Tchoozit's 11 Emotional Criteria, Explained

We get asked this a lot: "What are your criteria?" And every time, the answer seems to catch people off guard. Because Tchoozit's criteria aren't scores. They're not sliders from 1 to 10. They're not even categories you sort your games into.

They're questions.

Simple questions, sometimes a little absurd, that force you to choose between two games from a specific angle. And it's in that choice, repeated duel after duel, that your ranking builds itself. Not from your head, but from your gut.

Here are all eleven criteria, what they actually measure, and why each one reveals something different about your relationship with games.

1. Desert Island

"Which one are you taking to a desert island?"

This is the survival criterion. Not "which one is better" but "which one would keep you company if you had nothing else." It's a question of replayability, yes, but not just that. A game can be replayable without being the one you'd want to bring to an island. Here, we're also measuring systemic depth (does it still have secrets after 200 hours?) and emotional durability (does it still feel good after a long time?).

Sandboxes, roguelikes, and deep systemic games tend to do well here. Heavily scripted games, no matter how extraordinary, drop fast. An incredible narrative game you finished in 15 hours will lose to an infinite puzzle game. And that's exactly what the criterion reveals: the difference between a masterpiece you consume and a companion you generate.

2. Attachment

"Which one matters most to you?"

This is the heart criterion. Not quality, not technical excellence. Attachment. A game can be objectively average and still win this duel because it touched something in you that the other one couldn't reach.

What we're measuring here is aesthetic resonance (does the universe, the mood, the music speak to you?), projection (can you see yourself in this game?) and influence on your life (did it mark a period, spark a passion, change the way you see something?). This is the criterion where personal taste weighs the most, and that's by design. Two players can have diametrically opposite answers for perfectly valid reasons.

Games that have a soul tend to win here. Not necessarily the biggest, the prettiest, or the longest ones. The ones that know who they are.

3. Gameplay

"Which one feels best controller in hand?"

The key word here is "satisfying." Not "complex," not "innovative," not "deep." Satisfying. It's the feeling in your hands. The feedback when you strike, the sound when you collect, the precision when you land a perfect jump.

This criterion measures the quality of the fun loop (is the core action already a pleasure?), control (do the inputs respond exactly the way you want?), fluidity (does the game force you to fight against its menus and loading times?) and skill progression (does your mastery grow, and does the game acknowledge it?).

Zelda, Celeste, and Hades consistently shine here. Not because they're perfect, but because every single action in these games is a small moment of pleasure. And a game whose core loop is fun is a game where everything becomes fun.

4. Narrative

"Which story pulled you in the deepest?"

Careful here: "narrative" doesn't mean "plot." A game can leave its mark through cinematics and dialogue, sure. But it can also leave its mark through environmental storytelling (architecture that tells a story without a single word), through player agency (the feeling that your actions shape the story) or simply through the pacing of its narrative.

FromSoftware games often win this duel without having a "plot" in the traditional sense. Because narrative isn't just what you're told. It's how the game lets you discover, interpret, and feel the story. And when we ask "which one pulled you in the most," what surfaces is the memorable scenes, the twists, the atmospheres that linger. Not the Wikipedia summary of the plot.

5. Unique Universe

"Which universe would you rather get lost in?"

Unique doesn't mean weird. A unique universe is one that's consistent with itself, that has its own logic, its own tone, its own rules. It's a universe you can recognize from a single screenshot.

This criterion captures art direction, sound design, lore, atmosphere. But above all, it captures attraction: does this universe make you want to stay, explore, understand? A perfectly realistic but generic world will lose against a stylized but inhabited one. Because uniqueness isn't a question of graphics. It's a question of identity.

6. Art Direction

"Which visual style appeals to you the most?"

This isn't about graphical power. A pixel art game can crush a 4K AAA title if its artistic vision is stronger. What we're measuring is coherence (do all visual elements work in the same direction?), recognition (can you identify the game in 3 seconds?) and aesthetic choices (does the game dare to stylize, abstract, go minimal?).

The best art direction is the one that serves the game. That makes gameplay readable, feedback clear, navigation intuitive. And that, years later, still leaves images in your head. A game with strong art direction, you can close your eyes and see it.

7. Sound Design

"Which sound atmosphere appeals to you the most?"

We say "sound atmosphere" but the question covers sound design in the broadest sense. The soundtrack, yes. But also sonic textures, sound effects, mixing, spatialization. A good mix changes everything, even if the player never consciously articulates why.

What matters here is audio-world coherence: does the sound serve the universe, the mood, the tension, the narrative? An incredible OST that doesn't fit the game won't win this duel. And conversely, a game with subtle but perfectly integrated sound design can beat a game with a more spectacular soundtrack.

Music and sound guide anticipation, the alternation between calm and chaos, the dramatic build. A game can be average, but if its audio creates a powerful emotional momentum, it leaves a memory that lasts.

8. Fun

"Right now, which one are you booting up?"

The simplest question and maybe the most revealing one. Not "which is better." Not "which is prettier." "You've got half an hour, what do you launch?"

This criterion measures immediacy (does the game deliver pleasure fast?), the gratification loop (do you get feedback, surprise, spectacle?) and controlled frustration (a fun game can be hard, but never ungrateful).

Fun hates stagnation. It loves renewal, small surprises, twists. And it has a huge social component: some games only become fun because you share them. The duel captures all of that.

9. Addiction

"Which one won't let you put the controller down?"

Addiction is traction. That "just one more" that makes you check the clock and realize it's 3 AM. This criterion measures something very specific: not the quality of the game, but its ability to keep you.

We're measuring the gameplay loop (is the action-feedback-reward cycle well-paced?), flow (do difficulty, progression, and feedback align to the point where time disappears?) and respect for time (paradoxically, the most addictive games know how to segment into small replayable units: short runs, digestible objectives).

Every game hooks you differently. Some through mastery, some through dopamine, some through intrigue, some through the ambition of long-term building. The duel reveals which type of hook works best on you.

10. Social

"A friend comes over, which game do you spend the afternoon on?"

This criterion doesn't measure whether a game has a multiplayer mode. It measures whether a game creates a good time with other people.

Think about GTA Vice City. Zero co-op mode, zero versus, a completely single-player game. And yet, it's one of the most "social" games of an entire generation. Because the real memory is the couch, the controller being passed around, the friend watching over your shoulder and yelling when you miss a jump, the uncontrollable laughter when you crash a scooter for the tenth time. A game doesn't need to include multiplayer to become a shared experience.

What this criterion captures is the accessibility of the moment (can the friend who just showed up understand what's happening without a 30-minute tutorial?), the generated atmosphere (laughs, friendly trash talk, reactions, memories), the memorable chaos (the stuff you still talk about years later) and inclusivity (does even the person who isn't playing have a good time?).

A hermetic solo masterpiece can get crushed here by an average game that creates the social spark. And that's exactly the point: some games aren't made to be played together, they're made to be experienced together. The duel tells the difference.

11. Rediscovery

"Which one would you dream of discovering for the first time again?"

This is the projected nostalgia criterion. Not "which would you replay" but "which would you rediscover." The difference is huge.

What surfaces here is the magic of the first time: the wonder, the twists that only work once, exploring a virgin world, those first victories when you haven't mastered the mechanics yet. Some emotions only happen on first contact. Fear of the unknown, narrative tension, aesthetic shock. Repetition dilutes them, and you can't get them back.

The game you'd want to rediscover is the one that lost the most by being completed. It's also, often, the one you loved the most.

Why questions, not scores?

If you've read this far, you may have noticed something: none of these criteria can be reduced to a number. "Which one are you taking to a desert island?" can't be answered with a 7/10. It can only be answered with a choice.

And that's the whole principle behind Tchoozit. Instead of asking you to assign abstract scores to dimensions that are impossible to quantify, we ask you a simple question, show you two games, and you choose. Your ranking builds itself duel by duel, criterion by criterion. And what comes out isn't a flattened global score, it's an emotional portrait of your relationship with games.

Eleven facets. Eleven ways to look at the same game. And eleven different rankings that, together, tell a story no score out of 10 could ever capture.

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Want to see what your choices reveal? Start a duel and discover your emotional player profile.