There’s this thing that happens when I’m playing Animal Crossing. I’m wandering around in my little pink dress and pink bear head, watering flowers, chopping down trees, and checking on my neighbors. Katt has a cold, so I take her some medicine. They’re all thrilled to see me. They gush, they sparkle, they tell me I’m radiant. They notice when I’ve been gone too long and welcome me back with wide-eyed joy.

No one is ever mad at me for bailing on plans. No one worries if I take a day off. I can walk to an all-night coffee shop without fear of violence unless I shake the wrong tree or stumble across a scorpion without my trusty net.

And I sit there holding the controller, realizing my fake little animal friends know how to be better friends to me than most of the humans I’ve met in my actual life. Don’t get me wrong—I’m horrified when they just show up at my house or invite themselves over. Cami doesn’t play that. But other than that? It’s safe. Comforting. A delight.

And I think that’s down to two things:

• There are actual rules I can follow, and I can easily discern them.
• If I fuck up, no one will judge me for the rest of time.

Okay, three things:

• When I don’t want to listen to someone and my eyes glaze over, I can just keep hitting the B button until they shut up and go away.

So it’s sorta social. Demented and sad, but social.

But masking?

Maybe.

Sometimes I’m using my villager to practice being the approachable, sparkly version of myself that the real me can’t sustain. Sometimes I’m letting her say the things I’d never say out loud, because she’s adorable and round and everyone loves her even when she’s a brat. And sometimes I’m going full Kaos—shaping a world where I can track every single element, place it exactly where I want it, and rest easy knowing no one can ruin it unless I grant them best-friend powers. And even then, the damage is limited.

Is it both a mask and an unmask?

And WHY does it still feel so much more like home than any real-life socializing ever has?

Maybe it’s not about whether the avatar is masking or expressing. Maybe it’s just proof my friend Martin was right: given half a chance, I’ll always choose to look like a cartoon version of myself. Real world or no.

Maybe it’s not masking. Maybe it’s refuge. Do you slip into your own digital skin sometimes, too? Come on, tell me… I want to know where my creepy darlings are hiding…