of Unpacking I mostly loved. Having recently moved house, I’m here, cap in hand, humble pie crumbs all around my mouth, to let you know that I was wrong.
I appreciated the foley design, and the colourful artstyle, but I just found it endlessly frustrating. There were some fantastic moments of storytelling, with the college diploma that needs to be stored under the bed because your partner won’t move any single thing to accommodate your proudest achievement, but I just didn’t get it. When Unpacking launched at the end of last year, I didn’t really get it.
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